#I flipped the canvas coloring and finished it this way without noticing

[skvaderarts]

Petrichor Chapter 24: Artist

Chapter 24: Artist 

Note: Hi everyone! Hope you’re all doing well! Was it hot where all of you live today, too, or was that just me? Texas, man. This is the only place I’ve ever lived where it’s been hot in October. I know we're not there just yet, but damn. Close enough. SMH.

(-~-)

In a small room off to the side of the living area was a tiny office, every wall crammed with storage units and plastic tubs that had been stacked as neatly as the limited service space would allow. Many of them were tilting in a manner that implied that they might slide over onto the floor soon, but the space was tidy either way. For now.

A glance around the small room was all it took to find art supplies scattered everywhere. On the desk in the middle of the space were several adjustable wooden reference figures and stacks of different types of paper and canvas. Paint brushes, pens, markers, pencils, charcoal. There were no shortage of mediums available, but they all seem to pertain to either canvas or paper, her choice of medium apparent without even seeing any of her works. 

On the corner of the desk farthest from the light was an old box that looked as though it might contain a vintage camcorder or something of the like if the strap hanging out of it and the stack of vintage lenses were anything to go by. A few photos were hung on the wall, but none of them contained people. Animals and all forms of nature were on display ranging from lush forests and winding rivers to cows in fields and dogs playing in the mud, but it seemed that people were not of interest to her. She could have fooled him. But perhaps when it came to her art it was a different story.

She walked into the room only a few seconds behind him, heading to a small bookshelf in the corner nearest to the doorway. It was only then that he even noticed it was there since it was facing away from him on the opposite side of the wall, catching sight of a blend of colorful papers at the top and the menagerie of canvases at the bottom. He realized rather quickly that this was probably the place where she stored her works once they were finished. Or at least somewhat finished. A few of them seem to be half done but he was actually having a bit of a hard time making out all the different shapes and colors He needed to focus on something in particular.

And as if she knew this, she grabbed a sketchbook off of the shelf and folded it open, flipping through a few of the images until she landed upon one that she seemed to think he would enjoy, taking a deep breath in order to calm herself. This clearly took a lot of courage on her part, and he silently wondered if there was something to that.

It was clear that she was wondering if he would like what she was going to offer to show him. He doubted that he would hate it, but he wondered all the same whether or not she was shy to show him her art because she thought it was bad or because she thought he would think it was. He wondered why she cared about his approval. Perhaps it was just a part of human nature? He didn't seek the approval of… 

Oh.

"These are some of my most recent projects. They're my best work so far. Hopefully… I hope they're not terrible. And you like them." She said as she handed him the notebook, the drawing she had picked on the top. He turned the notebook around with a nod before staring at the picture, taking it in for a moment before flipping to the next. And to say that he was surprised would be an understatement.

Beautiful illustrations of the natural world covered every page, charcoal and graphite being the primary tools used to achieve the look she desired. The lines were clearly defined and purposeful, and the blending was top-notch, smooth and precise. She had clearly put in many long hours to achieve this look. It was the sort of thing that only came from a lifetime of practice and a steady hand; time and technique paying off in spades. And while it was not perfect or even the best art that he had ever seen, it was undeniably impressive, and I got the impression that perfection wasn't what she was aiming for in the first place. It was style. And she had certainly nailed that.

"... What is there to not like about them?" He asked earnestly, perplexed as to why she had seemed to demonstrate so much anxiety about showing them to him. He imagined that if he could draw this well he would have confidence in his works, although it was undoubtedly true that he would strive to continuously improve. That was simply who he was. But she was far from awful, that much was clear. Vergil wondered why she didn't have more confidence in her skills.

"So you… they're good?" She said, her tone filled with disbelief. She seemed genuinely surprised that he hadn't tossed the notebook aside and walked out of the door in disgust. And it wasn't an act. Far from it, in fact. Every facet of her face from the slight widening of her pupils to the ever-so-subtle upturn of the corner of her mouth and the raising of her eyebrows made that clear. She had expected him to not like her work, that much was clear.

"I think so. Better than anything I could ever do. Not that I've tried." He said simply, speaking honestly. He'd never really gotten into drawing. He tried it once or twice as a child, but that had been more his brother's thing, not that Dante's crayon scribbles had been anything he'd dare call art. Though he imagined his parents would have disagreed in that way that parents always seem to. He imagined it held a certain charm to the parents of the child when their offspring created some hideous amalgamation of colors and shapes that would probably request a swift and merciful death should it be able to speak for them.

Now it was Vergil's turn to ask a few questions. His curiosity had been piqued by the contrast between her artwork and her reaction to his reaction to it. He was clearly missing something here. "If you thought that they were terrible, why did you continue?"

A look that he was unfamiliar with flashed across her face. In a mixture of grief and disappointment, the muscles in her neck quivering as she pinched her lips together, turning them inward. Her shoulders pulled inward and pointed upward as she drew into herself, wounded by something he didn't understand.  

"Because… I had to believe they were. It was all I could do." She said as her gaze shifted down towards the floor, her eyes unable to meet his. She clutched the notebook tightly, not crinkling or tearing it but bending the cardboard backing ever so slightly. "My father always told me they weren't any good. He worked in antiquities and spent a lot of time around collections of vintage fine art. Every time I showed him one of my drawings even as a little girl he always told me that my works were nothing special, especially compared to the masters. So I studied the artists he liked. I wanted to be good like them so badly. I wanted him to tell me just once that he likes something I did. So I kept practicing and practicing hoping that one day I'd be good enough. That on the rare occasion that he came home he would look at my art with adoration like he did the art he worked with. That he would look at me with adoration. But in over a decade that's never happened a single time."

Vergil remained silent, utterly unsure as to how he was supposed to follow a statement like that. His father had never expressed disappointment with his skills or interests. He had only ever wanted to be like his father. To honor his unsurmountable legacy as his oldest son. He had pushed himself to be the very best because he knew that it would be impressive to his father, or at least he had hoped it would be, but he couldn't imagine what he would feel in the depths of his very being of his father had told him that he simply wasn't good enough. To be told that he possessed known talent and that he simply wasn't anything special, even if that were the truth. To him, his father had been utterly perfect, and although their relationship hadn't always been, he would have never dreamed of being told something so heartless by Sparda or his mother, for that matter. He didn't think his father even had it in him to voice that kind of opinion. And that was to say nothing of how his mother would have torn him apart should he have done so.

His father had been firm but caring, offering encouragement and feedback when needed. He offered guidance on matters that he understood and attempted to learn things that he did not in order to be more helpful to them. He had shown patience in situations when Vergil himself was sure that he personally would have cracked. Sparda wanted to see him improve. It seemed to bring him satisfaction when he or his brother did well. Her father didn't seem to be anything like that to him. 

… He missed them both so much.

"Your father is a buffoon." The Darkslayer said that word as though it left a foul taste in his mouth. If it were up to his preferences he would not refer to a man who treated his child that way as a parent, but he had nothing else to call him. He imagined that he was the sort of man his mother would have hated. She never believed in stifling creativity even when that creativity was something she didn't understand like Dante's senseless little games and Vergil's own solitary obsession with literature, especially poetry. She'd simply smile and nod, giving them encouragement through her presence alone. She believed that the innocence and whimsy of a child was something that should be protected and nurtured for as long as it could be before the crushing reality of growing up set in, something that she and Sparda had many discussions about over the years before his disappearance. Never arguments or fights, but a few heated discussions. Yes. Eva would have hated this woman's father with every fiber of her being. And she probably wouldn't have been quiet about it.

A single, solitary tear ran from her eye and down her cheek until it dripped off of her chin onto the edge of the paper, causing a small blemish on the art. It was barely noticeable, but it was there nonetheless. She quietly set the notebook down and leaned on the desk, her back to him. She was clearly trying to compose herself and failing. It seemed that she wasn't keen on shedding tears in front of a stranger, either.

"You're absolutely right. I told him something like that the last time I saw him. On the front steps of our house. And then I took my bags and walked away. I won't repeat the words he said to me in response; The things he called me as I left him behind. I know none of his words should matter and that he's wrong. But they still do somehow." She used a crumpled-up piece of paper to wipe her eye, the medium too stiff to work effectively much like blowing your nose into copy paper, but she didn't seem to care. It got the job done regardless. "Sometimes I think about sending him some of my art to show him how much I've improved. And then I remember… That pigment on paper has always mattered more to him than me."

Vergil looked away from her for a moment, back into the photographs on the wall and the artwork that filled that room. There were no people in any of them. And now it made sense. Because she was alone here with nothing but her work. The work that she did because she had no idea what else to do. It had consumed so much of her, her desire to achieve an idealized version of herself that didn’t exist. The loneliness was suddenly suffocating. And somewhere deep within himself, the part of him that didn’t want to acknowledge anything that he perceived as a flaw couldn’t shake the feeling that this realization was like holding a mirror up to himself. And that infuriated him.

“... Put your boots back on. Let’s take a walk.”.

(-~-)

Hi again! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I've been slower than I’d like getting to your comments, so I just wanted to let you know that I see them and I’m answering them but I have like 20 in my inbox right now and I’ve just been busy lately. Thank you for all the support and feel free to keep them coming! I love chatting with all of you! See you on Friday! Bye bye!

[sherokutakari]

Friendly Fire ArtFight Attack!!

@dromaeocore​ 's Mango the Dragon Bat stretching after a good day's sleep! Very late to the artfight party, but I wanted to make sure I drew something for him, bc seeing all their great artfght art really inspired me, and is why I joined ArtFight!! (Also I didn't read the thing about the sports clothes until after I'd finished so I hope this is okay OTL)

Link will be in reblog probably sometime tomorrow~

[elysiadjarin]

Day 3: Dacryphilia

Jesse Cromeans may be a ruthless killer, but at home with you? You’re the one in charge. And especially those days when you’re annoyed at how long he’s been gone and he comes back so desperate for your attention… well. You did so like to see him cry.

Day 3 of Kinktober has arrived! I actually think I discovered some things about myself writing this one, so y’all enjoy. 😂 Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content only. This one is a slasher x reader fic, so please beware of mentions of murder and assault as part of the territory, though nothing is explicitly mentioned. PinV unprotected sex, dacryphilia, desperation, cumplay.

Tags: Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x reader, slasher x reader, yandere!reader, soft femdom, sub/dom themes

Paint Splatters over Canvas

It was rather funny, really.

You scrolled through your phone, ignoring the giant man standing in the doorway of the room staring at you. Jesse had always made a point of never touching you without your permission. A way for him to separate the meaningless victims of his murderous hobby with you, his wife, his everything. And while of course your relationship stayed perfectly strong, you well aware of his hobby and he well aware of your own tendencies… it did sometimes backfire on him in the best worst ways.

Like now. When you were annoyed with him because he’d been gone an entire day later than he’d promised, extra dark web cash be damned. A promise was a promise, and it wasn’t as though he’d needed the money. He did have a perfectly legal and highly successful business, after all. So shouldn’t you have come first?

You liked revenge cold, playing the long game; something you had in common with Jesse. And today, you certainly had plans put in place for said revenge. Which, for the time being, meant ignoring Jesse. You had plenty to occupy you, from communications for the business to just working on your own projects. Still, you’d made sure to be just nonchalant enough to let him know that it was all so… deliberate.

Jesse shuffled in the doorway, clearly wanting your attention but knowing better than to think any sort of demanding would get him anywhere. He’d learned the hard way that at home, his power over subordinates decidedly did not apply to you. When you didn’t give him any response, he hovered for a moment, clearly trying to decide on what to do next.

You knew how he would get after a mission. Needy. Wanting. Starved for attention and affection from you. Pent up for days, probably thinking about you every spare moment between takes.

With a hum, you typed out a message on your phone before standing and heading for the doorway. You briefly looked up to see him as you brushed past in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Jesse,” you said, giving him a brief, distracted smile. “I’m off to get ready for a meeting with a client.” You headed for the bedroom, already thinking about your next steps.

You could hear him following behind you, could almost feel the mounting despair as he started to realized what was happening. Why you had used his name instead of the usual love, darling. His shoulders hunched, and you could see his face twist as he clearly tried to think of what to do. He already knew that you’d have your revenge however you wanted: apologies would be expected but certainly wouldn’t get him any closer to mercy.

Walking into the bedroom, you headed straight for the bathroom to start preparing. Jesse still trailed along behind you like a forlorn, helpless puppy, and you swore you could almost hear him let out a small whine. Pausing for a moment in front of your vanity, you dialed your friend’s number and set it to speaker, putting it down on the countertop and sitting in front of the mirror.

You tied your hair up and reached for your cosmetics, beginning the process as the phone dialed. Your friend picked up quickly, already in on your plan thanks to your texting. She always approved of your payback plans.

Bestie! I thought you said you had to prepare for the meeting? I mean, yknow, not that I don’t like hearing from you. She cheerfully teased over the phone.

You smiled. “Well yeah, I just sat down to do my makeup. But I mean, we did say we were going to talk about the party for little Jacen this weekend, and what better time than now? You can help me pick out an outfit once I’m done,” you cajoled, noticing how Jesse sat on the edge of the jacuzzi bathtub, unabashedly staring at you. He always had loved watching you get ready for an event. Not that you minded.

Fair enough. Your best friend admitted readily. But seriously, you didn’t have to go all out for Jacen like this. She half scolded. It’s so much!

You laughed lightly, the creamy foundation smoothing across your skin. “Oh c’mon, he’s my adorable little nephew in all but name. He deserves to get spoiled by his doting Aunt, let me have my fun,” you wheedled, knowing she would cave.

She sighed over the receiver. I swear, girl, you could convince anyone into anything.

“Or maybe I’m just your weakness, Miss Mara,” you teased back. The soft brush in your fingers blended the contour onto your face, and you smiled as you glanced at the phone. “But anyway, did you manage to figure out what he might want for a birthday present? Or are we going with my original idea to let him loose in a mall?”

Oh, no, you are so not buying him everything he points at. I’d never get him to not be a spoiled brat if I let you.Mara snorted. I’ll text you what I figured out, he seems to be pretty fixated on it right now.

“Ugh, fineeee,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “But I’m going to at least get him that adorable motorized scooter I showed you before. He’s going to look so cute riding around in it.”

Fair enough I suppose. Better than the mall idea— wait, did you just get me to agree to something extravagant by threatening something so ridiculous—

“Anyway,” you interrupted blithely, “did you send out invitations to everyone?”

Yep, and I got back all the RSVPs. Speaking of which, I thought you said that you were meeting with the CEO of some business tonight? What’s that all about? I know you, you normally don’t like dealing with people.

You sighed. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag a little.” You pouted, reaching for the eyeshadow and liner. “Jesse was supposed to be back yesterday, but since he wasn’t I had to reschedule, and I promised to personally meet with the CEO in order to smooth over ruffled feathers. But besides that… I wanted to be there personally to see my best friend and her husband’s house finally paid off for their fifth anniversary.”

A pause. Then a screech that made you grin. You’re not serious! Babes, no, wait—

“No use protesting!” You said cheerfully, waving your brush. “It’s already been practically settled. Besides, you both need to start saving up for Jacen’s college funds. We did have the agreement that I’d open the doors to whatever college he wanted instead of just paying for it,” you reminded.

Ugh, I don’t know if I want to smack you or hug you, you sly little— Mara groaned. Wait till I tell Damien, he won’t know what hit him. She laughed. Thank you. You know how much it means to us. I won’t scold.

“Good.” You nodded. “And you know I’ll take care of you.”

She sighed. Never doubted it. So, how’s the process?

You hummed, pursing your lips as you finished the eyeshadow and grabbed the mascara. “About to do mascara, then all I have left is the lipstick. But shouldn’t I wait till we pick a dress before I actually pick a color?”

Probably. What’s the mood? You going for boss ass bitch, sultry Queen, or mysterious vampire lady? Amusement laced Mara’s voice.

“You’re not even in my house and yet you walked in and called me out to my face,” you said dryly, earning laughter. Jesse, you saw in the mirror, tilted his head with a small smile playing over his lips. He’d quietly observed the whole processes, eyes fixed on your face.

Only cause I love you. So, show me the closet, girl! Oh, show me your makeup first tho so we got reference.

You picked up the phone as you finished, turning on the camera so she could see your makeup sans the lipstick. She whistled, eyebrows wriggling teasingly as she grinned.

Oh, so mysterious vampire queen it is. She smirked. Closet. Though I do have the feeling that we’re going to be choosing a gorgeous red lipstick.

“Yes ma’am,” you answered, standing and heading for your closet. You heard Jesse stand and follow behind you, and stifled a smile. Flipping the camera, you started to flip through the racks of dresses. “Does that mean we’re leaning towards a black dress?”

Hmm, probably. Actually, how about one of your sleek black ones? The one with like, barely any frills and only a tiny bit of lace at the top. Off the shoulder. If you’re gonna try to assert dominance, probably drawing attention to your mouth and hands is the best way to go.

You tilted your head at the hangers, then nodded. “You’re right. Especially if I go for the red lipstick. I could also honestly use a glass of wine during that meeting,” you sighed.

Mara snickered. Blood in a wine glass? How stereotypical of you, madame.

“You hush, drama queen,” you said dryly, finding the dress she’d described and pulling it out.

Ooh, that’s the one! And I know you have that one crimson shade of lipstick that I always say looks vampiric.

You went back to the vanity and set the phone down, pretending to not notice that it showed Jesse standing in the doorway, clearly staring at you. You slid your shirt off, careful not to smudge any makeup, then slipped out of your pants and reached for the dress. Smoothing it over your front to get rid of any wrinkles, you sat back down and tilted the camera back to yourself, reaching for the lipstick.

“This one, right?” You waved it in front of your face.

Yep! That dress is stunning, by the way. Oh, and what are you doing with your hair?

“Ugh, I don’t really wanna bother too much with it, so I figured I’d go with the… messy, loose waves.” You shrugged, applying the lipstick.

Mara snorted. I think you mean, ‘sorry I’m late I was doing things’ while ignoring Jesse staggering behind you clearly radiating ‘I’m things’ energy.

You half-choked, laughing despite yourself. “Mara-! Seriously!”

She rolled her eyes at you. I’m just saying it like it is. But you go girlie, you look bomb. She laughed. Blow them all away. Be the boss bitch you are. A noise in the background interrupted her. Oop, that’s my cue. I gotta go, text me though okay?

“Will do, tell Damien and Jacen hi for me.” You smiled and hung up, finishing fluffing your hair. Standing, you grabbed the phone and headed for the door. “The meeting is in five minutes,” you remarked to Jesse as you passed him in the doorway. “If you want to join.”

You saw him type on his phone, the text to speech translator sounding a moment later. May I be there with you?

You flashed him a warm smile, as though you weren’t at all deliberately enacting revenge. “Of course! I’d love to have you there. Let’s go.” With a little hum, you headed towards the stairs.

Your phone pinged with a message. Girl, I swear he was drooling. You’re so mean sometimes. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

You suppressed a laugh, replying with one hand as your other slid down the bannister to guide you down the staircase. You know it. Mission so far successful. Wish me luck, I’m about to go into this meeting.

You looked up as you got to the bottom of the stairs, seeing an assistant waiting with the guest. The assistant bowed politely. “May I introduce Mr. Trace, CEO of Finley Bank.”

Giving the assistant a nod, you turned to Mr. Trace. “Greetings, Mr. Trace. Welcome! Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I do apologize for the delay,” you said, taking charge and sweeping towards the parlor.

He followed after automatically. “Of course, Mrs. Cromeans,” he answered, quickly recovering from his moment of bewilderment.

You motioned to a chair, sitting on the velvet couch across the coffee table. “Please, please, have a seat,” you said, keeping the easy smile on your face. “Can I get you a drink? Anything at all?”

He blinked, sitting down and setting his briefcase next to him. “Ah— thank you. I’d appreciate a scotch on the rocks if it’s available.”

“Of course,” you said easily, nodding to the maid standing nearby. “A red wine for me, please.” You smiled at Jesse as he sat next to you. “Your regular?” you asked sweetly. At his nod, you turned back to the maid. “And a glass of dry white.”

She bowed and went to go fetch the drinks.

“I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do, Mr. Trace,” you said smoothly, “so I’ll not take any more of your time than necessary. Of course, as I said, I’d like to discuss several things with you…”

Twenty minutes later found you leaning against the arm of the couch, feet propped up beside you as you swirled the last dregs of the red wine, tapping the glass with your fingernails. The CEO had long since emptied his scotch, and Jesse was on his second glass. His fingers kept clenching around the flute of his glass every time your feet brushed against his thigh.

“Of course,” Trace said with a nod, jotting down the final notes on the paperwork. “Easily managed. Are there any other details you would like to add or anything else to discuss?” He looked up at you.

Your tactics of firm politeness and the scotch seemed to have worked their charm, and you’d been able to rather easily dominate the flow of the interaction. Not to mention, Mara had been right about appearances clearly setting a tone. Trace seemed to be studiously avoiding eye contact with either you or Jesse.

“Not at all, Mr. Trace,” you said, a pleased note in your voice. “I’m rather pleased at how everything has turned out. We do so value your business, you know.” You tilted the glass in your fingers. “Shall I sign the papers?”

“At your leisure.” He slid them across the table toward you.

You slowly uncurled yourself like a lazy feline, straightening yourself and leaning over to set the glass down on the table. Grasping the pen, you slowly signed your name on the papers, eyes glancing over the print to ascertain that everything was in order. Shuffling through the papers, you finally set the pen down.

Trace took them back, glancing through them before nodding. “Everything seems to be in order.” He slid them back into his briefcase. “Thank you as always for your business, Mrs. Cromeans, Mr. Cromeans.”

You nodded, and Jesse stood, setting his glass down. You rose as well, sliding your arm into the crook of his elbow as he automatically adjusted for you. “And thank you for your help, Mr. Trace,” you answered easily. “I do hope you have a productive rest of the day. Do be safe out there.”

He nodded as the assistant returned to escort him out. “Same to you.”

With a hum, you absently patted Jesse’s arm and let yours slide out of his grasp, drifting towards the stairs again. “Oh, I need to go tell Mara it’s all confirmed. Besides, this dress is only comfortable for so long,” you remarked, pulling out your phone again.

Guess who completely owns their house now? You texted Mara, smiling. And your tactics worked, I think dominance was asserted.

You waltzed into the bedroom, headed straight for the closet. “Jesse, are you hungry? I think the food I ordered should have arrived by now, it should be in front of the TV. Maybe pick a movie? I still have a few messages to send.”

You changed into a comfortable black babydoll nightdress, sighing in relief as the silk slid over your skin. It was far more comfortable, and you could feel yourself finally starting to relax after the pent-up tension of the meeting. You really did hate dealing with people, especially ones like the CEO.

Your phone buzzed as you went to go pick it back up. You are literally the best. Now go finish seducing Jesse while I go figure out how to make this news sexy.

Stifling a snort, you went to go wipe your makeup off and wash your face. You could hear the sounds of the TV starting in the bedroom, so you took one more glance in the mirror before heading out into the room, still tapping at your phone. You still had to finish some arrangements for Jacen’s birthday, after all, and your revenge was still percolating.

Jesse’s head turned as soon as you approached the couch in front of the TV. You ignored the way he froze, sliding onto the couch and tucking your feet under a soft blanket. Sending off another message, you set it beside you and reached forward to grab a tray, pulling it into your lap.

“I figured you might not want anything too heavy since you just got back, so I kinda just made a guess and ended up ordering too much…” You frowned at the myriad of food laid out over the table. “Sorry, Jesse… I don’t even know if this is what you want—“

The text to speech cut you off. The food is fine, thank you. I’m sorry for being late. I know I can only make excuses, but I am sorry. Can I make it up to you?

A frown touched your lips as you picked up your spoon, still not looking at him. Your fingernails tapped against the screen of your phone. “Jacen asked the other day if Uncle Jesse would be at his party. I told him I didn’t know, but I’d ask.”

He quickly typed. Of course, if he asked for me, I’ll be sure to be there. His fingers paused, then he slowly typed again, as though hesitating. I got you a present while I was gone.

You hummed, swallowing your food and picking your phone back up. “He’ll be happy to hear it. And thank you for the present.” You sent a message to tell Mara that Jacen’s wish had been granted.

Jesse practically fidgeted as he ate, the movie playing in the background. You could feel his eyes slide from the screen to you, could almost hear the wheels in his head frantically turning. The tension in every line of his body was obvious, his movements stilted and jerky. He practically twitched every time you so much as moved.

Finally, you set down the tray, grabbing a mint to refresh your mouth. Shifting to get more comfortable, you angled yourself towards him a little more. You snitched a piece of food from his plate, letting out a hum as you smiled down at Mara’s message. If possible, Jesse stiffened even more, his fingers clenching so hard around his spoon that it even bent a little in his grasp.

A crumb fell from your fingers onto the lace edge of your nightgown, and you let out a quiet noise of protest as you looked down. Your fingers brushed against the top of your breast, brushing off the crumb. Sticking your finger in your mouth, you typed out a message in response to another conversation. With a sigh, you looked up and glanced over Jesse’s shoulder to see the lamp on the table next to him. Night had fallen, and shadows fell over the room.

Stirring yourself, you sat up, setting your phone down for a moment. “Can I turn on the lamp? I don’t wanna get up for the lights,” you said, starting to lean across him. Almost thoughtlessly, you placed your hand on his thigh and put your weight on it, reaching over his body on your hands and knees to pull at the cord on the lamp. The light clicked on, just as a low keening sound came from Jesse.

Your head tilted at the sound, and you turned to look up at his face. It was your turn to freeze.

Jesse’s face had crumpled, his soft green eyes literally awash with tears. His hands were clenched at his sides, his chest heaving with hitching breaths as he struggled to control his expression. The tears welled in his eyes, and faint color had splashed across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Slowly, a smile crossed your lips as you stared up at his face. Leaning back, you tilted your head, licking your lips. “Oh, look at you,” you breathed. “You made all the little piggies cry, Jesse. But maybe it’s your turn, hmm?” Your eyes flickered down to the way his entire body trembled, every muscle taut and strained.

You moved, sliding your entire body into his lap to straddle his waist and face him. Crossing your arms under your chest, you stared into his face. “I don’t know… you broke your promise, though.” Your eyebrow raised at him, and he let out another hoarse whimper. Tears slid down his cheeks, his mouth opening for shuddering breaths.

He shook his head, lips trembling as he lifted one hand and signed. Sorry. Please. Sorry. His fingers spelled out your name.

Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hands. You leaned up, face drawing closer to his. “But I already accepted your apology, love,” you cooed, smiling. “You know what I think?” You slowly dragged your tongue across his tear tracks, your body flushing with heat at the taste of the bitter salt. “I think,” you murmured against his jaw, “that I like seeing you cry.”

Jesse’s breath hitched on a sob, more tears spilling down his cheeks. It was fairly intoxicating, seeing the giant man completely fall apart under you, trapped between his desperation and his personal standards. When you slid forward, your body pressing flush against him, another sob wrenched from his gritted teeth.

You decided for the moment to have a bit of mercy. Reaching down, you grasped his wrists and lifted his hands to your waist. His fingers instantly clenched in the silk babydoll dress, shaking as he grabbed at your waist. His entire body lurched forwards towards you, eyes fixed on your face.

You hummed softly, brushing a kiss to his jaw. “Your eyes are so pretty when they’re filled with tears, Jesse,” you purred, drawing his face closer to you. Still, you refused to kiss him, instead trailing your lips down his jaw, down to his throat. You opened your mouth against his neck, savoring the taste of his skin and the soft scent of his cologne.

Jesse’s trembling fingers jerked against your waist, and he slumped into you. His hands slid over your waist to your lower back, his touch practically reverent as he squeezed. His breaths came quick and fast, breaking occasionally on a sob. Every time you suckled or moved your lips, every time your hands slid down his shoulders, he gasped and shuddered, more tears dripping down his cheeks.

You slid your hands down, starting to unbutton his shirt. Your tongue dragged across his neck, and you felt the bulge in his pants throb against your thigh. “Isn’t this punishment fair, darling?” you cooed. “I only ask for a few tears, hmm? A front row seat to your pretty eyes?”

His head jerked, even though it wrenched another tortured sob from him. Despite the contact, you could feel his frustration mounting.

You pulled back, looking up at him as you finished unbuttoning his shirt. “Oh, you don’t think so?” Your fingers slid across his bared chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. “But isn’t this what you wanted? Me, paying attention to you?”

His gasps had turned ragged. His hips jerked, rutting up against your thigh. A strangled noise left his throat, his eyes squeezing shut. His grip on your waist threatened to leave fingerprints against your skin.

“No?” You bit your lip, raking your nails lightly against his chest. “Then what is it you want, hmm?”

His eyes flickered down to your lips, unconsciously licking his own. His fingers clenching, he pulled you down to grind against his cock, straining in his trousers. Pants fell from his mouth, and he kept glancing from your eyes to your lips.

You reached down, teasingly trailing your fingers down his chest and stomach. Unzipping his trousers, you looked up at his face and smiled as you traced one fingertip down the bulge in his underwear. His eyes fairly rolled back in his head, more tears streaming down his face afresh.

“Look at you, already such a mess,” you murmured, sliding your fingers into his underwear. The moment you wrapped a hand around his cock and slid up, you were rewarded with a guttural groan. He gritted his teeth, clearly struggling to stay still. With a soft laugh, you leaned up and brushed a kiss to his ear.

You tugged at his collar. “Why don’t you lie down for me?” you murmured.

He immediately complied, his hands still clamped around your waist as he turned and shifted up, lying down on the couch. He stared up at you, face still twisted in agony and desperation.

Lifting yourself a little, you tilted your head at him. “Take your pants off for me?”

He practically kicked his pants and underwear off in his haste. You guided one of his hands to the latch on the side of your own panties, giving him an amused smile and nod. His trembling fingers unlatched them, his chest heaving as he watched the black silk slide away from your skin. The moment you lowered back down onto him, his cock throbbed against you and his back arched.

Leaning forward, you hummed a pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Jesse, love,” you murmured. “Cry for me a little more?” You cupped his face in your hands, feeling your wetness coat his own length as you ground against his tip. But you deliberately kept shifting, not giving him any steady pressure.

Another broken whine came from him, and a few more tears slipped down his cheeks. Frustration scrunched his face, his neck mottled with red and flushing down to his shoulders and chest, making your white nail marks stand out. His hips jerked, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

“Is this what you want?” You pressed down against him again, feeling his cock slip against your wet folds teasingly.

His head jerked in a nod, almost violently. Tremors kept running through his arms, his body occasionally shuddering under you.

You leaned down and sucked his lower lip between yours. Your teeth nipped at his lip, and you finally slanted your mouth over his. Tears poured afresh down his cheeks as he desperately pulled at you, trying to get closer, kiss you more. You relented and let him, thumbs brushing against his jaw as you hummed softly into his frantic, pleading kisses. Without warning, you slipped your tongue between his lips, feeling his mouth part with alacrity. When you finally parted, his green eyes were glazed over with tears, hazily staring at you.

Then you smiled at him slyly. “I think you’ve deserved a little bit more,” you decided.

The moment you slid his tip into you, he choked. Saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling for breath. His entire body froze, humming taut under you and his eyes sightlessly staring up at the ceiling.

You observed his wrecked expression, licking your lips with satisfaction. Rarely did Jesse ever fully submit to you like this, usually a brat. But tonight, you had absolute and utter control, and you intended to milk every last ounce of satisfaction out of it. The memories would fuel you for years of his utterly ruined expression, tears slipping down his cheeks as he drooled uncontrollably.

“So pretty, darling,” you purred, licking the tears from his cheek. You gave him another kiss, letting his hands wander over your waist and up your front. “So good for me. Do you think you can handle more?”

His eyes widened, breath quickening. He glanced down, then shook his head jerkily. Then nodded. Then shook his head.

You tilted your head. “Hmmm.” A wicked grin crossed your lips. “No? Oh, but I think you can,” your said, just as you lifted yourself and fully sheathed him inside you.

Jesse sobbed. His mouth opened, tongue lolling as he gasped. Tears poured down his cheeks from the mingled pleasurable pain and relief. His cock throbbed inside you, and his hands grasped desperately at your thighs. His entire body started to shake, arching.

You barely gave him time to adjust before you were already bouncing on him, hands braced against the back of the couch. Laughter spilled from your lips, delighted and cruel, as his hands scrabbled against your thighs, raking across your skin. Moans kept being torn from his throat, your name framed on his lips.

As soon as you angled your hips and brought your fingers down to ring tight circles on your clit, you hissed in pleasure. You pulsed around his cock, earning another helpless sob and wave of tears. He just hit that one spot inside you perfectly, again and again, until you bit your lip and moaned his name as you came around him. Your body clenched down on him, even as you kept fucking yourself through your orgasm.

More laughter spilled from your lips. “Are you gonna cum for me, Jesse, my pretty darling?” you asked breathlessly, purposely moaning his name. “Gonna cum inside me?”

The only warning you got from Jesse was another sob and the gritting of his teeth. His hands flew to your hips, slamming you down on him one more time before holding you there with an iron grip. Gasps tore from his mouth, his eyes trying to blink away tears as he stared up at you.

You hummed, caressing his hands and arms as you bit your lip in satisfaction. He kept pouring into you, his hips jerking once in a while and wringing a whimper from him. Finally, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His lips parted under yours weakly, chest heaving under your hands.

“Thank you, Jesse,” you cooed sweetly between kisses. “You’re so good to me, make me feel so good.” Your mind fuzzed with the pleasure of both your high and the sight of his tears.

He pushed up against you, kissing you fervently. Though he didn’t say a word, you could feel his thoughts through his drugged, sloppy kiss.

You giggled, teasingly clenching down on him one more time and earning a jerk and grunt. “And I forgive you. But don’t do it again, okay?”

Jesse’s calculating look as he clearly weighed the consequences made you roll your eyes but laugh. Maybe this one would turn out to backfire against you, next time.

You decided it was worth it.

[zulivaris]

Art Block tips that helped me

 I’ve recently experienced art block after 3 or so months of overcoming my last one. Thankfully this block only lasted a few days thanks to some things I’ve observed and noted down from the previous time. So I’m sharing these few tips in hopes that it might help someone get unstuck :D!

First and foremost if you’re tired, sad or anxious don’t be surprised that you can’t make art, go and take care of yourself by treating yourself with kindness and patience, the sketchbooks and canvases will wait for you :)

The tips are under here:

Separate art studies from the creative time:  When you do art studies you’re there to focus on specific things, learn and understand how things work so you can apply them later in your art. Studies take a lot of energy and focus and are the opposite of the creative "flow” of making your own pieces. If you combine the two the results are either unfocused studies or stiff drawings. When you sit down at your desk ask yourself “Do I want to learn something new or do I want to create something of my own?”

When you have an idea don’t be afraid of being messy: Let’s say you want to make a picture of several cats kolo dancing in the moonlight. How do you go about doing this? Well since you came up with the idea you already have a vague image in your mind, sketch it out with simple shapes, stick figures, circle and spheres etc Don’t worry about cat anatomy, or the dancer’s moves, sketch out the essence of it. This method removes the need to be perfect or accurate. 

Ok after the messy sketch then what? Well now that you have sketched out the essence of your idea (and hopefully had fun doing so) now you go on to look for references! You put the creative process on pause and you can do a few brief studies if you need to: anatomy, color schemes, values, poses. Pick out a few of your favorites but don't obsess over them, they are a guide, a tool.

You know much more than you think. You’ve probably been drawing for a few years now. You’ve probably done some studies and drawn more than one type of subject. Then you have already internalized some of that information. I used to be obsessed with capturing the minute detail of the subject, and not be able to draw ANYTHING without reference. Instead of a useful tool, references became another obstacle to my creativity. That’s perfectionism my friend, and that’s no good. Here is an exercise a good friend of mine offered: Draw a few characters, animals and objects from imagination. Make sure that the subjects have no personal value to you (no ocs for example) so that if you make a mistake you won’t feel bad about it. Make the process relaxed and comfortable, pour a nice cup of joe, listen to your favorite music ... You will notice that you do indeed know how to draw some things without reference, and it’ll help with your confidence. 

The more you do studies the more you understand This seems evident but the more you understand your subject the freer you can be and the easier it’ll be to draw it from imagination in the future. If you really struggle with something to the point of frustration (as in you can’t get it right even with reference) It means you have to study it. Have a study list, for example: hands, perspective, color theory etc. And one of those days you want to study pick something from the list, and look for videos on youtube or useful sites like line of action etc. Only study one thing at the time. You can go from studying hands to studying arms since they’re more immediately connected, but you can’t study hands and then jump to learning perspective right after. Trust me you can learn perfectly fine with the resources online, and I’m sure you’re clever enough to do it :D

Mistakes don’t mean you “suck”  I’ve noticed that the two most common causes for art block are perfectionism and lack of self-confidence.  The two can often go in tandem which is worse :’D But let me remind you of something, you can fix your piece along the whole process. Use erasers, lasso tools, liquify , select, paint it all over etc If something looks off to you then you also know deep inside how to fix it. Useful ways to see what clunks: flip canvas horizontally (helps with placement, proportions), turn the image to grayscale (helps to check values and where your eye tends to look), look at your image in thumbnail size and ask yourself if it’s clear, see the pose’s silhouette and ask yourself if you can tell what the character is doing etc. Don’t fret, everything can always be fixed :)

Perfectionism, sometimes it stops you before you begin Perfectionism causes you to overwork a piece, it makes you draw less, it makes art stressful, it brings insecurity. Let’s remove it with a simple exercise. It can be combined with the “draw things from imagination” once you’ve drawn something you like: dont do line art, don’t shade it, keep it as simple and crude as possible and then...post it. Yes, post it. You’re not at your best? You’re only human, this will help you embrace that very human side of you. You make mistakes. So what? The more mistakes you make the more you know what you need to study and the better at art you become. Mistakes are there to show us what we need to learn. See them as another tool and not a sign of failure.

Make the process as enjoyable as possible: You like art. You love drawing. Never forget this. Otherwise why are you drawing if you don’t enjoy it? It’s easy to fall prey to the mentality of those relatable memes that “art= suffering” or “I can’t even draw the other eye”. No no no my friends, these messages are fueling your insecurities instead of overcoming them. Let me tell you what, art is fun. It is. Art is fun, because I decided to make it fun again. And you should decide on that too. Personally I adore lineart but my hand-eye coordination is lacking to do it digitally, so....I just skipped it. Yes. I skipped it. I do the sketch, I clean it up a bit and then jump onto color which I adore. It allowed me to draw more and more freely. When I draw I listen to music, make strokes with the rhythm, I take breaks often and I drink my favorite iced teas. If you don’t like coloring do it in grayscale, if you love lineart then do that etc It doesn’t mean you won’t learn your weak points in the future with studies and practice, but you won’t let your weaknesses prevent you from drawing at all. No no, you won’t let them. You draw because you want to, despite of them.

Don’t wait for inspiration, provoke it  Inspiration is not a divine and capricious muse. You make inspiration. It’s easy just collect all the things you like, music, artists, objects, characters, animals, patterns, plants etc Make boards on pinterest or similar sites, combine things you like. You like suits? You like birds? You can draw a bird in a suit, or a bird-inspired suit design, there is frankly a lot of ideas that can spring up from little things like these.

When a project stops being enjoyable either pause it for now or move on to the next thing. Pieces aren’t precious. They’re not “the one time I got x right” they are one of many. This advice goes mainly to hobbyists who can afford the luxury of passing to a new project. I have a WIP of a character who is overly complicated (I enjoy a challenge from time to time) sitting for half a month. I sometimes come back to it and add something... but as soon as it starts to create discomfort and insecurity instead of enjoyment I move onto something else. In the meantime I created 3 or 4 new pieces. If I had waited on finishing that piece I would have been severely creatively and physically exhausted. The art comes from you, not inspiration. The more art you make the better you become.

That’s about it :D I know it’s long but I prefer to be thorough and cover all the possibilities. If you have read of this: Thank you so much I hope this helps you at least a bit, if it helps only 1 other person I’d still be very happy. Have a nice one, and kick art block’s butt!

[beanieblanchett]

iii. “use me but as your spaniel”

Paring: Cate Blanchett x fem reader

Warnings: professor student relationship, slight smut, masterbation, dom/sub undertone, dirty talk

Read Chapter 2 here

(Sorry for the long wait I have been caught up with my personal and academic life lately🥺I know I’ve been a complete ass making people wait for so long. I’m so sorry)

*not my edits*

The day has been long.

There’s a clock in your bedroom. An old fashioned one, and you could hear the second hand ticking in your room: time passes in the unit of a second at a time, and you are so aware of every second that has passed.

It is painful, really. You try to focus on the reading for your psychology class, but there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, as if something is suspended in the air, waiting to fall.

To fall. Like gravity, so natural and irresistible. That is how you feel right now as you sigh and look at your planner for the third time in the past hour, a scheduled appointment for office hours with a professor, the professor…...highlighted in yellow, like the color of the sunlight that is now resting outside of your window.

And so you are thinking about her again. The other day when she was explaining the literary devices that Ovid used to show the depth of love. Love, when the word falls out of her mouth you can’t help but tremble. You take in a deep breath as you wander around the meeting link on the canvas site. There’s still 10 minutes before the scheduled time. Even though she has always said in the lecture that anyone’s welcomed to join the meeting room, you decide to wait. The amount of hesitation and a mix of other feelings pumping in your heart scares you. You hate to use the word love lightly, but what other word could you use to describe that feeling that’s dancing in your chest right now? that hopeless attraction, that constant longing you have for her? When you’ve barely even talked to her, you’ve fallen for her. You feel utterly alone, slightly ashamed, and immensely terrified.

You curse under your breath as your eyes refocus on the screen, dragging yourself back from your thoughts, you’re almost late. And so you click on the link, your body tense and your teeth biting your lower lips nervously as you enter the waiting room.

“Well Hello, so how are you doing today?”

She greets you with a smile, her voice reaffirms her presence and makes your heart miss a beat. She’s wearing a white shirt, the first three buttons casually opened, elongating her elegant neck, exposing her delicate collar bones...and the a peek of her cleavage that makes your cheeks burn. Yet you can’t take your eyes off, a silver necklace draping from her neck down to inside her shirt...almost luring you.

“Can you hear me alright?”

She spoke again, and you’re embarrassed by your lost focus...on her. It still feels slightly unreal that she’s addressing you—you’ve gotten used to not answering her questions, as you know someone else always will.

“I’m sorry...yes I can hear you. I’m doing good.” You open your mouth to realize that your voice is a little raspy from not talking all day.

She is looking slightly tired but genuine and kind as usual, staring into the camera with a satisfied smile as she nods to your answer. You can hear her clicking as you both fell silent. You try to focus on the presence of her so as to stop your thoughts from running into wild places, but that seems to do the opposite job.

“So I see you’ve got a 90.5 on your last essay, which isn’t bad at all.” She said with a keen smile as she praises you, which soon turned into a look of curiosity as she raises her eyebrows, “with such a grade you’re not required to come see me, but you still choose to. I wonder if you have any specific questions for me?”

“Oh…” no, you don’t really have any, but you look down on your notes for things you’ve prepared for this meeting, “I just wonder if you have any suggestions for my writing, you know, where can I improve, because I’d like to get a better grade for that upcoming essay.”

“Hmmm..understood.” She nods again, and you can see her eyes quickly scanning through your essay as she speaks.

And her left hand, that was supporting her chin, is now resting on her left cheek. And—an observation that scorched your cheeks—her fingers are now unconsciously touching her own lips...in a most casual, most usual but also insanely sensual way.

“Will you give me a minute? I’d like to inspect your words more closely so I can give you better suggestions.” She lifted her eyes to look at the camera with a subtle grin.

“Oh sure. I’m in no rush.”

Her fingers returned to her lips after she’s done talking. long, beautiful fingers that you have dreamed and thought about. You’ve imagined them on your face, on your hand, on your body...in your body...without realizing how bold a move you’re making, you feel your own touch on your thighs, moving closer and closer to the center before you find yourself messaging your desire, already aroused, over the thin fabric of your panties.

You gasp at the pleasure, a silent one, and then a louder one. You look into the screen to see her now flipping through a book on her desk, (Metamorphosis, you suppose, as that’s what your essay was about), feeling more daring and slipped a sweaty hand into your pantie.

You’re wetter than you expected, providing an easy entrance for your own finger. Your breath gets heavier and heavier with your slow thrusts, trying to maintain your posture until a soft moan slips from your lips.

She’s still intensely focused on the book, and so you gathered the courage and whispered her name, “Cate….”

“Cate...Cate…..” you say to yourself, words muffled with your now loud moans, which is not getting more and more intense as you get closer to the climax——

“Okay I think I’m done here,” she looks up to you, her sudden words scaring you, ruining your orgasm and now your pussy is pathetically wet, and exposed in the air.

She doesn’t seem to expect your response as she proceeds to give you a few suggestions about your writing. She praises your interesting perspectives, and points out a few flaws in your analysis, raising some other questions regarding the texts. As always, she seems to be most genuinely interested in your work, analyzing it as if it’s the work of Ovid himself. Her voice is incredibly captivating to you, and to your swollen desire, but her highly professional manner turns you on even more——the thought of you being naked with your ugly desire, almost dripping in such an academic discussion...how sinful, how humiliating, how dangerously attractive.

“Now would you mind sharing with me the passage you’ve chosen for the upcoming essay? The Shakespeare one.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” You nod, looking down to your notes to avoid looking at those eyes, and looking at your own picture on the screen. You could imagine yourself right now, cheeks red and sweat on your forehead, how weird she must have thought of you to be.

“I’ve chosen the passage in the Midsummer Night’s Dream. Helena’s confession and pursuit of Demetrius. I find that speech of her quite touching...the devotion of putting oneself in such a lowly place, almost an act of submission, but also an act of great courage, to go against societal norms…”

You pause yourself there to look up at her, she’s nodding and smiling as always, but in her eyes, you see almost a tint of a fleeting, mischievous smirk? you must have made a mistake. And you must have been illusioned by your heating desire, so you shake your thoughts and continued: “it’s this passage,

‘Use me but as your spaniel—spurn me, strike me,

Neglect me, lose me. Only give me leave,

Unworthy as I am, to follow you.

What worser place can I beg in your love—

And yet a place of high respect with me—

Than to be used as you use your dog?’”

Finishing off, you look up again, and you feel yourself shaking.

Silence. And you think you see that mischievous smile in her eyes grow stronger. You’re almost certain, yes there’s definitely something behind those eyes. Those eyes that shine with kindness and professionalism, sparkle with interests and curiosity...there must be something behind those eyes.

And now they’re staring at you.

“Professor?” You feel unease, breaking the long silence that felt like forever.

“Is that for your essay or is that for me?”

Your heart either stopped beating or was beating at an unnatural rate, you opened your mouth to find yourself stuttering, “I...this...the essay...sorry?”

She did not respond, but her eyes now burning with a wanton look.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Your voice is shaking.

“Oh yes you do.” She says, stopping the screen share of your essay so that you could see her and only her——eyes filled with mysterious lust, a smirk emerged on her face.

“You thought you muted yourself, didn’t you? Or did you think those filthy little noises that your pretty mouth was making could escape my ear? But I’ve heard them all, even those wet noises coming not from your mouth but from somewhere else. And did you think I didn’t notice you, looking like you’re having too much fun biting your lips with watery eyes in my lectures?”

Her stare was intense, burning you to the ground, to your knees, stripping you bare and making all your attempts to act decent seem useless and pathetic.

“You are quite a daring one, but a bashful one at the same time. How interesting.”

“‘To be used as you use your dog’...now look up and answer this: is that what you want from me?”

(To be continued.)

[ssa-pretty-boy]

Love and Thunder

Summary: When a thunderstorm rolls in and the power goes out what will Spencer and his girlfriend do to pass the time?

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smuttttttt - fingering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT KIDS), penetrative sex

——

The smell of coming rain had been in the air for days. So when dark clouds rolled in, threatening to open up at any given moment, no one really gave it a second thought.  But as the day progressed the normal hustle and bustle of the city grew into something more palpable, its people trying to get indoors before the torrential down pour that was sure to come. 

Spencer Reid was no exception. Though there was something about a good thunderstorm that he found extremely relaxing, he didn’t want to be caught outside in one. Like the rest of the city’s inhabitants he was speed walking down the concrete sidewalks, eternally grateful that his apartment was only a couple of blocks away from his metro stop. 

He managed to make it into the lobby of his building just as the first drops of rain started to sprinkle down. With a grateful sigh, he shucked off his rain coat as he watched the droplets slide down the glass door. The drizzle was slow and lazy, honestly more like a fine mist than true rain. Maybe this was just going to be an average summer rain shower after all.

Taking the stairs two at a time up to the fourth floor, he made it to the last landing with an astonishing amount of grace. For someone who was as uncoordinated as Spencer tended to be, it was a surprise even to himself he made it without so much as stumbling. He unlocked the door and was greeted with the sound of pots and pans clinking together coming from the kitchen. Rounding the corner into his tiny kitchen he saw Y/N at the stove, stirring what smelt like pasta sauce with one hand and holding an open book up to her face with the other. She was mouthing the words as she read and Spencer smiled, he found it incredibly endearing and told her as much as he left his satchel and raincoat on the small table tucked into the corner of the room.

Y/N laughed, glancing up over the top of her book with a warm smile as he came over to her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and settled his chin on the top of her head. “Wasn’t expecting you home yet.”

The book forgotten, she tossed it to the counter and leaned back into him, tilting her head up to place a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw. “I was just extra help today so I got cut loose early because of the storm.”

He hummed again, certainly not complaining that his girlfriend was home. “What are you making?”

She took the wooden spoon out of the pot and held it up to Spencer’s mouth for him to taste, smiling when he groaned and nodded his approval. “My mom sent me a new recipe for a creole Alfredo sauce. Everything else is ready so I just have to it throw in and let it simmer for a few minutes. Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll start setting the table.”

——

When Spencer and Y/N were in each other’s company, they had a habit of blocking out the rest of the world. Spencer had always thought it sounded lame and cheesy when he heard couples say such things but when he met Y/N he understood it instantly. They were just so comfortable around each other, so…compatible, that nothing else mattered to them as long as the other was happy. Especially when they were in the comfort of their own home. 

They had been so wrapped up in each other, in fact, that they failed to notice the changing atmosphere outside. It wasn’t until they settled into bed for the night, when Spencer finally flipped on the TV and mindlessly turned to the weather channel in hopes of seeing a sunny forecast for the following day, that he realized just how intense this storm was going to get. So much for that picnic in the park with Derek, Savannah, and Hank they’d so been looking forward to. Spencer studied the swirling diagram of colors, noting that area which he and his girlfriend called home was already far into the red and it didn’t look like they would be in the green any time soon.

A flash of lightening brought his attention away from the television and towards the window on Y/N’s side of the bed. Pushing the thick duvet back, Spencer climbed from the warmth of the bed and padded towards the window. He reached out with a little hesitance and pulled the curtains back, eyes widening at what he saw on the other side of the glass. Several of the small trees lining the street had been blown over, the street itself in front of the building was flooded, and a few blocks away it looked as though the power had gone out. 

“It’s nasty out there,” he mumbled more to himself than Y/N. She was so preoccupied with painting her toenails, a shade of deep red that Spencer secretly found incredibly sexy, that she hadn’t even noticed him get out of bed to walk over to the window. 

“Is it?” She wasn’t really paying him any mind as she finished painting her left pink toe, the very tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips in concatenation as she did so.

He mumbled a soft ‘yeah’ as he sat down in front of her. Grinning at him, Y/N leaned back against the headboard of the bed and screwed the cap back onto her nail polish before tossing it into the small canvas bag sitting on her bedside table. 

“You like?” The question was rhetorical, she knew how much he liked the color on her and maybe she picked out specially for that reason. She lifted her foot just in front of his face and wiggled her toes to show off the color of the polish. 

Smirking at her, Spencer grabbed ahold of her ankle and pulled her down the bed closer to him, laughing at the squeal that the action got from her. Holding her foot up to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to each toe before slowly beginning to kiss up her foot to her calve then her thigh, all the way up to her waiting lips. “I fucking love it.” 

He let put a playful growl as he dove into the crook of her neck and began to place sloppy wet kisses all over the exposed skin, his fingers ghosting over her sides to start tickling her relentlessly. Her giggles ringing out through the small bedroom were like the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. Their playful fun was cut short though by a bright flash of lightening that washed the room in a bluish hue, both of their head snapping towards the window. Holding his breath, Spencer began to count in anticipation for the clap of thunder that was sure to come. 

1…

2…

3…

4…

There was the deafening crack of thunder he had been waiting on. It sounded like it was directly over head, the very walls of the building seeming to quake. Y/N let out a squeak, clutching onto Spencer’s biceps for dear life as she hid her face in his chest. 

Trying to lighten the mood however he could, he laughed and and pulled back to look at her face. “It’s alright, sweet girl. Just a little thunder and lightning, nothing to be scared of. Well, there’s no need to be afraid of thunder, anyway, seeing as though its really just a sound caused by the lightning. Lightning, on the other hand, can be quite dangerous if-”

With a playful swat to his chest, she silenced him. “As much as I usually love your facts and tangents, that one really didn’t help. Like at all. You know how I am about bad weather! It just freaks me out a little." She admitted the last bit sheepishly, no matter how many times he assured her she had no reason to be embarrassed by her fear of storms, she still hated to admit it. Everyone is afraid of something, he always told her. 

Brown eyes flashing, he looked down at her with a smirk before leaning back back down and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before working his way to her jaw.

“Well then, why don’t we do something to take you mind off of it, hm?” He was kissing her throat again as he suggested it, pressing the words into the column of her neck with wet, open mouthed kisses. Her head was already swimming, thoughts foggy as his mouth trailed lower, pulling at the collar of her shirt to get access to her collar bones now. The only response she was able to supply him with was a mumbled “mhm” and a shuddering gasp as his cold hands slipped under her T-shirt to find her bare chest, much more purposeful than the playful tickling had been. His thumbs ghosted over her nipples and she arched into touch, moaning when he pinched the hardening peaks between his thumbs and forefingers.

Just as he pulled the old Caltech shirt off of her, the lamps on either side of the bed along with the TV began to flicker. “Shit,” he cursed as he rolled off of her. ���The power is probably about to go.”

Spencer stood from the bed and grabbed his phone from the bedside table just as the electricity flickered off entirely. Switching on the flashlight that was built into his phone, he shone it into Y/N’s face. She squinted into the light, holding up her hands to shield her eyes from the blinding brightness. “I’m going to go get some candles and a lighter. Stay in here, bubs.” 

Quickly making his way down the dark hallway, Spencer headed for the hoard of scented candles he knew Y/N had stashed in the linen closet. He scanned the shelves, and spied the decorative basket tucked into the corner of the top shelf. Honestly, he didn’t even want to know how Y/N had managed to get up there. Even for as tall as he was, he had to stand on his tip-toes to reach it.

He pulled the basket down and rummaged through it, crinkling his nose at a few of the names… Pink Sand, Midnight Cashmere, Home Sweet Home. Why did they all have to have weird names? Why couldn’t they just be named what they were supposed to smell like? Eventually he gave up on trying to find normal ones, just deciding to take the entire basket before going to the kitchen to retrieve a lighter from the junk drawer under the microwave. 

Once back in their bedroom, Spencer began to scatter the candles all over the small space, lighting them as he went. Before long the entire room was aglow with a soft, flickering light. After finally lighting the last few, he tossed the lighter down onto the dresser before going to flop onto the bed next to Y/N. 

Still half naked, she was sitting up with her knees pulled her to chest and staring absentmindedly out of the window. She was too busy worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and watching the rain slap against the glass to pay the slightest bit of attention to Spencer. So he turned onto his side and took the opportunity to watch her.

Right arm propping his head up, he shamelessly let his eyes rake over her from the top of her head all the way to the tips her toes. On their fifth date, he’d noted that candle light made her look ten times as gorgeous as she already was. The tiny flickering flames illuminated her features in ways a light bulb or even the sun failed do. Every date night he had planned since usually involved a lot of candles for that very reason. 

Not being able to resist the temptation any longer, Spencer reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand. Y/N turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss to the center of it. Their eyes locked and Spencer swore he felt his heart swell in his chest as she stared down at him with what could only be called adoration. It was funny how time seemed to stop completely when she looked at him like that. Like he hung the stars and the moon in the sky just for her. It made him feel like he could fly. 

She moved to lie down facing him, so close that their noses were just centimeters apart, and ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders. The muscles of his arms tensed in the wake of her touch and she batted her lashes up him, feigning total innocence at her actions as his pupils blew wide. Her hands slid back down his chest, her nails pressing into him just hard enough to leave faint red lines in their wake. “I think we were doing something a minute ago.”

“Yeah, I think we were.” His words were husky as he cupped her cheeks in his hands again and leaned in to kiss her. Winding her arms around his neck, she pulled him on top of her and he fell to rest perfectly between her thighs.

One of his hands slipped into her hair and gripped tightly at the roots, snapping her head back so that he could have even more access to her throat and jaw. A wanton moan accompanied the sharp sting of her nails raking over his shoulders when he bit down hard enough to bruise. He bit and sucked relentlessly at her pulse point, fully intending to give her a rather spectacular hickey to sport the next day at work. When he pulled away to inspect his work he smirked at the mark, his thumb brushing over it with just enough pressure to have her whimpering.

Becoming desperate for some sort of relief from the growing tension between her legs, she started grinding herself down onto Spencer’s thigh. The cocky bastard was smirking down at her as his iron grip forced her hips back down onto the mattress. She was already so blissed out she didn’t even realize his hands had left her neck and hair. “Be patient, princess.”

The use of the pet name had her eyes fluttering shut, the asshole knew the effect it had on her and used it to his advantage every change he got. Kissing her swollen lips once more, he pulled away and sat back on his calves to drink in the sight of her; pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen. When she looked like this, all flustered just from his touches and kisses, Spencer could barely control himself. Before going to crawl back over her, he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and quickly tugged it over his head before tossing it to join her’s on the floor. 

Y/N sat up on her knees, meeting him in the middle of the bed, to kiss him. It was feverish and sloppy, their teeth clashing and nipping at each other’s lips. Both were breathless when they finally parted, heads swimming from the lack of oxygen.  

Placing a firm hand on her chest, Spencer pushed her back to lie back down on the bed. Hovering over her again, he dipped his head down to her chest and took her one of her nipples into his mouth. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he bit down and tugged at it. He released her after a moment and laved over the bite marks with his tongue before he moved to her other breast. She arched up into his touch, hands tangling in his hair as he continued to lavish her chest with attention. 

“I love your tits,” he told her shamelessly, placing a kiss on each raw nipple before licking up the valley between them.

Despite the filthiness of the words and actions, she snorted out a laugh and shoved his head away from her chest. He was laughing as he pulled away, “I do though!”

“I know you do. And I love your cock but I would really love if it were inside me right now.” She reached down and started palming him through his pajama pants to emphasize her point.

“Remember what I said about having p-patience?” He choked on the words as she gripped him tighter, his head dropping forward onto her shoulder as he shuddered. When he lifted his head back up his cheeks were flushed and his pupils had blown so wide there was only a thin ring of honey brown surrounding them.

He sat back and hooked his fingers into the waist band of her sleep shorts and underwear and jerked them down her legs. When she was completely naked under him, he cupped her sex and practically growled,“I want to play a little first.” 

The words alone were enough to have her moaning and bucking up into his hand, aching for some sort of friction. Spencer ran his middle finger up her slit, gathering her arousal on the digit before bringing it up to her mouth. Without having to be told, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, taking his finger in her mouth and moaning at the taste of herself as she sucked it clean. 

She released him with a soft ‘pop’ and he instantly brought his hand back down to her core. He ran the same finger up her slit again, ghosting over her clit with a few slow, lazy circles this time. Y/N gasped, her hands flying to Spencer’s biceps as he slowly slid the offending digit into her and began to pump it in and out of her. 

She moaned out, arching her back off the bed as he started to pick up the pace, curling it up to perfectly stroke against her front wall each time. “More.” It came out as more of a breathless moan than an actual word but Spencer understood her none the less. “Gimme another one, Spence.”

“So fucking needy, aren’t you?” Despite the comment he complied with her request  instantly. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as he slipped another long, nimble finger into her aching heat, not even bothering to give her a chance to acclimate to the slight stretch. Spencer’s fingers were fucking into her at a relentless pace, still curling them at just the right angle to have her seeing stars. She had asked for more and damn if he wasn’t delivering.

She was slack jawed as her eyes were rolled back in her head and god damn he had never been happier to have an eidetic memory. The look on her face was going to be what got him off when he was in those cold, lonely hotel rooms across the country. 

“Ah god,” she was panting now, her chest heaving as she chased after her high. “Please don’t stop. Please. Please. Please, Spence.”

He added his thumb to her clit and started pressing small, tight circles to the swollen bundle of nerves. A lewd moan ripped from her throat as her hips bucked up into his hand, much to Spencer’s amusement. With a deep chuckle, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Please what, princess? Use your words.”

A delicious warmth started to settle in her belly as she clenched around around his fingers and Spencer had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at the tightness. “Please let me cum. Please,” she was begging, her voice raw and breathless. And he would be lying through his fucking teeth if he said it didn’t go straight to his cock. He hummed and sped up his fingers, still making sure to curl upward with each thrust. 

Stars flashed in front of her eyes as that warmth in her belly burst into a full blown flame, the fire licking up her body from her toes all the way to her head. Her nails dug into Spencer’s tensed biceps as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her, milking her high for all it was worth. Even as the pleasure started to ebb, he kept up his ministrations to the point where her mewling moans turned into whimpers. She was spasming around his fingers, her walls gripping so tightly around him that he couldn’t help the bucking of his hips into the mattress below them.

“S-Spencer,” she moaned, her hands finally finding his and trying to shove him away. She could already feel another orgasm building, riding the tails of the aftershocks from the first. 

“C’mon,” he purred. “You can do it, baby. Give me another one.”

Her skin felt like it was on fire as her toe curling second orgasm hit her. She was trembling as Spencer worked her through it, his fingers slowing and eventually pulling away from her aching pussy altogether. Another lewd moan was the only sound she could manage at the loss of contact.

“You did so good, princess,” he mumbled as he pressed sweet kisses to the side of her face while she came back down to earth. “You took my fingers so well. Think you can handle my cock now, baby?”

Bleary eyes fluttered open to look up at him and she nodded slowly. Spencer smirked down at her and made quick work of wiggling out of his pajama pants. Y/N reached down to take him in her hand but he swatted her away. His cock was aching and he knew if she took him in her very capable hands he wouldn’t last long at all. “Trust me baby, I’m good to go.”

Grabbing her by her forearm, Spencer hauled her up to sit on her knees before climbing back on the bed behind her. Still fucked out and pliable, she didn’t fight it when he put a firm hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her face down into the mattress. With one hand firmly planted on her hip and the other gripping his dick, he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly pushed in. 

Every nerve ending in her body felt like it was a live wire; everywhere he touched he left fire in his wake. She was a mewling mess beneath him as he set a slow but purposeful pace, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into her. There were sure to be finger shaped bruises along her hips in the morning but she didn’t care, couldn’t care as he started pounding into her like his only purpose in life was to fuck her into sweet, sweet oblivion.

“Fuck,” he panted, “you feel so fucking good, baby. So tight and warm.”

The sound of skin slapping and Y/N moans filled the room as he settled into a quick and brutal rhythm, his hips snapping forward even harder. One of his hands slid up her back and gripped onto the back of her neck, hauling her back to rest against his chest. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, her eyes screwing shut at the deeper angle the position allowed. He was so deep and she swore she could feel him in her belly when he took her this way. 

“Nu-huh,” he breathed in her ear, thrusts not faltering in the slightest. The hand on the back of her neck came to grip her jaw and turn her head towards the mirror resting on the dresser directly across from the bed. “I want you to watch yourself get wrecked.”

Her eyes fluttered open and looked at her reflection in the mirror, moaning at what she saw staring back at her. The hand he had on her hip slid around her and dipped down to spread her open so they could better see where he was fucking into her. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he told her, his voice husky and commanding. She did as she was told, sticking her fingers in her mouth first to wet them with her tongue before bringing them down to her clit and swirling them in small, quick circles. With a particularly sharp thrust Y/N was cumming again, crying out as her vision went completely white this time around. 

Her walls clamped down around his cock like a vice and Spencer’s head dropped to her shoulder as he groaned, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. “S-Shit. I’m right behind you, baby, just hold on.”

A couple of thrusts later he was cumming, groaning out a string of curses as he spilled into her. His arms around her waist were the only thing keeping her upright as they caught their breath. As gently as he could manage, he pulled out of her and her lie down before collapsing to the mattress beside her.

After a few minutes of basking in their afterglow, Spencer pressed a kiss to the crown of Y/N’s head before he got out of the bed to get a washcloth to clean her up. As he turned off the faucet he realized there was a sudden lack of howling wind and pouring rain. Making his way back into the bedroom, he peeked out the window before returning to bed.

“It stopped storming,” he mused as he gently brought the warm washcloth up between Y/N’s legs.

She winced at the sensation but was otherwise quiet for a moment before admitting, “Honestly, I had forgotten it was even storming in the first place.”

Mission accomplished then, Spencer thought to himself with a soft chuckle as he tossed the washcloth in the hamper next to the dresser. He settled back down on the bed with her, pulling her back to him. He had just about drifted off to sleep when Y/N started to giggle uncontrollably. He peaked an eye open to look down at her as her shoulders started to shake from the fit of laughter.  

“God, the neighbors probably thought we were making a porno.” She was still laughing as she said it but knew fully well that the elderly couple next door probably did hear them. And would no doubt make comments about it the next time they ran into each other in the stairwell. 

A wicked grin took over his face as he looked down at her and laughed, “Now there’s an idea.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again -3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

The first thing Peter heard when he entered your apartment was shouting. You looked disappointed as you locked the door behind you and put your keys in a bowl next to door.

“Sorry. That’s my dad.” You apologized. “He claims using his “lawyer voice” is the only way he can get clients to listen.”

“It’s fine.” Peter assured you. “As long as he doesn’t use that voice on me.”

“Not unless your skirt is too short or you got a grade below a 90.” You said through a tight smile as you dropped your backpack on a kitchen stool. He uncomfortably shouldered his, unsure of if he should do the same.

“You can put your bag down. Put it next to mine so they can talk.” You raised your eyebrows suggestively. Peter shook his head as he laughed at your dumb joke and put his backpack on the stool next to yours.

“What are the gonna talk about?” He played along and you thought about it.

“Yours is probably telling my backpack about how scared he is since he heard your last five bags disappeared.” You whispered dramatically and Peter scoffed.

“I just lose them a lot, okay? I can’t believe you noticed that.” He mumbled. He did lose his backpack a lot when he had to ditch it for Spider-Man duties, he just never thought you’d notice that he always had a different bag.

“Sometimes I see things when I’m not applying lipgloss or brushing my hair.” You said through a big, fake smile and Peter got the hint.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He told you. “I know you do other things. Like paint, apparently.”

You looked at a small canvas hung on the wall together. It was a painting of squidward on a yellow background with your name at the bottom. You looked at it proudly and adjusted it so it wasn’t crooked.

“I hung that up there two years ago and my parents still haven’t noticed.” You laughed, but Peter didn’t find it very funny. “I think it’s kinda of pretty.”

“It’s lovely. You’ll have to make me one someday.” He said as he gazed at you. You seemed different now that you weren’t at school. You weren’t standing as straight and finally looked relaxed.

“You want me to paint a bunch of dicks on your ceiling?” You asked and he almost choked on his saliva.

“Why would you do that?” He asked in bewilderment.

“It was a Michelangelo joke, ciccino.” You said an unexpectedly authentic Italian accent.

“Oh. Um, pizza spaghetti spicy meatball to you too.” He muttered and you laughed loudly. He looked at you quizzically, never having heard you laugh like that before. It was never that loud or cheerful. You noticed his staring and covered your mouth in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly and he shook his head.

“Don’t be.” He said softly. “It was nice to hear.”

“Come on. I’ll give you the rest of the tour.” You took Peters hand and lead him to a room at the end of the hall. “This is my bedroom. I’m sorry I don’t have Yoda on my sheets. I hope daisies will do.”

MJ’s words echoed in Peters mind when you didn’t let go of his hand. He blinked a few times as he looked around your room. He’d imagined what it might look like a few times, as he did with a most people. He was pretty sure Flash lived in a dirt hole outside of a SuperCuts. Whatever he imagined your room would look like, the reality was better. But as he looked closer, he noticed an absence of photos with friends or mementos from school. It was almost like your popularity started and ended on school property.

“Your sheets are fine. It’s smells like you in here.” He said without thinking. “Was that the creepiest thing I could’ve possibly said?”

“Nah. A boy in my Econ class told me he wanted to use my hair as a towel once. You’re gonna have to try harder to creep me out.” You let go of his hand and smoothed your skirt before sitting on your bed. Peter stood awkwardly near the door until he found the words to say. He didn’t want to take another step into your room at risk of ruining the wholesome atmosphere.

“Your hair looks soft and all, but I don’t think it’d be very absorbent.” He said finally and watched your face for a reaction.

“Right? Some people are so dumb.” You joked and he felt himself ease up. He took a few steps toward the center of your room and noticed a guitar leaning again your dresser.

“Do you play?” He asked curiously and you nodded. You got up and walked over to the guitar, fingering the strings as a soft melody played.

“A little. I can strum along time a few songs.” You told him. He joined you next to the guitar and touched the neck.

“Thats still something.” He assured you. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Theres a lot you don’t know about me, Peter.” You quipped and stopped touching the strings.

“Good thing I love to learn.” He replied and you picked up the guitar.

“What’s your favorite song?” You asked and played him an energetic riff.

“You’re gonna laugh.” He hesitated to tell you.

“I would never laugh at you.” You promised.

“It’s Hey there Delilah. My mom used to sing it when she made dinner.” He admitted for the first time to another human being. He and Ned didn’t cover vulnerable topics, so he kept personal stuff to himself. It was hard to keep it in sometimes, but he never felt like he had another choice until now. I

“That’s a great song. She had good taste.” You said softly. You had heard about his parents passing from MJ when you asked her about the cute boy who sat at her lunch table a week earlier. You didn’t expect him to open about it so soon, but you were glad he did.

“Yeah, she did.” Peter agreed. He never expected to be talking about this with you, but it felt good to get off his chest.

“What was she like?” You wondered as you fingered the melody to Marry Me, Archie.

“Amazing. We used to do crossword puzzles together and she would finish hers before I read my second clue. And she always had something in the oven. It made the house really hot in the summer but my dad and I didn’t mind. We were happy as long as she was.” He reminisced. You listened intently to him as you played the song softly.

“What would she make?” You asked him.

“Pretty much everything.” He replied. “Her favorite was chocolate chip cookies. But from scratch, not a package.”

“Were they good?”

“They were so good.” He sighed happily. “She used to put extra chocolate chips on as the cooled down. I miss those cookies.”

You didn’t say anything but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. He knew you were listening, and that’s all that mattered. His eyes wandered to your bookshelf which was bare of books except for one.

“Charlottes Web?” He raised an eyebrow as he picked up the book and flipped through it.

“It’s my favorite book.” You told him. He was leaning a lot about you just from being in your room.

“Could’ve fooled me. It looks brand new.” He held it up for you to see.

“I only read it one time. When I was younger.” You shrugged and put the guitar down.

“But it’s your favorite?” He wondered.

“The ending makes me sad. I remember the story and how it made me feel, and that makes it my favorite.” You half smiled. “I just can’t read it anymore because-“

“It makes you sad.” He understood. “That’s cute.”

“You’re cute.” You nodded your head at him and blew him a kiss, like you were cat calling him. He looked away bashfully and brushed it off. “I’m serious. I really like this color on you.”

“So I’ve been told.” He mumbled shyly. “Thank you for the candy, by the way.”

“Well I had to pay you back for the gogurt.” You teased. “Should we get going?”

“Going?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“To the mall. For a dress. Like we agreed.” You said slowly and he remembered why he was at your house in the first place.

“Right.” He nodded curtly. “Let’s go.”

~

“How’s this?” You opened the dressing room curtain and stepped out in a short maroon dress. Peters eyes lit up at the sight of you until he realized something.

“Isn’t that the same dress you just had on?” He asked.

“No. That was burgundy. This is maroon.” You said like it was obvious and it went right over Peters head.

“You look great.” He complimented, and he meant it.

“You said that about the last three.” You whined and looked at yourself in the mirror. You adjusted the dress nervously and decided you hated it.

“Yeah, but you do this crazy thing where you’re super pretty and look good in everything, so.” Peter shrugged and you bit back a smile.

“Peter Parker with the flirtatious banter. We love to see it.” You winked, something he was coming to see you did a lot, and went back into the dressing room. You came out a minute later in a long white dress.

“What do you think about this one?” You asked for his opinion as you smoothed the dress down.

“Oh my God. You look like Princess Leia when she - I’m gonna stop talking now.” He interrupted himself before he said something uncool.

“You don’t have to hide who you are from me, Peter. If you want to make a Star Trek reference, I want to hear it.” You folded your arms and admired the dress in the mirror.

“Okay.” He obeyed. “And it’s Star Wars. Star Trek is different.”

“Oh. Which one has the bunnies playing basketball?” You pursed your lips as you looked over your shoulder at the dress.

“That’s Space Jam.” He couldn’t even hide his attitude. “That’s not even-“

He cut himself off when he noticed the playful smile on your face.

“You’re messing with me.” He realized and you nodded.

“You’re cute when you’re riled up.” You shrugged a shoulder and disappeared back into the dressing room.

“How’s this?” You reappeared in a little black dress. It had a sheer layer over the mini skirt that was short in the front and longer in the back. You looked beautiful, to say the least. Like the person who designed the dress made it with you in mind. Peters eyes slowly trailed down the dress and a smile tugged at his lips.

“You know the scene in Mean Girls when Aaron sees the picture of Cady as a little girl on top of an elephant and smiles? And like, that happy song with guitars plays in the background?” He asked you and you looked confused.

“I think so, yeah.” You shrugged.

“That’s how that dress makes me feel.” He confessed and you tilted your head.

“Like I’m a child riding an elephant?”

“Like I’m seeing you for the first time.” He replied. “The real you, anyway. Again, not trying to sound like a stalker, but I’ve looked at you a lot over the last four years. But this feels like the first time I’ve ever really looked at you. You look - - you look happy.”

“Do I not normally look happy?” You asked quietly, turning to look at your face in the mirror.

“You have a sadness to you.” Peter admitted and your head whipped to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying that.”

“No, it’s okay. No ones ever honest with me.” You were quiet for a moment following the confession. “What else do you see?”

“I see a really beautiful girl.” Peter answered honestly. He thought he was complimenting you, but you looked annoyed with the answer. He remembered what MJ said about you hating being watched and took that into consideration as he formulated his answer.

“I also see someone who’s smart and can solve a rubix cube in under a minute. I see someone who’s funny, but never at the expense of someone else. Someone who remembers your favorite candy and helps you glue a LEGO lamp together after school. And I see someone who would pretend to be my girlfriend to save me from a bully. That’s what I see.” Peter recited. You looked at him for a moment before taking a seat beside him. You looked like you were searching for the words to say, so Peter kept silent.

“We need to get you a tie to match my dress.” You said finally. You gave him a soft smile and took the hand that was gripping the arm of his chair. “Thank you.”

“For?” He wondered what he had done to warrant a thank you.

“For everything you said. No ones ever known me that well before. No one ever wanted to.” Your voice wavered and Peter thought he could see tears in your eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to.” He confessed. “And somehow, I’m getting the chance. I still worry that I’m gonna wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“What?” Your expression changed from appreciative to annoyed too quickly for Peters liking. “Why?”

“Because girls like you don’t hang out with guys like me.” He shrugged like it was simply. You hastily got out of your chair and Peter feared he had said the wrong thing.

“Says who?” You asked sharply as you folded your arms. He was positive now he had said the wrong thing.

“Says everybody.” He said weakly.

“Fuck everybody.” You snapped and Peter jumped a little in his seat. “You are better company than anyone one of those sentient bratz dolls at my lunch table. I’ve had more fun with you these past two days than I have in four years with them. I don’t care what everybody says because I like hanging out with you. So I don’t want to hear anymore of this status talk. I’m just a person, Peter.”

“An extremely popular person. And your reputation would plummet if you were caught hanging out with an extremely unpopular person, like myself.” He tried to explain himself as he got out of his seat but it only made you angrier.

“Caught? Like I’m committing a crime just for being seen with you?” You laughed bitterly. “I don’t know who instilled in you that I’m some deity that no one can talk to, but it’s not true. I thought you understood that.” You said in disappointment before storming into the dressing room and swiping the curtain shut.

“Y/n- daisy wait. Wait.” He pressed himself against the doorframe and sighed. “I do understand that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on a pedestal like that. I know you’re just a person.”

He heard you sniffle behind the curtain and his heart broke when his worst fear had come to light.

He had made you cry.

“You don’t get it, Peter.” You said quietly through the curtain. “Everyone think I’m a stuck up snob or a perfect, plastic doll. And no one cares to get to know the truth. They just see what the want to see. I want them to see me the way you do.”

“Maybe they don’t deserve to see that. Daisy, you are this exceptionally phenomenal force of nature.” He promised as he tried to make amends. “You hold a power that their tiny minds could never understand. Forgive them. They’re slow.”

He smiled in relief when he heard a laugh from the other side of the curtain.

“Now that I have you laughing again, will you come out?” He pleaded.

“I’ll think about it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“For the record, I liked you from the first day of freshman year. Before you were popular.” He admitted to someone other than Ned for the first time.

“Didn’t my dad almost hit you with his car?” You asked as you opened the curtain just enough so he could see you.

“Yes.” He stuttered, surprised that his apology worked. “But I was jay walking so that’s on me. And as I waited for my heart to start beating again after nearly colliding with your dads Toyota Camry, I looked up and saw you crying.”

“I thought he killed you.” You defended your actions.

“But he didn’t.” Peter smiled easily. “And now we’re talking through a curtain because we’re fake dating and I can see your bra strap. What a wonderful world.”

You laughed loudly again, a laugh he was sure only he got to hear.

“Come in here.” You grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him into the dressing room. His knees weakened at the sight of you in just a bra and panties so he averted his eyes to the ceiling and counted to ten in his head.

“I don’t mean to worry you but I’m about to die, so do with that what you will.” Peter wheezed as he focused on the ceiling tiles.

“Relax. Just turn around.” You ordered and he obeyed. He turned around and tried to ignore the sounds of you getting dressed. “Okay. You can look now. You were saying?”

“I’m saying I liked you before you were the queen of Midtown Tech.” He repeated as he put his hands on your shoulders. “I liked you when you were just the girl who cried on the first day of school because her dad almost turned me into a skinny white boy pizza. I never thought I was gonna be good enough to talk to you. That’s why I’m worried I’m gonna wake up from this. Because it’s something I’ve wanted for so long.”

“You are good enough. You are so good enough.” You laughed sadly and stepped closer to him. “You’re the only one in this school who treats me like an actual person. I’m sorry I got defensive. It’s just because I’ve been wanting this for a long time too.”

“Tell you what.” Peter started. “You’re gonna buy that black dress and I’m gonna buy a tie to match. And I swear, I will never make you feel like this again. I never meant to make you cry, daisy. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You said sincerely. “I don’t get those a lot.”

“Then you better start getting used to it because I make a lot of mistakes.” Peter joked and your body shook as you laughed.

“I look forward to what you can come up with.” You smiled softly.

“Come on. People are gonna think you’re jumping on my skeleton.” Peter said as he opened the curtain and walked out.

“Okay.” You followed him out. “Wait, what?”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention @wendaiii @dorbiksbitch @t-monosapiens-h @badhollandfluff @thisisthebiplace @silteplaittais-toi @seasidecrowbar @spideygirl2003 @5-seconds-of-mendes​ @bitchylittleredhead​ @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​ @everydaymj​ @write-from-the-heart​ @blackpetalsmeandeath​ @electraheart-3174​ @shawni-h​ @peterparkoure​ @sleepythighsweat @steebbb @traveleraroundsworld @averyfosterthoughts

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so this chapter doesn't exactly have a hay bale maze but it has something even better :)

***

Being a legal consultant is surprisingly easy.

Years of studying business law in order to take down big corporations in the courtroom is now being used to help a big corporation— Nesta wants to be disgusted at the state of her morals. Fortunately for her, all the issues that have come across her desk so far are minor negotiation matters. The way Night Court Inc. is run is virtually perfect, and she almost hopes a blatant lawsuit drops into her lap just so she can give Rhysand and his sycophantic workers hell.

Though Nesta knows better than to dream big. This is essentially busy work that Night Court’s actual lawyers don't have time to do, but she's grateful for it either way. She's grateful for the man who got her this job even more.

When her car finally gets back from the auto shop one sunny November morning, Cassian suggests they go out to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Nesta says. “Not having to rely on you for rides anymore?”

“Exactly that.” Cassian grins and leans his elbow against the kitchen counter. “There’s a fall festival an hour north of here that pops up every year. There's good food and hot cider. Let’s go.” He nudges her excitedly.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning this,” she accuses.

“I go every year,” he shrugs. “Come on, we have the whole day ahead of us.”

He makes pleading puppy eyes that have absolutely no effect on Nesta, but she doesn't want to hurt his ego by letting him know that.

There is nothing appealing to her about going out into the cold and doing autumn-related activities, so she surprises herself and Cassian both when she agrees to go. He rewards her with a wide smile and tells her to get ready.

Nesta feels oddly giddy afterward. She can't recognize the feeling, so she tamps down on it while she gets dressed and braids her hair.

Outside, her burgeoning smile drops when she sees Cassian getting the truck started. “I thought the point of this was that we could use my car now.” She gestures to her beat up blue sedan, a sad little thing parked next to Cassian’s fancy truck.

“Nes, if I thought your car could go anywhere near a mountain road without falling to pieces, I would get in it without hesitation.”

It's as close to apologetic sympathy as she’ll get from him, so she only grumbles a little before climbing into the passenger seat she's gotten all too familiar with.

The door slams as Cassian gets in the driver’s seat, and something on the dashboard catches Nesta’s attention. Reaching out, she picks up one of her coloring books and her zipper bag full of markers and pencils.

She glances at Cassian. “Is this for me?”

He looks up from where he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, I just picked it up on my way out. Cell signal gets spotty the closer we get to the mountains, so you might get bored.”

Nesta looks down at the coloring book she's clutching, surprised.

“Did you want anything else before we leave?” Cassian says. “I can run inside and pick up some books.”

“No— no, this is good,” she says softly. She flips the page open to a fresh landscape scene, black on white lines staring back at her. “Thank you.”

She unzips her pencil bag with a new reverence, barely noticing as they pull out of the driveway and head for the highway leading out of town.

Nesta is intent on her coloring the entire ride, falling far too easily into that little bubble of her own mind where she forgets that other things and people exist. Cassian, unlike most people, doesn't seem to mind this. He's content with driving in the quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the radio and the scratch of Nesta’s pencils.

She’s trying to get the blue shades of the lake just right when she feels the truck start to slow, and she looks up to see that they're in some kind of parking lot. Ahead, a market-carnival setup sits at the base of the mountains, and it sprawls as far as her eyes can see. “We’re here already?”

“Yeah.” Cassian glances at her hesitantly. “Is it lame?” He gestures to the autumn-themed affair, as if he’ll turn around and drive them right back home if it isn't to Nesta’s liking.

Nesta can’t pay the festival any attention yet. “I’m not done with this picture yet,” she says simply. She holds it up for Cassian to see, even though he probably can't tell that the mostly-completed picture is still missing a couple of details.

He just says, “We’ll wait till you're finished, then.”

She brightens with relief, and takes her time adjusting the colors of the landscape to her liking. As soon as she's satisfied with what she has, though, she throws her pencils and book down like they're on fire and grabs her coat. “Let's go,” she demands.

If Cassian is surprised at her sudden change of pace, he hides it well and follows Nesta onto the fairground. “Slow down,” he calls for her.

Perhaps the fall season isn't terrible, Nesta thinks as they buy warm candied apples. The air smells nice and the weather is brisk and Cassian stands so close to her that she never quite gets cold.

It feels almost like a date.

Nesta glances at Cassian from the corner of her eye as she chews on her apple. Wind ruffles his hair and his brown cheeks are flushed red, but he looks content. It's too bad they're just friends, because this would have been a nice date.

She has to stop her train of thought before she gets distracted by how Cassian’s hand isn't holding anything, and how her hand isn't holding anything, and maybe their hands should—

She makes a fist with her free hand and shoves it into her coat pocket. This is why she doesn't usually have friends, she remembers— because she can never stop hungering for more.

Nesta and Cassian’s not-date is spent with Cassian throwing his money at every other thing he sees on sale, and Nesta biting her tongue at the unnecessary waste of it all.

“Eight dollars for a cup of cider? Come on, you're being scammed.” Nesta pulls at his elbow, trying to lead him away from the drinks stand.

“But it comes in one of those cute little jars,” Cassian protests as he’s pulled away.

There’s a laughably small hay-bale maze that they complete in less than three minutes, thanks to Cassian being tall enough to see over the hay bales. Then there’s a ferris wheel that Nesta adamantly refuses to get onto, regardless of how high it goes or not. And then, without either of them noticing, the sun starts slipping behind the mountains.

With her arms full of bags of snacks and random knickknacks that she’ll never need in her life, Nesta finds herself back in the market area.

There’s a painting at an art stand that has caught her attention. Something about the brush strokes and choice of color palette… it reminds her of Feyre’s art style. Amateur, but warm and comforting, clearly made with love and dedication. She approaches the elder salesman carefully, only wanting a closer look at the piece.

It’s of a glittering forest in the peak of autumn, ruby and flame-colored leaves littering the scene. An unwalked pathway cuts through the scene, and a longing Nesta can’t place swells in her stomach.

“My daughter painted this one,” the salesman says to her, pride peeking through his voice. She glances up at the kind-faced man. “Only this one?” she asks. The rest of the paintings don’t have the same art style, Feyre’s style.

“Yes.” He places a protective hand over the canvas. “She’s still learning, but she’s got heart and potential. One day she’ll be a better artist than me.”

Nesta blinks at his words. “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?”

She looks down at her hands full of shopping bags and realizes not one of them is carrying her wallet. “Oh, I must have left my money with my—” She glances up then and looks around. “Cassian?”

He was just here with her. They were walking together and she took note of the pretty fairy lights that were starting to turn on, and then she saw the art stand. She scans the milling crowd for a glimpse of his face, but it’s five p.m. and fully dark now.

Unease starts to pump in her chest. “Cassian?” she calls again. She wanders away from the art stand, painting and salesman forgotten. Maneuvering her full hands, she wrangles her phone out of her back pocket and turns it on. Just as she suspected— no signal. Waving it high in the air doesn’t do much for her either.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Nesta takes a strained breath and resolves to keep looking. If she can’t find him, she can always make her way back to the parking lot—

Something shoves hard into Nesta’s back, and her glasses slip right off her nose in the collision. She feels a metallic crunch under her boot and gasps. Suddenly there are people everywhere, heading in the opposite direction that she is, and whoever bumped into her yells a quick apology that gets lost in the crush of bodies.

Nesta stumbles out of the crowd, blinking quickly. She can’t see a thing, and the fairy lights are now blurry orbs. “My glasses—” she says to nobody. She scans the flattened grass and dirt furiously, squinting until she gets a headache, but she can’t find them. “Shit.”

She ends up roaming out of the market area, finding herself back on the fairgrounds. There are a few tents around her, but they're empty and the noise has died down. She doesn’t know where she’s going.

At one point, Nesta simply drops her bags and keeps walking without them. She barely notices leaving them behind. The magic has drained out of the festival, and she just wants to find her way back to Cassian’s truck. If the ferris wheel is that way, then the exit should be that way… she thinks.

She looks around in the dark, frustrated tears rising at her inability to recognize anything. She's alone. She’s cold. She was abandoned.

Nesta doesn't know how long she stands there, hopeless in some deserted corner of the fairgrounds. She forgets what she's supposed to be doing, and just stands there staring at nothing. Escaping to a numbing void in her mind.

The desperate call of her name brings her back to earth.

Blinking, Nesta turns around to find a tall figure heading towards her. Cassian.

He’s holding something in his hand, she can tell, but he drops it when he sees her face and breaks into a run.

“Nesta!” Hard warmth crashes into her as strong arms grab her and yank her close. Her face presses into his chest, and hot tears fall despite the lingering numbness.

“Where did you go?” Cassian is demanding. “You had me so fucking scared—”

“I lost my glasses,” she says weakly into the wool of his coat.

“I know.” He goes from stroking her back to clutching her face. His thumbs rub at the wetness beneath her eyes, and finally she can see his face. He’s close enough that she can read every detail, their foreheads pressed tightly together. He isn't letting go.

She presses her lips together. “I lost you.”

“I know.”

In the next moment, Nesta feels everything all at once: Cassian’s heavy breath on her face, his fingers digging into her scalp, his hazel eyes looking relieved and apologetic and terrified at the same time. His heartbeat racing beneath her hands.

For the briefest eternity, Nesta and Cassian share the same mind. They are thinking the exact same thing.

There’s a moment of painful hesitation, where Nesta has the opportunity to pull away. She doesn't take it, and by then it's too late— Cassian’s mouth is on hers.

Oh. Oh.

Nesta buckles a little under the weight of his kiss, but he holds her upright with his grip. His fingers wind so tightly into her braid she worries he might undo the whole thing, but then she's tucking her cold hands into the warmth of his sweater and wow, what a wonderful end to a terrible night.

His lips break from hers for a breath, only to come in again and kiss her deeper this time. A helpless noise escapes from one or both of them. She’s unraveling with every stroke of his tongue, and she thinks distantly that if kisses were flavored, this one would be sweet enough to make her teeth ache.

It's over far too soon, with Cassian’s series of kisses slowing until they stop completely. He pulls back far enough that they both have room to breathe, and with oxygen comes sharp reality.

For once, Nesta has no words. Her thought process is a tape jammed on a few moments ago, so Cassian is the one that has to slowly drop his hands from her hair and clear his throat.

“Let's go home,” is all he says.

***

The drive back to the cabin is silent. Nesta puts her earbuds in and turns on music as soon as they get in the truck, and halfway home Cassian glances over and realizes she's fallen asleep.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes on the headlight-lit road ahead.

Losing track of Nesta with no way to contact her was one thing, but nothing scared Cassian more than when his eyes caught the metallic glint of broken gold rims in the trampled dirt of the marketplace.

After running from stall to stall searching for Nesta, only one man was able to give Cassian a straight answer. “She was looking at some art and then she went that way,” the old salesman pointed. “She seemed upset; I think she was looking for you.”

The pieces of Nesta's glasses sit in a bag in the backseat now, tucked alongside a canvas painting of an autumn landscape.

The relief Cassian felt when he found her in one piece, when she turned to him with the saddest eyes— he was more cemented in his feelings for her in that moment than in any late night he’d spent dreaming about her.

And when she looked at him like that, fighting not to cry… it was over for him. Weeks of restraint that he hadn't even noticed building up snapped at the last second, until he was kissing Nesta like it was his final dying wish. All of it, utterly over.

He glances over to her now, where she sleeps with her head against the fogged window, exhausted after the day she's had. His hands twitch with the temptation to reach out and touch her.

Gravel crunches as Cassian pulls up into the driveway, and he looks at Nesta again and sighs. He almost goes to wake her, but changes his mind at the last moment and gets out of the car instead. Circling around to the passenger side, he opens the door and carefully lifts her out of her seat.

Her head lolls against his chest, but she doesn't wake. Stress and high emotions have no doubt knocked her out for the rest of the night.

Realizing there's no way to unlock the front door while holding Nesta, Cassian has to circle around to the back of the cabin, entering through the open kitchen door and carrying her on silent feet up the stairs.

Once she's safely tucked in her bed, Cassian can relax his shoulders for the first time all night. Later, he sits down in the half-lit kitchen with Nesta’s broken glasses before him. The frame is split right down the middle, but he already knows Nesta won't allow him to get her a new pair. He’ll need wire and some pliers.

Tying his hair back, he settles down and gets to work.

***

a/n: i'm trying to apologize less for my work but this chapter is not only short and late but also super iffy in terms of writing quality 🥴 so im sorry. if my secret snowflake gift has anything to do with it part 8 will also be a little late (i'm looking for balance guys i really am).

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01

[rymndsmth]

querencia (jang han seo)

🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy! 

Everything felt so different.

Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling. 

His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive. 

This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.

It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend. 

Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about. 

The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed. 

The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung  and his girlfriend). 

Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller. 

Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores. 

He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place. 

While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion. 

I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned. 

She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:

I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea. 

He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot. 

The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:

Nice drawing. 

Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition. 

You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?

As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.

You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.

Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.  

He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.

There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.

Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.  

He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later. 

While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood. 

The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived. 

Is this a joke? She huffed.

No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history. 

You brought back what? Her brow raised.

Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide. 

Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen. 

Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter. 

Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons. 

She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag. 

Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.

His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush. 

There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it. 

To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest. 

You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all. 

Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued. 

That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though. 

He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips. 

Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush. 

There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her? 

Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him. 

Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors. 

Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table. 

Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you. 

Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!

Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down. 

Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished. 

Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-

What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his. 

Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow. 

If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did. 

It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin. 

The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers. 

Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes. 

That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.  

[biletdoux]

paint me the sea | n.yt TEASER

Pairing: nakamoto yuta (nct) + japanese female!reader ; yuta centric

Rating: G (teaser), M (completed work)

Genre + Tropes: college!au, romance (angst, smut), psychological horror

Warnings: none (in the teaser), full warning list will be posted with completed work

Length: 731 (teaser), TBA (completed work)

Summary: “I just want to be beautiful,” you sobbed. “Please make me beautiful.”

And so he did.

(Or; in which Yuta was an artist and you were his greatest masterpiece.)

Notes: This is part of the Addiction Collaboration hosted by @127-mile​ and @moondustaeil​. Also, to clarify, the reader is not necessarily ethnically Japanese, but for the sake of the plot, the reader was born and raised in Japan. 

I caved and posted a teaser smh, but a girl does what she needs to do to get motivation amirite??

Disclaimer: This story—and the collab as a whole— do not endorse toxic behaviors and/or addictions nor are they an accurate portrayal of the members’ behavior and/or personality in real life.

Italics - Japanese dialogue

Yuta met you on a balmy afternoon. 

It was late spring after a light shower from the heavens above. The sky was still overcast and the humidity clawed at his skin in an attempt to steal his breath. The austere greyness of everything strained his eyes and made him wince. The streets had long dried, but the smell of delicate raindrops on hot asphalt told him it wouldn’t stay that way for long. This was the type of weather that inspired Yuta to paint the most, but he knew he couldn’t. 

He shouldn’t anyway. 

Through pops of gold that lined the grass, dandelions were always in full bloom during spring’s last dying breath as a messenger to hand the season’s reign to summer. Yuta never did like dandelions or the color yellow, but looking back, he supposed it wasn’t too bad. Something good came out of this day afterall. He met you.

You were a whirlwind.

While too busy wallowing in the misery of bleak weather and fighting off his artistic urges, Yuta was too wrapped in his own thoughts to see a bumbling figure plowing along the path and straight into him. It was picturesque how the papers exploded as the two of you made contact. As the papers fell all around you in a montage worthy cascade, Yuta couldn’t help, but notice the way you shot your hands out in a desperate attempt to gather all of the precious papers.

“Shit!” You cursed to yourself. 

Yuta watched in amusement as you muttered hushed expletives under your breath. The lilt and curve of your shared native tongue didn’t escape his ears. 

“I’m so sor-- er, uhh-- I mean I’m so sorry.” Your apology was sincere, but you were too busy collecting your scattered paper to look at Yuta properly.

“It’s okay.” Yuta smiled while picking up the folders that also fell from the earlier collision.

By the time you finished, half of your papers were crumpled and Yuta calmly watched you as you flipped through the pages to reassess the damage. It was then that your head popped up, as if in realization that something felt amiss and without missing a beat, Yuta handed over the manilla folders.

You gratefully accepted them and smiled sheepishly, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Yuta smiled back. “I’m Yuta, by the way. Nakamoto Yuta.”

The surprise that found residence in your eyes was apparent, causing Yuta’s smile to widen. He thought you were cute. 

You attempted to introduce yourself in return, but the shock Yuta gave you mixed with the impact earlier left you dazed and a little more scattered than you were willing to admit. All that left your mouth were incoherent stutters, but Yuta gave you a reassuring nod and he watched as the trepidation left your system. You sounded more sure and confident the second time you introduced yourself, although Yuta didn’t miss the flush on your cheeks. 

Yuta tested out the way your name sounded in his head and tasted the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. It reminded him of how the paint would glide on his canvas after a firm stroke of the brush and Yuta shivered despite the muggy post-rain atmosphere. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Nakamoto-san, and thank you again for earli- eh?” You were cut off by a text notification on your phone and Yuta watched as your eyes widened. Your feet started to move before your eyes were even fully done scanning the screen. 

“I’m so sorry,” you started, your voice trailing behind over your shoulders, “I have a really important presentation and I’m late.” 

The last few words of your apology dissipated into the thick spring air, but Yuta was able to piece it back together with little trouble. He chuckled to himself as he watched your retreating figure, before feeling the distinct splash of water droplets on his face. Yuta looked up to see the sky had darkened a considerable amount during the brief exchange with you and his earlier guess that the rain would soon start up was proven true. 

As the occasional raindrops picked up in consistency and volume, Yuta picked up his pace and hurried home to shelter himself from the rain.

When Yuta was younger, he was told that when it rained, it meant the angels were crying, but why would they cry for such a blessed meeting?

[yoyowrites]

Muse

Edgar x friendly!reader (ft!BFF!Mike)

Word count:1146

Warnings:None, bad writing/formatting

Edgar has come to hate art. He hadn’t, wouldn’t admit to himself, much less anyone else. It’s just the fact that the vibrant colors faded. That’s why he showed up at the mansion. He didn’t make any effort to get close to anyone. Instead he actively avoided the rest of the survivors. He prefered to stay alone.

The first people he talked to outside of matches were you and Mike. The two of you noticed that Edgar was limping more than usual after a match. Edgar was cornered by the two of you. He was prideful and just wanted to leave. You and Mike agreed to leave him alone on the condition that he would let you treat him. He agrees.

He expects that after being healed he would’ve been left alone. He was sorely mistaken. He would sit to sketch and you'd appear.

The first time it happened you had a reason that didn’t involve stalking him, you swear. You were calling him to go over strategies in case you were matched up together again. So there you were, walking over to him and he just looked so peaceful. He wasn’t scowling or hissing at anyone. He was just sitting there and sketching. You stared at him for a few moments before he caught you staring. When your eyes met his you could swear that your heart almost fell out of your chest. You ended up leaving without asking him about any strategies.

After that you tried to catch him drawing more often. Eventually, Mike noticed you paying extra attention to the new guy and began to tease you. You swore that it was only curiosity. Mike didn’t buy it but he let it go, for now.

Edgar ,on the other hand, was weirded out, at first. After the third(ish) time of you looking at him from afar and not doing anything he felt confident that you didn’t mean any harm. Not too long after that he even invited you to sit in front of him. He would never let you see what he was working on but that never bothered you.

Occasionally, Mike would sit with you two practicing his juggling. Sometimes the three of you(mostly you and Mike with Edgar interjecting every once in a while) would talk and joke. Sometimes it’d just be you and Edgar.

Edgar had a routine for after he finished a match. If the survivors won or tied, he’d get healed and help whoever was injured before leaving. If the survivors lost, he wouldn’t even wait to heal his own scars and just leave. After a particularly bad match you saw him bruised to the point of barely being able to move. You walked up to him and helped him stand. He would try to get you to let him go but after he saw how serious you were, he let you drag him to his room. 

You wrap him up the best you can. Once you finish dressing his wounds you go to leave, but before you can completely step out of the room he asks you to bring him his sketchbook. Confused, you do as directed and bring him his sketchbook. He pats the area next to him. After you’re settled down, he opens his sketchbook, he starts flipping through the pages. He stops a little after halfway through the sketch book. He shows the page to you. It’s titled “Home”.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Of course you would think that.”

He begins to tell you about the city he grew up in. He told a few stories and tall tales from his childhood. Once he finished he ripped the page and handed it to you. You were confused at first but he just thrusted the page towards you.

“It’s a failed sketch, you wouldn’t be able to tell but anyone who knows anything about art would. You can throw it away if you’d like.”

Then he practically kicked you out of his room.

You found some tape and taped the art in your wall next to the picture of your family. The only person who knew it was there was Mike who teased you relentlessly when he saw it.

After that night he would allow(force) you to see some of  his works. He’d tell you random facts about art. After a while he would also begin to quiz you.

“What’s the complementary color to blue?”

“How do you create complementary colors?”

“What creates good composition?”

If you properly remembered he’d smile smugly to himself. If you didn’t he’d shake his head, flick your forehead and tell you the answer to his little ‘quiz’.

One day you’d notice that Edgar was acting strangely. He was staring at you and turning red. Mike noticed too and immediately started ‘Y/N and Edgar sitting in a tree..’. You ignored best friend and tried to talk to Edgar about how he was acting. He denied behaving strangely, so you let it go.

Then Edgar began avoiding you. You didn’t notice at first but soon it became obvious. He began not painting in the open as often. Then he wouldn’t wait for you to get healed. Suddenly the only thing time you saw him was in matches. You confronted him after one too many matches and he turned bright red. He would drag you to his room. He’d tell you to wait outside and run in his room, He would come out with a wrapped canvas. He’d tell you to open in your room and retreat into his room.

The canvas had a tag titled ‘My Muse’. You sat in your room and opened it. It was a colorful portrait of you. On the inside of the canvas was a scribbled note (for someone who was so good at painting he had awful handwriting).

‘As a thank you for your help with my wounds. You’ve brought back the light in my art. I trust that after my lessons you would know the importance of lighting in a painting,correct?

Much love, Edgar’

While you were opening the canvas, Edgar would be pacing in his room. He didn’t know when or how it happened but when he was around you he noticed that sketching had become easier. The ideas had flown easily. He had tried to deny it but after the night you helped him with his wounds he was faced to confront his emotions. With the help of Mike, he decided that making you a portrait with a thoughtful note would be a good way to confess.

He continued to pace wondering if you’d already opened it. Then there was a knock on his door. When he opened it he had an armful of you. You had launched yourself at him. He couldn’t even be mad at you, not when you had brought his love of art back.

[quickspinner]

These Two Hands (I’ll Never Not Know You)

I worked on this for ages, and I just couldn't get it to come out right, so I put it aside and worked on other things. I hadn't looked at it in months, and then the WIP meme came along, and I started looking it over, and it turned out to be ridiculously easy to fix and finish, so here it is at last!

Shoutout to all my artist buddies, whose complaining about hands being such a pain to draw gave me the idea for this fic. 😆 Love you guys.

I don't think I said anything that specifically made it clear, but they're university aged in this one.

It was a beautiful summer day in Paris, with just enough breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. Enjoying the weather and his music, Luka had no idea how long he’d been sitting there playing on the warm, wide stone steps of the Trocadero. A while, by the sun and the hollow feeling in his stomach. Luka packed up his guitar and slung it across his back. He started to descend the steps, but paused as he nearly trod on something at the bottom. He bent down and picked up the book, plain black and with heavy, weighted paper, like an artist’s book. It wasn’t battered or dirty, like it had been there for days, though the canvas cover was frayed a bit at the corners. Well-used, he concluded, and lost only recently.

Luka looked around, hesitant. He couldn’t see anybody who looked like they’d lost something. He went back up the steps and looked around at the top, with the same result. 

Luka sighed. He got so into his music, he frequently lost awareness of his surroundings, so while he knew some people had stopped on the steps to hear him play, he had no memory of what they looked like or what they’d been doing, other than Officer Roger passing by and giving him the stinkeye. Apparently the officer hadn’t felt like ruining a perfectly good day by hassling about permits and nonsense, though, and once he’d moved on, Luka had played without regard to his audience.

He went back down the stairs, thinking, and then sat down slowly on the bottom step. He felt like an intruder as he opened the book, as he thought of the battered spiral notebook full of embarrassing, half-finished scribbles he carried in his guitar case. He checked the inside of both covers first, but found only the initials MDC. No phone number, not even a full name.

Luka blew out a frustrated breath, fluffing his bangs away from his face. Reluctantly, he began turning pages. 

It was full of...hands. Hands planting a seedling, hands cleaning something indistinct. Hands buried in a lumpy mass. Clay? Or maybe dough? Hands twined in yarn, holding the vague suggestion of knitting needles. What they were doing was usually only lightly sketched in and suggested, but the hands themselves were detailed and bold. It was kind of weird at first, but as he continued to turn the pages, still checking each for some sign of the owner, he began to appreciate the different types of beauty and strength captured on each page. He could imagine the trembling in the wrinkled hands with swollen joints that held a flower stem delicately. There were fingers curved over a computer keyboard, charged with energy, and he could almost hear the rapid smack of the fingers hitting the keys. 

Luka found himself rubbing his fingers together. He’d never contemplated his hands from an aesthetic standpoint. Why would he? They were rough and scarred; his fingers from the guitar, his palms from the ropes and rigging on the boat, from the lifting and carrying required for the constant rearranging of the stuff on deck to make sure they could get around. He’d never thought about whether they were—any of what he saw in these pictures. 

He glanced up and around again, still feeling guilty to be poking through someone else’s private things, but no one was paying him any mind, and he still had no clues as to the owner. He tried to flip quickly, just checking each page for even a hint of where he might go to return it, but with everything but the hands indistinct there wasn’t much to go by. 

He stopped in surprise on the last sketch in the book, staring at the drawing of hands on a guitar. The guitar was just roughed in, once again more of a suggestion than a drawing, except where the left hand rested on the fretboard, pressing into the strings. 

The hands, though, were incredibly detailed, and, he realized with a sudden blush, they were his. He touched his thumb to the ring on his pointer finger absently. The right hand, curved to strum, the pick invisible from that angle but implied, had bracelets matching his stacked along the wrist. 

The nails were colored in, dark like his, but beyond that, he wouldn’t have recognized them without the jewelry and the small curving scar near the thumb of the right hand.

These hands were elegant, graceful, intentional. It had been a long time since Luka last consciously thought about the control he had over his hands, but he couldn’t help thinking about it now. It had taken him years of practice to get there, but when he played, his hands did exactly what he needed them to, found the strings he needed quickly and accurately. Though they were thin, they were strong and sure, equally capable of coaxing a melody and knotting a rope with speed and strength. 

That was what this person had seen in them, at least. 

“Oh!”

Luka looked up and found a girl staring at him with both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide. Her gaze flickered between him and the book. 

“Is this yours?” he asked without thinking. 

She nodded slowly, pink spreading over her cheeks. 

Luka closed it quickly and stood up, offering it to her. She took a hasty step forward, grabbing the book gratefully, but somehow got her feet tangled up and yelped as she tipped forward. Luka caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Woah, easy.” He shifted her back until she was solidly on her feet, and let go. “I’m sorry for snooping, it’s just I found it on the steps and I was trying to find a name or something so I knew who to give it back to. I wasn’t having much luck, though, so I’m really glad you came back.” 

“Oh,” she said, blushing and holding the sketchbook to her. “It’s okay, of course I understand. I’m glad it was found, at least. I just...I’m just kind of embarrassed, I know it must look kind of weird, and I usually ask before I draw someone but you were busy and the music was so lovely and I started watching your hands and just kind of got caught up in the moment but I’m really sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly to interrupt as she began picking up speed. “I thought they were cool, and I’m flattered you saw something in my hands worth capturing.”

She smiled shyly. “I like hands that make things. They’re my favorite. I mean, it started just as a drawing exercise, because hands are hard, and so I thought if I just kept drawing them I’d get better. And...and then when I started looking, I got interested, and I kept going. It’s kind of stress relief now. And that probably doesn’t make it any less weird.” She put one hand back over her face, the other still clutching her sketchbook, and made a little whine. “Why am I still talking?”  

“That’s amazing,” Luka smiled, and then hesitated. “Um, are you busy? On your way somewhere? Because if not, I’d really like to look at some more. If it’s okay with you.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “R-really? I mean, sure, if you, um. If you want to. I didn’t really think they were that interesting, to be honest.”

“Well, I do,” Luka said, and backed up to sit back down on his steps, tipping his head to invite her to sit next to him. “My name’s Luka.”

She smiled nervously, perching on the step and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m Marinette.” Luka turned back to the beginning of the book, and began to page through more slowly, pausing now and then to ask Marinette about a picture.

“That’s my grandmother,” she told him, as he looked at a picture of half-gloved hands resting on the handles of a motorcycle. “She travels a lot.” 

“I really like this one,” he said after a moment, pausing at the hands twined in yarn. 

“I, um,” Marinette hunched her shoulders a little bit. “I love drawing people knitting. They all look so different, even though they’re doing the same thing. Everyone holds the yarn a little bit differently, knits just a slightly different way.”

“And this?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t quite figure this one out.”

“That’s my friend Kim,” Marinette explained. “He’s a swimmer. He was doing backstroke time trials and I just got really fascinated with the way his hands held onto the wall. I didn’t quite get the perspective right, though.” She giggled nervously, and Luka smiled at the sound. “The blurry spots are from when he dripped on me trying to get a look at what I was doing.” 

“I can see it now,” Luka nodded. “The tension in them, and why you did the eyes here between them—”

“They ended up looking kind of buggy, with the goggles,” Marinette admitted. 

“No, I really like it, though,” Luka looked up to flash her a quick smile. “You really get that sense of power about to let loose.”

Marinette blinked. “Y-yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah...thanks.”

“Why make the rest of the drawings so incomplete compared with the hands?” Luka asked curiously, looking up from the book to meet her eyes. “I mean, I get why the hands are the focus, but why make the rest of it so vague?”  

Marinette blushed. “It’s...stupid. I don’t know if it’ll even make sense if I say it out loud.”

“Try me,” Luka smiled. 

“It’s just, no matter how I draw them, it’s not the full picture,” Marinette said thoughtfully, and then glanced up at him with an adorably shy smile. “No pun intended. I just mean that there’s so much that these hands can do and when I draw them, I’m really only capturing one. I’d be fascinated to find out what else your hands can do besides play guitar,” she added, and Luka’s face flamed red, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice anything suggestive about what she’d said as she picked his hand up, examining it. Luka swallowed as she turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palm. “You didn’t get these from the guitar,” she said. “Sports? Or something else?” 

Luka cleared his throat. “I live on a boat on the Seine,” he said, watching her. “I work with a lot of ropes, and I’m always climbing around fixing something or other.” 

Marinette nodded, looking up at him, his hand still cradled in hers. “That explains the tan. What else?” 

“Um…” Luka blinked, trying to think. “I carry sound and boat equipment.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, still listening. Looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, or why he suddenly very much wanted to be worthy of her interest, but...

“I...comfort my sister,” Luka said softly, dropping his gaze to his hand again. “She’s nervous, she gets worried. I put my hand on her shoulder so she knows that I’m there with her and she’s not alone. I...I calm my mother down. She’s kind of...passionate, she gets worked up about stuff a lot. I put my hand on hers or on her arm to remind her to take a minute to breathe.” 

“And you help up strangers who trip over their own feet,” Marinette giggled. 

“Yeah,” Luka smiled, looking at her. “That too.” 

“It sounds like your hands do a lot of good,” she said. “Your hands help people. Lift them up. You carry, you support. That’s very noble, Luka.”

Luka’s face heated. “Poetic, but...I think that’s giving me a bit too much credit,” he said, looking down at her little hands on his. He was beginning to be fascinated with their contrast, by the way their fingers looked together. Impulsively he closed one hand, capturing hers gently.

“You’re really special, Marinette,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that thinks like you.” 

Marinette stared at him for a second, and then looked down at their hands. It seemed to hit her all at once that she’d been holding onto him, and she jerked her hands back, face reddening. “I’m so sorry—I’m being really weird, aren’t I?” Marinette hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry—”

“Maybe a little bit,” Luka broke in, stopping her from another apology spiral. “But what’s weird anyway? Just something a little different than normal. Unique. Nothing wrong with that. Let’s just roll with it.” He grinned. “Embrace the weird. May I see yours?” 

She looked startled. “W-what?” 

“Your hands,” he said, holding out his own. “May I see them?” 

Marinette couldn’t get any redder but her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. “It’s okay,” Luka said quickly. “If you’d rather not. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, it’s fine,” she said, hunching her shoulders again. “It’s only fair, right? Gosh, I didn’t even ask you, you must think I’m so—” She made a wordless noise in her throat and held out her hands stiffly. 

“I don’t,” Luka chuckled. “I didn’t mind. It doesn’t have to be fair, though,” Luka said, making no move to take her hands again. “If you’re not okay with it, don’t feel like you have to.” 

“It’s really okay,” she said. Her hands relaxed a little, her shoulders came down, and there was enough sincerity in her smile to convince him. “It’s just, I don’t think mine are anything special.” 

“Hmm,” Luka chuckled, slowly reaching to take her hands. “I didn’t think mine were either, until today.” His hands dwarfed hers as he closed his fingers lightly. Her fingers were slender and elegantly tapered. Her fingernails were short but filed meticulously into perfect ovals. He ran his thumbs lightly over the backs, tracing the veins and gliding over the bumps of her knuckles.  

“So what do you do with these hands, besides drawing?” he asked as he looked. 

“Sewing, mostly. Some knitting and crochet and things like that, but mostly I make clothes. I’m in school for fashion design and I’m always working on some project or other. That’s why my hands are always so beat up.”

Gently Luka turned her hands over, letting go of her left hand to trail his fingers over the palm and fingers of her right, noticing the calluses on her fingertips and one on the side of her middle finger. 

Luka looked up at her and grinned. “You said hands that make things are your favorite.”  

Marinette shrugged slightly, smiling. “It’s worth the callouses. The business stuff, I could live without, but the making—it doesn’t feel like work. I like making things that help people express themselves.” 

Luka picked her left hand up again and noticed a shiny burn scar on the heel of it. He turned that hand up and let go of the other to run his fingers lightly over the scar. “What’s the story here?”

“A boring one,” Marinette chuckled, making a face. “I’m a klutz and I live in a bakery. I tripped and put my hand down in the wrong spot. I’ve gotten lots of burns for various reasons but that’s the only one that really left a mark.”

“Do you bake?” 

“Sometimes. Not for the bakery, but for friends and family on special occasions. I also do a lot of decorating. Cakes and cookies and stuff. I’m a master with a piping bag.”

“That makes sense,” Luka said softly, thoughtfully. 

Marinette tilted her head and looked up at him. “Luka?”

“These little hands create so much beauty,” he mused aloud, marveling. Marinette squeaked and he glanced up at her, a question on his tongue, but he froze instead, caught by her eyes, clear baby blue, framed with dark lashes, and currently wide and staring at him. It struck him all at once as he took in her vibrant blush and pretty parted lips that she was really, really beautiful, and that he’d been fondling her hands for the last several minutes and he should...he should probably let go.

He didn’t want to. 

He didn’t want to let go of those tiny, strong, capable, beautiful hands. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Luka said, and cleared his throat to smooth out his suddenly rough voice. “What you were saying about my hands lifting people up. Your hands...make things beautiful. You take ordinary things and make them better.” He looked back down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs absently across her knuckles as he spoke. “That’s a pretty special gift, Marinette. Making the world a more beautiful place, or even just making it so that people can see the beauty that’s already there...you’re amazing.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at her face. “Would you, um...this is going to sound really forward, but would you go out with me sometime?” 

“O-out?” Marinette stammered, looking rather like she’d just been hit in the head with a board.

Luka tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Out. On a date? Maybe this weekend? I know we just met, but…”

“I’d like to,” Marinette blurted, face red. “That...that sounds really great.” She dropped her gaze for a minute, and then flicked her eyes back up shyly, a slow smile curling her lips. “But if you want my number, you’re going to have to let go of my hands first.” 

Luka grinned back, squeezing her hands instead of releasing them. “Or I could just take you out right now. Are you free for lunch? I’m starving, personally.” 

***

It was another sunny summer day, on the same stone steps, and Marinette and Luka sat pressed close together, the fingers of his right hand threaded together with her left, as she sketched busily on the sketchbook in her lap. They’d been there for a while now, but Luka was comfortable and happy lounging on the sun-warmed steps, humming a tune to himself and trying not to fidget in a way that would tug on the hand Marinette was holding. 

He was staring blankly at nothing, remembering their first kiss. Well. Not their first kiss, standing outside of her home while he held her hands in his and leaned in to press his lips to hers for just a sweet, soft moment. Their first real kiss, when his hand came up to cup her cheek as hers slid back and slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck and he kissed her for real. He remembered noticing how his hand felt so big compared to her face as his thumb brushed her soft cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent even as hers was firm against him. She tilted her face to better meet him, and his thumb slipped down to her jaw, his calloused fingertips fanning out along the side of her neck. He remembered the way she gasped, leaning into his touch, which pulled her lips away from his. He’d kissed along her jaw as his rough palm skimmed down the elegant line of her neck and followed the curve of her shoulder before stroking back up again to pull her closer. How their other hands had met and twined together, fingers locked as they were now, palms pressed tight together. He remembered how the strength in those little hands had surprised him.  

Movement beside him jerked him back to the moment, as Marinette sat back to look at her page critically. Swallowing, Luka seized his moment. 

“Can I see?” he asked as he sat up and leaned over, and Marinette shifted the sketchbook so he could look at the drawing of their joined hands she’d been working on.  

Marinette had teased him a little bit about asking for such a thing, but not too much. He was just as in awe of her art now as he’d been the day they met, and she knew it. Her portraits of his mother’s hands and his sister’s hands were already hanging on his wall, so this was a logical addition to his collection.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking over the nearly-finished picture. “I’m loving it, but...I think it’s missing something.” 

Marinette frowned, turning the picture back towards herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, just as Luka shifted his grip on her hand. She looked back at their hands, opening her mouth to protest, but instead her mouth just dropped open as Luka slid a small sparkling ring onto her finger. 

“There,” he grinned, looking up at her face as Marinette did a credible imitation of a fish. “That’s better.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Marinette, will you—”

He never got a chance to finish as she tackled him awkwardly back onto the steps, her sketchbook falling from her lap and bouncing down to land in nearly the same place it had almost exactly a year ago.  

[ot3]

My approach to flat colors + limited palette drawings

This is a follow up to this post  i made about how i go about figuring out a color palette for my limited palette drawings. an anon asked me about my actual technique of finishing them so this is gonna be an explanation of how I work in a limited palette with flat colors. I ended up with these thumbnails for a sketch last time so we’re gonna work from here and I’m gonna sort of walk through how i got to the finished version

first things first: every part of this process is just developed as a result of me messing around. take my advice with a grain of salt and if you think you know a way to do something better/that makes you more comfortable. go with that over what I say.

I’m honestly a little surprised when people express confusion about how i draw like this because it’s SUPER simple - literally all you’re doing is just stacking solid color blocks of shape. its very imprecise despite how sharp everything ends up looking. 

First things first is that you want to decide how you will be handling your edges throughout the duration. Do you want your shapes to be ultra-sharp and precise, or do you want a little bit of a wobblier, grainier edge? Both can look good but it’s VERY much a matter of situational basis. i’ve been favoring looser and grainier shapes so that’s how i’m going to be working on this. 

on the left here, you can see the shapes made with precise rectangular selections and an untextured pen, on the right, freehand drawn shapes and a grittier pen. There’s something immediately pretty different feeling about them. So play around with that first - its not something that’s fun to change halfway through! But lets step back a minute. It helps to work large to small. The two biggest shapes here are these orange chunks and everything gets stacked on top of them so i’m gonna do that first. 

Now, a key feature of what i do: clipping masks. almost all digital art programs have them. What a clipping mask does is it constrains the pixels of a layer to the transparency of the layer below it. Here I have the light orange layer, and then on top of it the buildings and billboard are clipped to the orange. Most of you probably already know this and I’m overexplaining a bit, but there was a time when i didnt know how clipping layers worked and someone had to explain it to me.

now you’ll notice the shapes of the buildings are rough, and sloppy. here’s the fun part: since this is all about stacking shapes, only your exterior edges matter. this all gets filled in. be as sloppy as you want when you’re making your shapes. in fact, the outside edges get trimmed out a bunch to when i do this - i go in and erase them clean. Don’t be too finnicky about drawing perfect and precise! its a waste of time. As long as the silhouette is what you want, the interior can be a nightmare.

Working this way, it’s important to keep your layers stacked in a way you can make sense of. Right now there are four layers here: the background dark orange, the two main orange rectangle shapes, and then the buildings on one layer and a billboard on the other. I rack up a LOT of layers doing this and it makes it annoying in some aspects, but being able to freely recolor any one chunk without losing my detail is a key aspect of this.

So, I block those out

Next, I do the same for the smaller chunks that are still main shapes. There are once again, a lot of layers here. The top layer is the hair - you can see the head showing through it. The head and arm underneath the hair, same layer. Then the cup. Then the light green pieces of paper. Then the dark green ones.

The cup is technically farther forward than the head and arm so you would think it’d go on top, but the point isnt to recreate the foreground and background hierarchy with layers so much as it is to group things in a way i can work with. The cup goes underneath so it can be grouped with all the other objects on the table. 

now, i just go and fill in all the shapes. i forgot to do the blinds but i get them later. you might notice a lot of these shapes are pretty rough, which was harder to notice before they were filled in. Now that I can see better, I go in with an eraser and clean up the edges until they’re the shape I want 

sometimes erasing leaves little bits of ‘noise’ around objects like on this napkin here. i like to keep a little bit of this noise for texture, but if you dont like it make sure to get rid of it! if you’re working very crisp this will stand out a LOT

Next up is to add some detail onto the objects

I flipped the canvas here because the head shape was wrong - the ears were uneven and i wanted to fix it. I want to go about adding detail onto the billboard and buildings. i do all detail with clipping masks - but the objects are clipped to another layer and so nothing can be clipped to them. instead, i unclip them and just erase by selection for the same effect

all of the text on the papers is clipped to the papers below it. the buttons are clipped to the phone. the yellow photos and card are actually another independent layer on top, in case i want to recolor them separately. im indecisive and end up recoloring things a lot. For the most part these objects are starting to become recognizable as more than just shapes

i go in an add the details on the background and character now. theres some more stuff on the table. the lines of the face and ears are on one layer, and the flats of the eyes below that. Here’s what each group of layers is, and what they look like on their own

The background/bottom chunk. Just the table, window, and shirt.

The middle bit. All the stuff on the table and the blinds.

Finally, the top, which is just his head and arm. 

now this stage is the bare bones of the drawing. you can more or less tell everything that’s happening. it reads. but its very much lacking in something - it doesnt have a ton of depth or interest. and adding that additional detailing, the dept and interest, is where stuff starts getting REALLY tricky and subjective. 

im gonna take you to a much simpler scenario to show the sort of options i go through at this stage

ahh its our dear friend, sphere casting shadow. this is, more or less, the kind of image we have. you can tell whats happening but it’s lackluster. there are TONSSS of ways frm here that you can go add interior detail to a shape once it has been established. here are some quick and SUPER rough examples

from top left to bottom right: flat cel shading, softer airbrushed/gradient shading, halftone, and a textured brush. Each of these has their strengths and weaknesses. They can also be combined.

for example, here’s the solid cel shading being used to contain a gradient/airbrushed detail. This image - probably the single oldest piece of my art i still willingly show people - is entirely colored with gradients being contained in cel-shaded chunks. It has a sort of soft, luminous quality but without losing its crispness.

here’s a super quick bust with some variations of stuff going on. obviously this is no masterpiece but you see how different types of detailing can interact with each other and be used to distinguish materials too. 

With the mob psycho comic I did, the detailing that wasnt line was done using a variety of halftones of different shapes layered on top of each other

by contrast parts of my ace attorney comic use a textured brush and have a sort of blended, papery feel

any of them can work for pretty much anything as long as you are using it with intent. practice around. mix styles of finishing together. find a comfort zone. the more you do it the more intuitive it becomes and at the heart of it this process is a very intuitive way of drawing because of how far removed it is from realism.

Now here is the trick - light and shadow.

Everything up to this point has been very flat and adding detail helps but there’s only so much that can accomplish. To get HEAVY light and shadow you need to think about things differently. I think if there’s any part of this process that’s complicated, its this one. 

To truly get the most out of your palette, you need to pick chunks of an image to be in higher/lower light and then either ‘step up’ or ‘step down’ the colors in that chunk. here’s what I mean.

Here’s our ball with a beam of light on it. Everything Within the beam of light is one step in our limited palette lighter than anything outside of it. Here’s how I go about doing this: the shape of the beam of light is below everything else. Then, once I have the shape blocked out, i select it. With that selection in place, i go to EVERY SINGLE LAYER that’s effected, lock the opacity, and recolor that chunk. So what’s going on here is that there is only one more layer - the beam of light, below everything but the background, and the rest of this effect is just caused by every layer above it now being two-toned following the exact same silhouette. THIS is why it’s so important to keep your layers separate - if the shadow and highlight had been painted onto the base directly, i would not be able to do this without significant effort. 

This works with all of the finishing techniques I talked about above

A combination of cel shading and half toning, all stepped up to give the appearance of heavier light on one area.This is also how I go about rendering transparency in this style. All of my layers are fully opaque and I allow the colors to do the work of conveying transparent material

Here’s our ball with the patterned/textured brush  shading, being viewed partially through a window

it’s obviously not a very representational way of working, but as long as your audience UNDERSTANDS what you’re trying to convey, then you’re executing it successfully.

So with that, now we’re gonna go and finish this drawing.

For this one, I decide a big central shadow is necessary. In the original thumbnail, he was backlit, which I still plan on doing, and that wouldn’t make sense without casting a shadow.

I’ve had to change the colors of some objects entirely in order to get this to work right. This is what I mean when I call this an intuitive process - some stuff felt weird, so I changed it. This also involves a bit of problem solving. The newspaper is now unable to be separated from his hand. Sometimes changing the color of an object makes that object look better, but ruins its relationship with the objects around it. It’s up to you to learn how to adjust and finagle things until you get it where you want.The paper he has and the napkin underneath it also all blend together now.

The next few parts of this process are REALLY just trial and error, where I toss a bunch of spaghetti at it until it works. It’s hard to decide what to screenshot, because I don’t know what will or will not be part of the finished drawing. To that end, you can watch the recording of this drawing here. This video isn’t edited at all so it contains a couple of minutes of really shitty sketching, and then all of the color thumbnailing work i did in the last post. Actually getting started on these final colors begins around the two minute mark. It is also sideways, I am sorry I don’t know why. 

Now, here you can see where I’ve more or less worked things out. His hand’s not on the cup anymore because my friend pointed out it didnt have an arm attached to it. I added some halftoning to make a gradiating effect in the sky and on the table to give the impression of a sunrise. His eyes are different but as of posting this, I don’t like them and am probably about to go back and change them again. The Cup now has a shadow and some rim lighting. His hand is in shadow. The stain on the napkin is big enough to define the edge of the paper on top of it.

Little things like that. 

The more you draw like this the more the way you need to think about your space becomes natural. I hope this helps and I wish you all the best of luck!

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Wedding Colors (Part 3)

(Hayffie ❤️🧡💛💚💙💖. An exploration of Effie’s evolving character as she faces past and present personal intensities while making preparations for Finnick and Annie’s wedding.)

13:00—lunch. For the first time since the ominous day in July that she’d descended into the gloom of 13, Effie’s belly was full. As weeks had turned into months, she hadn’t felt hunger. She’d picked at meals and pushed unpalatable food around her tray. But now something was different. Flint scraped over steel inside her like the wind across her cheeks that morning. Her spoon repeatedly clinked the bottom of the bowl of squash soup. It took every ounce of restraint to not bring the whole bowl to her mouth and tilt it upward to collect the last drops.

Keenly observant, Cressida noted, “That’s new.”

“What?”

“You finishing a meal here.” She dropped her voice. “Are you pregnant, Trinket?”

Effie’s face flushed scarlet, blushing through burnt cheeks. “Bite your tongue!” she snapped.

Cressida glanced at Pollux, and Effie recognized her own faux pas. “Please excuse me. I wasn’t thinking about...”

Interacting with an Avox who was a regular citizen rather than a servant of the Capitol was still a new experience for her.

Pollux signed, “No problem,” and his brother offered the translation.

Effie returned her attention to the inquisitive filmmaker. “I’m JUST hungry. Must a woman be pregnant in order to finish a bowl of soup?” She whispered “pregnant” as if saying it too loudly might invite the situation. Or just as worrisome, Haymitch could walk in at that moment, hear the word, flip out, and not touch her again. Now that she’d opened the Pandora’s box of sex with him, she didn’t want to put a lid back on it.

“Okay. I get it.” Cressida was intrigued by Effie’s blush, but otherwise mollified. “You like the soup. End of story.”

It was golden orange in color and lightly flavored with spices that tasted like autumn. Ginger was recognizable, but the others were a mystery to Effie. Her experience with cooking was mostly limited to a course she’d taken a decade and a half prior at Charis School of Grace, Beauty, and Charm.

Her mother had insisted on “Finishing School” for Effie after she graduated from the Academy. The summer classes had been a compromise, since her father was resolute in his intention to send her to University. He’d even dipped into his personal inheritance to pay extra tuition when her test scores didn’t qualify her outright for admission.

“Charis will focus Euphemia on the most sophisticated etiquette and deportment, preparing her for marriage into greater wealth,” her mother argued.

“University will prepare Effie for a practical career suited to her strongest skills,” her father contended.

“Grace, beauty, and charm ARE her strongest skills. Face it, dear. Like you, our daughter lacks the talent to be a Gamemaker.”

“She has the talent to be more than a rich man’s wife.”

“If I were the wife of a RICH man, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

Their barbs stung each other. After years of practice, the Trinkets knew just where to aim them. They agreed that Effie needed a path which would secure an optimal future for the family. Neither of them asked her what she wanted.

If they’d asked back then, she would have had one specific answer. And if she was honest with herself now, her deepest desire was exactly the same. If she’d voiced it then, her parents would have sent her to the Asylum first before anything else. So she said nothing about it.

By 18, she’d become a master at the art of knowing when to hold her tongue. She’d internalized the pressure to please her parents and reflect positively on her family’s name and station in society. The burden of doing so was a heavy weight on her shoulders.

Effie’s shoulders ached too from the physical work of gathering and carrying around large sacks of perfect leaves. She daydreamed about a bath full of bubbles followed by a nap on a real bed. Allowing the fantasy was a mistake because then her body screamed for it.

She wondered if even babies were allowed to nap here, or did they get merely a half hour of “reflection” before dinner like everyone else? Did they have daily schedules imprinted on their chubby little arms? Eat. Poop. Sleep. What else did the tiny things do? She’d never paid much attention to them in the Capitol. Had she ever seen a baby in 13? She couldn’t recall.

***

14:00—volunteering. The children would be out of school soon. Plutarch told her to expect them along with anyone who was between work shifts. Coin was allowing more flexibility than usual in order to encourage volunteerism. Effie considered the irony in the word spelled out on her arm in purple ink. Following schedules was mandatory. Once “volunteering” is tattooed on your body, doesn’t it cease to be voluntary?

That place made her head hurt if she thought about it too much. She pulled her rose-tinted sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on, hoping the change in light would temper some of the ache, and help her feel less vulnerable.

“Ready or not, here I go,” she said out loud.

She approached the kitchen staff for permission to use large plastic serving bowls to hold the leaves at the tables. The kitchen manager, a middle aged woman named Cuire, put up resistance, muttering something about needing authorization from the president.

Greasy Sae showed no qualms about interjecting. “Now, those leaves ain’t all that different from a salad. We’ll have the bowls washed again long before dinner service.”

The older woman, with her hair up in a kerchief more plain than Effie’s, carried a stack of serving bowls through the doorway without waiting for the manager’s consent. She returned to the kitchen for more until every serving bowl in 13 was in the dining hall. Cuire pursed her lips but said nothing.

Sae pulled a handful of leaves out of one of the canvas bags and dropped them into a bowl. “The list of procedures here’s a mile long. Sometimes the only way to keep these folks from sayin’ ‘no’ is to just not ask ‘em. And then work fast.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Effie joined her efforts to quickly transfer the leaves to the bowls. “Thank you, Sae.”

“Thank YOU, girl. Gatherin’ up all these to make pretty things for the weddin’, you must be exhausted.”

“I had help. From Haymitch.”

“Did you?”

“I had to ambush him.”

“Nah. As often as that boy looks at you, I’d guess he went willingly.”

Ambushed and willing. Yes, he was.

Beetee wheeled up to her with several spools of wire, wire cutters, rolls of electrical tape, and several pairs of scissors.

“The copper color is PERFECT!” Effie gushed.

“This wire is at least a hundred years old,” he replied with little emotion, “The only reason it shows no corrosion is because 13 is fastidious about its storage conditions, including adequate air circulation. The gauge is small. The electrical current from present technologies, would overload and overheat it. The wire is rather useless actually.”

“Well, we’ve found a use for it!”

“In the absence of copper tape, this seems the best match, which is ironic since brown is typically used for high voltages. And high voltages would burn right through this particular wire.”

“We’re just making garlands today, not blowing out an arena!”

“You’re speaking non-metaphorically, of course. We might hope the propo will play a role in shattering the Capitol’s grip on the restless minds of its citizens... That said, it isn’t my intention to imply that YOUR mind is gripped and restless.”

A gripped and restless mind sounded fairly accurate to Effie. “I doubt the Capitol views me as its citizen at this point.” I guess that makes me homeless, even though my family home, my apartment, my belongings, my entire history are all there.

Beetee noticed her smile fade. “You might be right about that. ...I’m sorry.”

After seeing what her victors had been through and what they were still going through, she felt uncomfortable being apologized to by a victor who she held in high regard. I don’t deserve an apology, though manners dictated the proper response to an apology was a gracious, “Thank you.”

“Will you be staying to help?” she added.

“I’m needed in Special Defense. Bring the leftover supplies when you come down later.”

“Beetee, thank you for this.”

The clock was ticking. Effie went to work immediately, arranging leaves in alternating colors and shapes and adhering the stems to a long length of wire.

“What a beautiful pattern!” A friendly voice spoke over Effie’s shoulder. She turned to see Delly Cartwright whose blonde hair fell free of its usual braid.

“An artisan! Delly, I’m grateful you’re here to help with production and quality control.”

From their occasional chats at mealtimes, Effie had learned that Delly’s parents had been shoemakers, and 13 put her to work in textile production as soon as she’d turned 18.

“Me? An artisan?”

“You WILL be, dear. I’ve seen your stitching. I’ve also observed your congenial way with people.” Effie cut a long length of wire for Delly and set her up with supplies to work at another table. “Let’s spread around the talent.”

When school let out, Delly’s younger brother was the first to arrive, not wanting to go “home” to empty quarters. Posy Hawthorne followed close at his heels, skipping to keep up with his much longer legs.

“Stop followin’ me!” he told her.

“I’m not followin’ you. We’re just goin’ the same place, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re a baby, and I don’t want you sittin’ at MY table.”

“Cordwain!” Delly interjected, “That’s not polite!”

“I’m FIVE years old, and I’ll sit wherever I please, CordWAIN.” With three older brothers, Posy could hold her own in disagreements with just about anyone, especially boys. Effie admired that along with her manners.

“Aw, Dellyyyy,” her brother whined, “You’re supposed to call me Cord!”

“You apologize to Posy, and I won’t have to be so stern.”

“Do I HAVE to?! She’s just Vick’s little sister.”

“And you’re MY little brother, so, yes, you do. You know Ma and Pa would say so if—“

“Ma and Pa are dead!” Cord sat at the table with Delly and folded his arms across his chest.

Delly sighed, and her tone softened, “Cordy, honey, that’s all the more reason to apologize.”

His lip quivered, and he muttered in a hoarse voice. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry they died,” Posy empathized, “My daddy died b’fore I was born.”

She sat across from Effie and looked at her for a long fifteen seconds. Effie wasn’t used to children being so young. The girl’s dark hair fell long past her shoulders in two braids. Her gray eyes were deeply set. She had the look of a person who’d seen the shadow of death and kept going.

“I like your pink glasses.” Posy twirled one of her braids around her finger. “I used to have pink ribbons. Two of ‘em.”

“When I was your age, I wore pink ribbons in my hair. Pink was my favorite color.”

“Mine too! Gale says we can’t go back fer the ribbons. He says they’re gone. Do you think they’re gone?”

“Well... I...” For goodness sake. What does one say to a child whose district was fire bombed to rubble?

Cord muttered some more, “Of course they’re gone!”

Posy ignored him, waiting for Effie’s response.

“Your brother, Gale, is wise, dear.” Effie saw her expectant little face fall. “I am going to your district tomorrow. With Katniss. Would you like for me to look for the ribbons so you know for certain?”

Posy nodded.

“Then I’ll be sure to do that. In the meantime would you like to help make a garland? There aren’t any pink leaves, but there are other pretty colors.”

Posy reached into the bowl and pulled out a red one. “Can I do this one?”

“Of course. Let me show you.”

Effie demonstrated with a different leaf then watched Posy’s small fingers peel and cut the tape and use it to add her chosen leaf to the copper wire.

“How’s that?” the girl asked.

The tape was crooked. The leaf was crooked, and it didn’t fall in line with the pattern. Effie considered telling her so. Aemilia Trinket certainly would have. And for that reason if no other, Effie said to the five-year/old, “That’s wonderful, dear.”

Posy beamed. “You’re nice. You’re not scary at all! I’m gonna go tell Rory that he’s wrong.” She hopped out of the chair and skipped away, turning around long enough to say, “I’ll be back!”

Effie watched her go, not knowing quite what to think. Rory?... She couldn’t remember who that was. One of the Hawthorne boys?

“This year would have been Rory’s first reaping,” Delly explained.

Effie didn’t need to hear anything more in order to understand. The truth split her heart. Half of it dropped like lead into her stomach. The other half rose up into her throat, threatening to choke her.

The children are afraid of me.

Even without a reaping ball in front of me, they are still afraid.

In that moment, she didn’t have time or space to process the realization. She just sat there, forcing a smile, trying to keep the vacant feeling in her chest from showing on her face. As volunteers streamed into the dining hall, she swallowed the lump in her throat, pressed her palm to her stomach, and directed the project as planned.

More children arrived giggling and singing, 🎶”Come live with me and be my love...”🎶 It was the beginning of District 4’s wedding song, which they’d started learning in school. 🎶”...I'll take you out upon the sea...”🎶 drew them into conversation about how the ocean might look, feel, sound, smell, and taste. None of them had ever been to the seashore. They’d only seen it in books.

🎶”...To share the starry night with you...” 🎶 intrigued them too. Some of the children from 12 tried to describe the stars to the kids from 13 who had never been above ground at night. “A star is like the tip of the flame of a candle that never flickers.”... “They just pop out in the sky as it’s changing from blue to black.”... “My grandma says stars are ghosts that come to visit us at night. Good ghosts, not scary ones.”... “Ghosts ain’t real.”... “Are so!”... “Are not!”

Dozens of adults were there to cut wire and strips of tape for the younger children and to ensure the garlands turned out beautifully.

With so many helping hands, Effie had to let go of her precise plans. The work of other artisans became apparent as some patterns emerged which were even more pleasing than what Plutarch and Effie envisioned.

Boggs showed up, carrying his son on his hip. The boy seemed younger than Posy, though Effie was far from an expert about children under 12. Boggs sat at a table with the boy in his lap. The little one reached for the leaves just as Boggs’ communicuff started flashing wildly. “Damon, buddy, President Coin is calling. I’ve just lost my break time. I’m going to need to take you back to daycare, but maybe Miss Trinket will let you take one of the leaves with you?” Boggs gave Effie a pleading look. The last thing he needed just then was an upset kid.

Damon’s big brown eyes welled up with tears. He wiped them away with the backs of his hands which were filled with leaves that he didn’t want to let go. Since the epidemic, Boggs and his son had been on their own. Looking into those teary eyes, Effie couldn’t help but feel for them. The feeling seeped into that empty space in her chest, and eased a bit of the void.

“Your son can stay awhile, if you’d like. Then I can take him back to daycare.”

“Are you sure? He’s a handful, and you have a lot going on here.”

Seeing herself in the moment as “scary ghost” rather than a star, Effie definitely was NOT sure that she was the right person to be looking after a young child. “Of course, I’m sure,” she spoke through her smiling mask.

“What do you say, buddy? Do you want to stay with Miss Trinket and make a garland, or do you want me to take you back to daycare now?”

“It’s Effie. The only one who calls me Miss Trinket around here is Mr. Heavensbee.” She laughed.

Damon climbed down from Boggs’ lap and up into Effie’s. “Oh! Well, hello,” she said, pushing her chair back far enough to make room for him. He was heavier than he’d looked in the strong arms of his father. He squirmed around reaching for everything at once: more leaves of every shape and color, scissors...

Boggs’ eyes widened.

Effie handed Damon a roll of tape in trade for the scissors. “You can hold the tape, and I’LL do the cutting.”

‘Thank you,’ Boggs mouthed the words then told his son, “This is an important job, soldier. Effie is your commanding officer. Are you going to take this work seriously and mind what she tells you to do?”

“Yeth, thir, Daddy, thir!” His lisp melted Effie’s heart.

“At ease, little man. I’ll pick you up from daycare at 18:00.” Boggs kissed his son’s forehead, and Damon was already hard at work attempting to peel tape off the roll.

As Effie helped the boy put leaves on the wire, Posy returned, accompanied by one of her brothers who hurried to claim an open seat next to Cord. Posy skipped up to Effie and patted her head. “I got Vick to come, but Rory’s stubborn. YOU know how boys can be.”

Effie looked up from the table to see Haymitch leaning against a pillar near the edge of the dining hall. He was watching her closely. The expression on his face was a loaded mix of curiosity and seriousness.

“Yes, I do know how boys can be,” Effie agreed, “Especially when they are afraid.”

Haymitch had never seen Effie around little kids, and he was fascinated. The Hawthorne girl chattered on and on, tucking leaf stems into the top knot of Effie’s kerchief. Boggs’ kid was in Effie’s lap, crushing leaves with his hands and unwrapping tape for her to cut with scissors. A girl Haymitch didn’t recognize sat to the side, touching Effie’s bracelet. “Is this silver and gold?” the kid asked.

“This s costume jewelry,” Effie answered.

“What’s ‘costume’?” the girl wanted to know.

“A costume is... something you might wear when you are... pretending.”

The Hawthorne girl said to the other one, “You can wear one of my pink ribbons sometime, and we can pretend to be twins... if Effie finds my ribbons in 12 tomorrow.”

Effie locked eyes with Haymitch. “I promised I’d look, Posy, but please don’t get your hopes up, dear.”

He was trying to make sense of the situation. Effie’s going to 12 tomorrow? Why? And why is nobody telling me anything! Pissed off, he started to walk away.

“Excuse me, girls. Damon, let’s go talk to Haymitch for a few minutes.” Effie stood up, holding the boy on her hip as Boggs had done. “Haymitch! Wait...” She caught up to him before the staircase. If he’d really wanted to avoid her, he would have already been long gone.

“What are you thinking!?” he asked, unsure of what he was wondering about most... Why was Effie going to 12 where the burned corpses of his people were still rotting? Why didn’t she tell him about her plans? And what the hell was his heart doing as he watched her with those little kids?

“Annie needs help selecting one of Cinna’s dresses for the wedding, and Katniss asked if I could go with them for support. So, of course, I said yes. ...Not that I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, sweetheart. But it’s bad there. You’re going to see things that’ll change you.”

“I’m already changing.” She boosted the kid up on her hip. “There’s nothing I can do to stop that. ...And I don’t think I want to stop it.”

Damon dropped the leaves and rubbed his eyes. “Are you tired... buddy?” Effie hesitantly used one of Boggs’ nicknames for the boy. He shook his head ‘no’, but rubbed his eyes again. “How about we take these leaves to daycare so you can show your daddy?”

Damon nodded and opened his hands to the floor where the leaves had fallen. Haymitch bent to pick them up and handed them back to the kid. He stood close to them. Effie smelled like the woods, faintly like ginger, and mostly like her. The fragrances helped him feel less agitated. They were familiar, as if less was changing all at once.

“Thank you,” she said about the leaves, “Will you please tell Delly where I’m going and ask her to stay until I return?”

“Sure”

She rested her palm on Haymitch’s shirt where his sweater gaped open. She brushed her fingertips along the buttons. “Will YOU stay until I return? I could really use your help hanging these garlands in Special Defense.”

Her touch felt too good for him to say no.

The peace in his expression was answer enough for her.

As he watched her walk away, a smile crept over his face. He was far too amused to remind Effie that the Hawthorne girl had embellished her head wrap with at least a dozen leaves. In all the years, it was the best *wig* he’d seen her wear. If she was going to roam around 13 looking like a tree, then who was he to stop her?

[jeon-googi]

Winter Bear

— pairing: Photographer!Taehyung X Artist!Reader

 — genre: Slice of life, Romance

— words: 4k

— rating: SFW

— warnings: none~

— notes: I think this may be my favorite one so far, I kind of just woke up last night and started writing and tbh I’m really happy with the outcome. I hope you all like it as well 

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You hadn’t exactly noticed him at first. You mean, at your small arts college you were well into your third year and could name almost everyone by now. Yet somehow in the corner of the class, one nameless student sat. His hair was shaggy and it covered his eyes and most often his clothes were oversized, making his hands look like small paws as he fiddled with his camera. His camera seemed to be the one thing permanently stuck to his body as you noticed, it never left his hands. In class as the professor would demonstrate, you notice rather than looking with his own eyes, he liked to look through the eyes of the camera lense instead, as if it somehow made more sense to him this way. 

You found all this out from one class period. Soon the professor dismissed the class and you began to slowly pack your belongings, still captivated by the nameless boy. He too quickly packed up his belongings, a canvas tote with some sketch pads and his pencils, and left with his camera in hand. Now you wouldn’t consider yourself a stalker so to say, but he most definitely caught your attention. Leaving the classroom only a few paces behind him, you kept a discreet eye on him, as he floated through the halls of the art building. He liked to stop occasionally, at windows, and peer through the camera. You figured he was taking photos, as he would pull back and glance at the screen, either a slight scowl or a neutral look on his face. You followed for as long as you could, before he reached the large stairs leading to the roof. There was no way you could follow without suspicion so you turned around quickly and left down the hall, unaware of the camera angled back at you, the gleam in the photographer's eye as he captured the way your hair moved in the sunlight. 

Your second day of classes noticing the camera boy went as uneventful as the first one, but today, you learned his name was Taehyung. 

“Taehyung, how does the composition of this painting make you feel the artist's emotions?”

Your ears perked up at the mention of his name as you glanced at him from across the classroom, Taehyung deep in thought as he toyed with the strap of his camera. He seemed to be deep in thought as he stared at his desk, but soon enough his head shot up to look at the board. 

“The composition isn’t what makes you feel the emotion, it resides with the colors.”

Your eyes widened a bit, you weren’t expecting his voice to be so deep. Your teacher nodded in agreement, “Good I am glad you caught on. See class this painting in particular-” 

The rest of the lecture droned on for you, but you couldn’t help but be so curious about Taehyung. You hands absentmindedly sketched down every aspect you watched, the profile of his face, his hands, the hair in his eyes. To be quite honest, you weren’t expecting to feel so inspired. 

‘Maybe it’s a sign…’ you thought, as the class ended and everyone began to pack up their things. The teacher had written on the board the final date for your classes end of the year exhibition, and so far, this boy in class was the only thing striking your creative nerve. Making sure you threw everything into your bag, you mustered up enough courage to quickly make your way over to him. Up close, he still didn’t even acknowledge your presence fixated on his notes in front of him,  until you gently tapped him on the shoulder, shaking him from his daze. 

“Um hey?” You smiled, gripping the strap of your tote bag nervously. He stared at you wide eyed as he nodded a greeting back to you. 

“I know this is a little embarrassing, but I’m Y/n...and I was wondering if for my exhibition, you would model for me?” You asked quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “You see..I’ve been in quite a rut lately and well, right now your kind of like...my muse?” You explained, trying not to sound like a weirdo. You dug through your bag quickly and pulled out the few pages you had sketched and laid them out on the table before him. “I mostly focus on sketches and charcoal, so I wouldn’t need too much of your time...” 

Taehyung’s eyes carefully scanned over your work, his hands lightly brushing the lines on the page as he recognized them as his own. His eyes went a little wide as he stared back at you. “You really...want to sketch me for your final grade?” He asked, almost in disbelief. You nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

He smiled a bit at your excitement before collecting your sketches and passing them back to you. “Alright, I guess I’ll do it then.” You really couldn't contain your excitement as you thanked him fervently. You both planned to meet after classes on select days of the week, after all, you didn’t want to take up too much of his time since you knew he would also need to prepare for his final project as well. You used an old classroom on the third floor of the art building that never was used anymore, so you made it your own personal studio. You couldn’t lie, you were nervous. After all, it would be your first time alone with Taehyung. As you began to set up your easel and supplies, the door softly creaked open. Taehyung's head appeared through the door, giving you a boxy smile when he saw you. 

“Hey Taehyung!” You smiled, pulling out the last few pieces of your supplies. He entered the room, dressed in a black turtleneck and denim jacket, a small pair of glasses resting gently on his face. He was handsome. That was easy enough, but there was some sort of poeticness to everything he did, from the way he fidgeted with a ring on his finger, or how he fixed his hair. You were utterly captivated by Kim Taehyung. 

“I’ll just have you take a seat, and I’ll start the first round of sketches.” you instructed, pointing him in the direction of the chair. He nodded and sat down quickly, his hands placed in his lap. You tapped your pencil to your lip gently as you examined his position. “You look just a little too...stiff. How about we try this?” You walked over to the chair, motioning him to stand up. Quickly you flipped the chair around, sitting with the back against your chest, resting your head on your arms with your fingers gently dangling. 

“I think this will be most comfortable for you, and I will get the points I want.” You smiled. Taehyung nodded as he mimicked your position on the chair, glancing at you to make sure he got it right. “Perfect.” you smiled and began to sketch. The silence at first was awkward, more so for Taehyung as he had nothing to do except not move. You realized this a little too late into the session and felt bad immediately. 

“So Taehyung...what program are you in right now?” you asked, glancing at him from behind the easel.

“Photography.” he answered simply, moving his eyes so he could look at you a little bit better. You cocked your head as you looked back at your sketch. “If you are in the photography program, why are you in the painting class then?” You asked curiously. “I realized I had never seen you before so I was curious.” you added. He nodded, “Well it’s all relative isn’t it? I like understanding the emotions of painting so I could replicate it in my photography.” You nodded in understanding as you placed your tools down, stretching your arms out. “That does make sense. Maybe you are a genius Kim Taehyung.” you teased as you stood up, grabbing a water for yourself and one for him as well. He gratefully took the drink as he stretched his arms out, groaning from the stiffness of his body. You pulled a chair up next to him and slumped down exhausted. “That should be enough for today. It’s already looking like how I pictured.” You admitted, wiping your hands clean on your jeans. Taehyung smiled politely, “I’m glad I could be of some help to you.” You watched him carefully, excited at the opportunity to see him so close. “What do you think you're going to do for your final project?” You asked, standing up so you could start packing up your belongings. Taehyung gave a shrug, “I started a few different portfolios throughout the year, I’m just not sure which one I will use.” You nodded in understanding. “What do you like to photograph the most then?” Taehyung thought for a moment as he helped clean up. “People probably. I like seeing what others can’t.” You bit back a smile at his remark. “How very philosophical Taehyung.” You grinned as he chuckled sheepishly. “Well why do you like sketching? Specifically me?” He asked with a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes as you took the paper off your easel, rolling it up into your tote. “Don’t flatter yourself, you just happened to be there when my inspiration struck.” Both of you laughed as you finished cleaning and locking up the room behind you. “See you next time!” You smiled as you gave him a wave goodbye. Taehyung nodded his goodbye as he left down the other end of the hall. 

That night you stared at the sketch. 

“It really doesn’t capture enough of...him.” You decided as you examined it closely. Sure, you captured his anatomy to the best of your ability but it didn’t scream Kim Taehyung. You started closely at the fine lines of his hands before you realized what was missing. 

The next session, Taehyung positioned himself in his original spot, but cocked his head as he heard your request. 

“My camera…?” 

You nodded, “The sketch is fine but it’s missing some sort of… Taehyung essence if you will.” You explained. “You always have your camera with you, I think that would help in my sketch.” Taehyung nodded, listening to your explanation. He stood up to go to his bag on the nearby table, rummaging through it until the silver device appeared. Putting himself back into the same position but now, from his hand dangled the camera. You stared transfixed on him, now this was exactly what you were missing. Starting to work you quickly sketched the camera into his hand, relishing in the new soul within your piece. Focused on your work, you didn’t even notice his finger moving until his camera shuttered and flashed. You glanced over at him, a mischievous smile on his face. “My hand slipped.” You rolled your eyes as you continued your work, “So Taehyung, you like to photograph people. Who are your favorite people to photograph?” 

You could see his eyes flit back and forth as he thought of an answer. “My friends. They inspire me a lot.” He admitted as you nodded to encourage him to continue. He started to name off his group, Jimin and Hoseok from the dance program, and Jungkook who was also in photography. Yoongi from music production. Namjoon from political science and Jin from management. “We’ve all been friends since freshman year.. I’m not sure what I would do without them.” His words were so earnest and full of love it made you feel a bit emotional towards these people you never met. “They sound like really great people Taehyung.” You smiled, setting down your charcoal and wiping your hands on your pants. “We can take a break now.” You smiled, walking back over to him. He smiled his thanks as he stretched out from the chair, groaning with pleasure. 

The sunlight shone in from the large window at the front of the classroom, golden dust particles dancing in the air between you two. The sun caressed Taehyung's face gently, casting him in a golden glow. Smiling you glanced away, your heart fluttering gently. “Thanks for taking the time to pose for me. How about we go get some lunch? My treat?” You offered, collecting your bag from off of the floor. Taehyung nodded, “Sounds perfect.” As he collected his own belongings. Leaving the room you both made your way outside onto your school's campus, the trees swaying gently in the spring breeze. You both found out you loved coffee and pastries, loved reading and watching movies, and enjoyed the same music. There was a cafe nearby and you two took some seats on the patio across from each other. Taehyung quickly pulled out his camera and started looking through the lense at the scenery before him. 

“Why do you do that?” You asked, sipping on your coffee. He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, “Do what?” You motioned to the camera, “You always just look through the lense, you’re not even taking pictures” He glanced at his camera and made an ah sound. “Well you never know when the perfect picture could happen. I like to look around and see if anything looks worth shooting-” He resumed his position of looking through his camera before abruptly turning it to you, quickly capturing a photo. You looked at him bewildered as he glanced at the preview on the screen. “Perfect…” He mumbled with a smile, his eyes glancing up to yours. The blush on your face was immediate as you huffed it off, taking a sip of your coffee. Taehyung grinned as well, not taking his eyes off of you and you quickly changed the subject. 

Before you knew it, it was the end of the semester, only a few more days before your final exhibition. You were so excited to finally be able to relax and take a break but soon you also realized, you only had one more sketch session with Taehyung. Over the course of the last few weeks, the two of you grew close. The air seemed to change between you two during the last few sessions, Taehyung's eyes somehow always finding yours and when you would call him over to see your work, he would lean in close, one hand one the back of your chair and his face close to yours. After sessions you would stare at your work, a twinge of sadness creeping into your mind. 

The last session with Taehyung came quick. You found yourself slowly setting up this time around, your hands lingering on the easel and on the paper before you. You almost didn’t even hear the door open before Taehyung crept in. 

“Are you excited Y/n?” He asked with a smile, taking his seat in the center of the room. You cocked your head before he laughed softly, “It’s our last session, your project will be done soon!” Your smile faltered a bit before you were able to nod your head excited, “I’m ready for a break! How about you? Your portfolio coming along?” You two chatted and discussed while you began your warm up sketch, the daylight casting long shadows throughout the room. Before you knew it, the room was starting to grow dark. 

‘No...no, no, no.’ As quick as it began, your last session with Taehyung had to end. 

“Wow Y/n these are amazing. I can’t wait to see the final project!” He smiled at you, collecting his belongings. You nodded quietly, rolling up the paper into your bag. It was all too much. You didn’t realize how much you enjoyed his company, how quickly he became a constant in your life. You didn't realize a few tears started falling past your lashes, and Taehyung's demeanor changed quickly. Placing his bag on the nearest table he jogged over to you, your head hanging low as you gripped your tote. 

“Y/n, Y/n what's wrong?” He asked concerned, his hand gently reaching for your face, gently lifting your face to his. 

“I-t’s nothing…” You sniffled, trying to wipe your face quickly. Taehyung shook his head, “No what is wrong? You wouldn’t be crying if you were fine.” He said softly, his thumb gently tracing soothing patterns on your cheeks. 

‘How can I tell him?’

‘Does he feel the same way?’

Your eyes glanced towards the floor before putting on a fake smile, “I’ve just grown so used to seeing you, I’m sad I won’t see my friend as often.”

Taehyung watched carefully as he lowered his hands, “Ah...well were still going to be friends. We can see each other soon.” He said with a smile, “But don’t be sad because of that. Let's get going.” 

You couldn’t tell exactly what happened, but Taehyung's demeanor dropped. Mentally punishing yourself for making things awkward you two parted ways in the hall, giving one last wave to each other. It felt as though you were leaving something important behind, but he was right, you could see him anytime, after all he even said you were friends. But that was the issue. In your room, you flopped onto your bed staring at your ceiling.

You didn't want to be friends with him. 

You were in love with Kim Taehyung. 

The day of your final exhibition was here, and you stood in the classroom carefully arranging your sketches on your display. The class was set up in a museum style, allowing everyone to browse around and visit each other's works, you were even allowed to invite people from other classes. You smiled as some friends came over to see your work before you paused, hearing an all to familiar voice. 

“Jungkook bring them in here!”

Taehyung entered the room,  his gray sweater rolled up at the sleeves and a brown coat in his hands. A tall boy entered the room, carrying a large easel.

“Namjoon has the other prints, and Jimin and the others are on their way.” ‘Jungkook’ said, placing the large easel down with ease. 

‘So that’s Jungkook…’ you thought with a smile, watching the two interact like siblings. Your heart sped up as Taehyung caught your eye, saying something quickly to Jungkook and waving your way. Jungkook turned around as well, giving you a friendly nod. You waved back shyly before returning to arranging your sketches. 

Soon the class started, and the chatter and mingling began. A lot of people gave you praise for your work, loving the different poses and points you chose to work on. You smiled as you waved off their praise before a deep voice interrupted your conversations.

“You’re Y/n?”

You looked up, a taller individual looking at you. 

“Yeah I am? You are..?”

“Namjoon.” He smiled looking at your work. “You really drew a lot of great pictures of our Tae.” He said, your eyes widening at his compliment. 

“He was a great model, I’m really lucky he accepted my offer.” Namjoon nodded as he listened to you, “Have you gone to check his portfolio out yet?” he asked. You shook your head, confused. Namjoon smiled as he covered his mouth trying to hold back a laugh. “Well I think you should, he worked really hard and would appreciate your feedback.” You nodded, excusing yourself from the conversation to find Taehyung's table. His booth was laid out neatly, a single binder on the table. In elegant cursive the name of the portfolio was on the front of the book.

Winter Bear.

Turning the first page you smiled, it was indeed full of candid photos of his friends, all in places they seemed to love. Jungkooks photos were of him in nature and with other friends, Hoseoks was on the dance floor,  Jimins at the beach. You were filled with a sense of youth and nostalgia, your eyes watering at the blatant love Taehyung had for his friends. You bit back a smile at a conversation with him that rushed to your mind

 “What do you like to photograph the most then?” Taehyung thought for a moment as he helped clean up. “People probably. I like seeing what others can’t.” 

Turning the last few pages you realized there were a few extra photos at the end, and some of them struck a vaguely familiar. There was a figure sitting in a chair, a hand delicately reaching towards an easel, the face was focused on the art before them. You paused, staring closer at the work. Was that..you? You quickly looked at the other photos and indeed there was no denying it, the last individual in Taehyung's portfolio was you. There was the photo he took of you at the cafe as well as others you didn’t know of. Tons from you in your studio, some from your walks to the cafe, one from the hallway outside of the classroom. You couldn't help your eyes watering as you reached the final page, a simple quote written in the same cursive. 

 All the bad days

They’re nothing to me 

With you

-Taehyung

Quickly looking around you searched for his familiar head of hair. Namjoon seemed to notice you looking and you caught a discreet motion to the hallway outside of the class. Giving him a smile, you ran out of the room looking up and down the hall for Taehyung. 

‘Where could he be?’

You started to panic, unable to think of where he would go to before one idea came to mind. It was worth a shot. Quickly heading up the stairs, you ran to your studio, noticing the door slightly ajar. You paused in front of the door, out of breath, before softly sliding it open.

Taehyung was there. His back against the door, leaning against one of the tables in the room, his hand gently tracing over the easel you had used so many times before. 

“Taehyung…” You called, a look of shock on his face as he glanced up at you. 

“Y/n what are you doing here?” He asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. You made your way to him quickly, causing Taehyung to lean back against the table. 

“I saw your...portfolio.” You said out of breath, looking him in the eyes. He seemed to grow a bit shy as he glanced away from you. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you... I hope you’re okay with it it’s just..” He started but stopped, his voice growing soft as he fiddled with his fingers. You quickly reached out your own hand, taking his hand in yours. His eyes grew wide as he stared at you, “It’s just what Tae?” you pressed. 

He let out a shaky breath, “I never wanted to be just friends with you. You inspire me, you make me so happy Y/n but I just...I just didn’t know how to tell you.” He answered, squeezing your hand gently. He looked shocked as you sniffled, your eyes watering. 

“You really like me?” you asked.

Taehyung chuckled as he took his hands back, placing them on your cheeks to wipe your tears away. “Very much.” He whispered as he leaned in closer, placing his lips gently against yours. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it was going to explode as you placed your hands on his, your mouth moving against his. Pulling back you rested your foreheads against each other, basking in the silence of each other. He glanced at you before smiling, “But how did you know I was up here?” You sniffled before laughing as well, “I met Namjoon...he told me.” Taehyung let out a heartfelt laugh, making a mental note to thank him later. Pulling you into his chest, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, placing a kiss on your head. You nuzzled your head deeper into his chest as he smiled, closing his eyes. You two stayed together like this, the sunlight warming your bodies and the golden dust dancing around you two until you left the studio, hand in hand. The door shut gently, putting the room back into a state of slumber. 

You sleep so happily I wish you good night, good night, good night Good night, good night

[saintlavrents]

Forever [h.o]

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Warning(s): Fluff

Prompt: “Your hair keeps falling into your eyes, do you know that? Here, lemme just-“

Summary: This is where it all started.

Words: 1,072

A/N: im back with yet another haz fic ((im in a deep hole of haz feels ok)) for my entry to @hollandsosterfield and @spidey-caps‘s writing challenge. happy belated birthday! sorry that this is so late ((school still sucks lmao and its been taking up most of my time and energy)) and sorry if this is kinda bad lmao bc I haven't been writing any fluffs and am still in a v angsty mood so yeah. enjoy?

Harrison walked out of the on-campus coffee shop with two cups of iced coffee in his hands. He walked over to the art room in the west wing of the campus, with a strap of his bag slung over one of his shoulders. He stopped on the doorway of the art room, which only had her in it, deeply engrossed in yet again another one of her painting.

He couldn’t help but admire how cute she looked whilst focusing on the canvas and barely even noticing his presence. Her hands were covered in different colors and shades of paint. Some even got to her arms, neck, cheek and even her hair.

“Coffee?” His words tore her attention away from the canvas and on to him.

“Yes, please. Thank god.” She threw her head back, in an attempt to stretch her neck after hours of looking at the canvas.

He walked over to one of the tables in the room and placed one of the cups he brought on it, along with his bag and took the coffee he got for her over to her. He pushed the straw towards her, enabling her to take a sip without having to touch the cup with her paint-littered hands.

“Much better. Thanks.” She smiled at him.

“No problem.” He placed the cup on a stool behind her and went back to sipping on his iced coffee.

She was struggling to keep her hair out of her face and away from the paint, as they were untied and had gotten untucked from behind her ears. She kept on flipping her hair, whilst moving the brush in her hand, just to keep it away.

“Your hair keeps falling into your eyes, do you know that? Here, lemme just-“ He said as he ties her hair with the scrunchie he somehow pulled out of his bag, causing her to pause the moving brush in her hand and give him a weird look.

“So, you just carry a scrunchie around, huh?”

“How could I not when you’re always having hair all over your face when you’re painting?”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged and continued moving the paint-covered brush over the canvas.

“Plus, I couldn’t possibly look at your beautiful face if it’s covered up.” He smirked.

She raised her palm, which was covered with blue paint, “Don’t make me get this all over your white shirt.”

He laughed and retreated to lean on the wall next to the table he put his bag on and pulled out his phone, mindlessly scrolled through his Instagram feeds and replied to a few texts, whilst looking at her once in a while when she’s not looking.

But soon minutes, turned to hours and there was nothing more to do with his phone, so he slid it back into his jeans pocket and decided to fixate his attention onto the girl scrunching her face at the canvas. He, soon, found himself smiling lightly as he’s looking at her, admiring her beauty and her dedication to her art.

It wasn’t a secret when it comes to his feelings for her. Everyone around the pair definitely knew of it, except for her. If it wasn’t for her obliviousness, she would have noticed the heart eyes he’s always looked at her with.

Harrison soon fell into the pits of his thoughts, overthinking on the feelings he has for her and trying to come up with a way to tell her how he feels and, possibly, even ask her out.

“Quit staring.” Her word snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I wasn’t staring at you. I was staring at the wall.” He poked his tongue from between his lips, jokingly.

“I never said you were staring at me.”

He huffs, “Fine. I’m bored, okay? How much longer will you take?”

“Hey, you offered me to come with you to Elysia’s birthday.” She raises her hands in defense.

“I didn’t know I had to wait for you for two hours! What are you working on, anyway? Let me see it.” He marched over to her in an attempt to sneak a peek of the painting she had been doing ever since he got there.

“No!” She said, trying to cover the canvas with her body, shielding it away from him.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N. You can’t make me wait here for you and not see what you’ve been working on.”

“It’s almost done. You can see it when it’s done.”

“Fine.” He was about to go back to where he was sitting earlier but didn’t when he saw one of the paint tubes oozing out yellow paint. He took the paint in his fingers, walked on back over to her and smeared it over her right cheek, mischief glinting in his eyes.

She felt the cold paint on her cheeks and yelped, “Harrison!”

He laughed and she stood up from her stool to chase him with her paint-covered palms, trying to get revenge. As an artist, she definitely lacks exercise so at one point she stopped chasing him around the room as she bends over, placed both her hands on her kneecap and pants heavily.

“Okay, that’s enough.” She breathed out.

“Okay.” He responded, stopping his tracks and walking over to her, still smiling with mischief.

She stood up, a few feet shorter than his towering figure. And looks up at him, at that damn ocean eyes. And in that moment, he swore he’s never wanted to kiss her so badly. He keeps on flicking his gaze from her eyes to her lips. She tugged the corner of her lips to form a small smile and leaned in on her tippy toes to plant a kiss on his lips.

His eyes went wide, clearly surprised at what she just did, but he then leaned back in and gave her a proper kiss, this time shutting his eyes, only opening them once again when he felt a cold liquid smeared onto his cheek. He pulled away to her smiling widely.

“I win.”

“That was pretty much how it all started. And now, four years later, we’re here celebrating the love they have for one another. Let’s raise our glass to the bride and groom.” Tom finished his best man speech and raised his glass along with the other guests, whilst Harrison and Y/N smiled at each other lovingly and connected their lips once more.

“To now and forever more to come!”

tagging: @hollandsosterfield, @spidey-caps, @revenantwriting, @miraclesoflove