#I meant to paint the sides of his canvas black but I forgot and I don’t wanna do that rn

[doctorsiren]

Got some mini canvases yesterday :)

[rainbowcaleb]

If you need a goofy little fic distraction right now, here is 1.2k short and sweet words about surprises, costumes, Jester, Fjord, Beau, boats, bagels, baguettes, buns, breads and more 💙🍞

(Read and comment on ao3)

“Jester, this is an awful lot of bread.” Fjord pushes past the two heavy bags by the door, their canvas sides obscuring what’s inside but the heads of the baguettes peeking from the top are clue enough.

“Hellooo, I'm in the kitchen!”

He can hear her voice despite the well padded room muffling the sound; Jester’s skill at projection is the stuff of legend. He side steps another crate that smells suspiciously like yeast and a large sunflower patterned tote bag of buns as he gingerly makes his way through their house. “Beau is with me, she says she ‘has the stuff’ . Should I be worried?”

Beau’s sigh is audible even though Fjord doesn’t have eyes on her in this carbohydrate jungle. “What part of ‘need to know’ escapes you?”

“Kneed to know!” They’re close enough to the kitchen now that Jester pokes her head out of the doorframe giggling. “That’s a good one, Beau.” Miraculously there’s nary a crumb on Jester’s all-black lace outfit, incongruous to the room behind her piled high with crusty rustic loaves.

Fjord has experience in how to navigate this. “Wow, don’t you look lovely today, also, if you could perhaps tell me what is going on—”

“Can you hold out your arms?” Jester steps towards him and lifts her arms straight, a strange mimic of a hug as if one has never done it before.

Fjord does so, but continues his gentle prod. “My love, would it be okay if I grabbed a snack? It looks like we have plenty extra.”

“Whoa, your wingspan is so wide.” Jester looks at Beau. “You think you brought enough?”

Beau gives Fjord an appraising look. “You working on your traps and lats? Some pre-wedding routine? Looking good.” She grins at Jester. “Yeah, I have enough.”

“Absolutely not!” Jester rounds back on Fjord, taking advantage of his raised arms to wrap her own around his waist. “The bread isn’t for you. It’s not really for me either. It’s the theme , Fjord.”

Fjord knows if he doesn't or if he does asks it's a trap either way, but it’s a risk he must take. “Someone want to clue me in?”

“Fuck man, did you forget?” Beau laughs then covers her mouth to hide it. “He’s all yours, Jester.”

“Should I pre-apologize?” Fjord glances over Jester’s head at Beau. She shrugs but there’s a glint to her eye he doesn’t like.

“It’s fine , like totally, I know you’ve been super busy this week finishing up the whole ‘buying another ship for the fleet and hiring a crew thing’ but you really should look at a calendar once in a while.” She squeezes his middle then quickly shoves her hands under his shirt. Jester tickles like it's her mission to seek, destroy, and cause the most giggles.

“Mercy!” Fjord laughs. “I concede! Do I need to wave a white flag above my head?”

“Depends, are your undies white today, and can you take 'em off and wave those?” Jester pats his stomach and pulls her hands back out with a smile.

“Absolutely do not forget I am in the room right now.” Beau speaks from behind the safety of her hands shielding her eyes.

“Pbbfft, you’re no fun.” Jester sticks out her tongue but does take a step back. “It’s the costume party today! The neighborhood contest? All the kids are going to be stopping by for treats ‘cause I’m trying to bribe them to vote for us?”

“Oh.” Fjord inhales; some part of him knew it is today and that part of the chaos of this week had been decorating every surface with fall leaves, gourds of all sizes and painted face persuasions, and Jester’s insistence of sampling a strange but bountiful variety of baked goods. He knows it doesn’t look good that he forgot, but to be fair his makeshift panel for hiring new crew had included Marius for ‘reading people to see if they’re the right fit’— whatever he meant by that– and Kingsley who in their words ‘think the newbies need a bit of a test first’ which Fjord learned the hard way was just skirting the lacey edge of unethical. He is feeling exhausted after a week of too much peopleing and too little fire extinguishers on board a wooden ship.

“The party is tonight.” He says simply.

“And you, my lovely to-be, are just in time for the costume fitting. Have you been practicing your bat screech?”

“Ah.” It all comes back to him in a buttered bread scented rush. The half-conversation he heard Jester and Reani having. The craft night with Veth and Yasha. The suspiciously full bag Beau is currently carrying. “I’m not good at animal voices the same way I am with accents.” Fjord tries to shrug like he isn’t afraid of what is in store.

Jester sighs. “Just promise me you’ll do your best. I heard the best themed house on the street gets free cinnamon crunch rolls for a month .”

“Darling, my love, we are surrounded by rolls right now.”

“And that’s for the bribe! Keep up!” Jester smacks his arm lightly.

“Yeah, keep up, Captain.”

Fjord sends a lukewarm glare Beau’s way but he is intelligent enough to know when the battle is lost. He has to keep his eyes ahead on the war.

“Are our friends joining us?”

Jester takes the bag from Beau’s arms. “Duh, of course! Caleb is helping Reani teleport over and she’s bringing the headbands. Veth says she’s gonna try and get Luc to be a baby bat but he’s been really teenagery this week so who knows. Yasha and Caduceus picked up their costumes this morning so I bet they’ll be here any minute!”

“Do you need me to run out and get anything?” Fjord eyes the distant door, half-walled off by baked fences.

“Nope!” Jester pops the ‘p’ with her mouth. “Just put on the sexy bat costume and we can start the night with a bang!”

“I am right here. ” Beau repeats.

“Surely Beauregard, you’d want to be the sexy bat instead? Yasha would love to see you…” Fjord tries to think but it’s like the flour has seeped into his brain. “Flap around sexily?”

“I don’t need any help there.” Beau flexes and sends a wink to Jester. “No, this bat costume is made. Just. For. You.” She pokes his arm with each word like deflating a balloon with a barb.

“Captain Tusktooth, won’t you do it for me?” Jester’s voice lilts up and Fjord knows what he will see when he meets her eyes. Glossy, round, perhaps a little magically enhanced to be utterly convincing, but that may just be Jester’s natural charm.

“Just for tonight?” His willpower is crumbling like the pastry crumbs below his boots.

“Yes!” Jester hugs him again. “Just for the party!”

“It’s only a couple hours?”

“Maybe like four or five or maybe six,” Fjord’s sudden cough sounds strangled. “It might go past midnight, but yes just for tonight! My sexy little flappy Fjordy bat, please do it for me.”

“For you, always yes.” He doesn’t have it in his heart to say no. Fjord can suffer the embarrassment for a few hours. He knows the smiles and laughing kisses from Jester will be worth it. Plus, who are they to pass up free cinnamon crunch buns for a whole month ?

[mvltisstuff]

hello again, i’ve requested a few times (the feels and sweet nothing) and i was hoping i could request again? (i think i might add an emoji at the end bc i love your writing and will keep requesting as much as you allow ❤️❤️) anyway, i hope you’re doing well and things are going good.

i was wondering if i could request a buck fic where is partner is an artist and he finds a sketchbook of sketches of him and when he asks about it they talk about how pretty he is and how deserves to be appreciated and just making him feel super loved with it. thank you if you get to it and ofc no troubles if you don’t. take care 🥰

also is 🚒 good for a way to recognize me??

wasteland, baby! - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: omg you always have such creative ideas! i love receiving requests so always feel free :)) 🚒 = ❤️‍🔥 i also won’t be posting as frequently for the next few weeks due to finals, but after that i’ll be posting a ton!!

buck had come over to y/n’s apartment after his shift for dinner, and the scent of thick acrylic paint and primer had stung at his nostrils. he began to love the smell, as he knew that it meant she was around. he had let himself in with his key, taking in all of the perfectly placed plants and artwork on the walls.

she had a canvas that was almost complete, with just a few finishing touches. buck had walked over to it to examine. her talent was extraordinary. he knew it was out of this world, and the way she was so proud of her pieces his made his heart swell up with love.

“hi, buck!” y/n says, beginning to walk out of the hallway from her room to her art. she was wearing a pair of dark green pants and a white t-shirt which somehow complimented her beautifully. her face had small specks of blue and red on her cheeks and black and grey streaks on her shirt. “sorry it’s such a mess in here, but doesn’t this look great?”

“no, don’t worry about the mess, but how long did that take? it’s amazing!” buck stutters a big, not being able to comprehend how art like that could come out of her hands.

“thank you, love,” she replies, taking his belongings and placing them down for him. “how was work today? anything good?”

“just a normal old day, but you know it’s the 118.”

“it is never normal at the 118,” y/n smiles and gives him a cheek kiss before going to wipe her face off. buck goes to sit down in her living room on the couch, and she follows behind him with a quick change of shirt. she placed a small pizza in the oven to cook for them, and cuddled up next to him while they told each other stories about their day.

“it was wild, y/n,” buck starts. “i mean this woman literally rose from the dead after like 15 minutes, after being under a street. oh! you’re going to love this- and we saved some puppies in a sewer.”

“oh my god, are they ok?”

“they’re all fine, but i’m not sure if we are right now.”

“what do you mean?” she asks, slowly and carefully.

“you don’t smell something burning?”

she takes a deep inhale and looks over to her smokey kitchen. it wasn’t too bad, but definitely enough to make it inedible. “shit! fuck, i forgot about it!” she says, bouncing the pan up and down while trying not to burn herself.

y/n was busy discarding of the pizza when buck looked over at her with joy. he had a cheeky smile on his face and was laughing at the forgetfulness of both of them. he looked back down in front of him and the coffee table, and he saw a book that y/n always has on her. she brings it to work, to her family, anywhere she goes, she has it. it was her beloved sketchbook, filled with hundreds of small doodles and big pieces. buck has seen a lot of things in it, admiring each one before he comes across a bookmarked section.

when he flips the pages of the book, he notices that the person that is sketched and shaded looks particularly familiar. he makes note of the sharp nose and soft, but hard jaw. he sees the famous birthmark on the side of his face. he’s never looking right on, though. he’s always focused on something or has a light grin on his face. buck knows these are of him, but he doesn’t think he had any importance to be the top drawing in her book.

y/n walks back in to greet her boyfriend, “i think we might just have to ord-“ she looks at the sketches that she had put on that paper. a heat rose up into her face, reddening her cheeks and making her feel a sense of embarrassment.

“a-are these me?” buck asks, quietly. y/n nods, slowly, praying that she didn’t make him uncomfortable and that she will see him again tomorrow. “i-um..”

“you don’t have to say anything, buck. i never meant for you to see those and if you don’t like them, i’ll never do it again i swear. you just, you’re so beautiful, buck. and i love to draw beautiful things.”

“i just don’t know what to say, these are so good. i feel like you know me more than i know myself,” he says, chuckling a bit.

“you like ‘em?”

“i love them,” buck says.

“good, i just couldnt stop myself. you are always so pretty, no matter what and i want you to know that, so i tried to convey it through this. i was going to show you eventually, but i wanted to do more.”

“why me, though? you could draw anyone,” buck asks.

“no one else is you! you might have a pretty face and all but there is really nothing more beautiful than your soul. you are filled with so much love and sweetness and i’ve been dying to find a way to show you, because you are loved, evan. i love you and i wanted to put my two favorite things together. not a day goes by where i have anything but love for you.”

suddenly, the feeling in bucks chest is rising stronger, feeling like it’s going to burst. when it does, he has strong riptides of tears in his eyes. with a pure smile on his face, he passionately leaves a kiss on her lips, and he feels loved for the first time.

growing up, his parents never showed him love. he always begged for it from everyone he knew, and now he feels like it isn’t deserved. but someone, y/n made him feel like he will forever be worthy of love. and he will never forget how she fixed him for the best.

[rebelwhump]

Bathtub

In this fic, you are introduced to another OC - my girl Alice "Al” (Jasmine’s roommate)

CW: emeto, burping _

“Jazz, what the fuck is that?” Alice asked, her finger pointed over at Jasmine’s painting that was propped up on an easel in the living room. It was a depiction of a naked man wearing a cowboy hat while riding a large hog and swinging a lasso around in the air. 

“This is the commission piece I told you about,” Jasmine said matter of factly. 

“Yeah, well, you left out the most interesting part,” she laughed. “Is the, uh, naked man the one who requested the painting?” 

“Oh, yeah. I think so. Sent me a photo of his face and told me to give him a large muscular physique, and an even larger…ahem,” Jasmine giggled as her eyes trailed down the canvas. The two broke out into a loud fit of laughter. 

“Man, people are freaks,” Alice stated, shaking her head. She walked over to the kitchen and untied the bag of white bread on the counter, tossing a couple pieces in the toaster.  

“Well, this freak is about to make me over two hundred bucks richer, so I say, let their freak flag fly,” Jasmine smiled, adding some more flesh tones to the hogs body. Alice wandered around their small kitchenette, collecting an overripe banana and a jar of Jif peanut butter. She tapped her foot while waiting for the toast to pop up before slathering a generous amount of peanut butter and mashed banana on top. 

“Take a break from naked guy and help me go through some Tinder picks,” Alice called out, as she plopped herself down on the gray futon and crossed her legs 

“It’s not like you need my help. You always swipe left on the ones I like anyways,” Jasmine replied. 

“Exactly! If you like them, I know they’re not for me,” Alice snorted and took a bite of her toast. She could hear her friend sigh and set down her paint brush. “You pick women you think I’ll have some sort of meaningful connection with, but this is Tinder. It’s meant for hook-ups, not long lasting relationships,” 

“But doesn’t that get old? I mean, don’t you want a relationship?” Jasmine asked as she curled up next to Alice, readjusting her orange boho skirt. 

“Do you even know me, Jazz?” She said incredulously, a smirk hidden behind her full cherry lips. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. The queen of sluts,” Jasmine teased. 

“And proud of it, baby,” Alice grinned before taking another bite of toast. 

“Ya know, most people don’t make their sexuality into a personality trait,” she joked, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. 

“I’m not most people,” Alice said with a mouthful of peanut butter. She smacked her lips as she swiped through photos of young women in the area also looking to date. “What about her?” She pointed to a brunette named Lexi, who was also twenty-one. Slightly chubby cheeks were adorned with light freckles, but what stood out the most were her breasts. She was wearing a low cut v-neck dress with an obvious push-up bra, and was nibbling on the nail of her forefinger that clung to the side of her lip like a fish hook. 

“She’s definitely your type,” Jasmine said while uncrossing her legs to stand up and walk back over to her easel. Alice had a thing for femme girls with big boobs. 

“Ugh. Says she’s looking for her soulmate,” Alice scoffed, swiping her finger left on the screen. Jasmine rolled her eyes and returned to her painting when a sudden cramp had her bending over. She pressed a hand against her normally flat stomach and found it slightly bloated. In her head, she tried to figure out how many more days it was until she was supposed to get her period. If this was her period, it was a week early, but she tried not to think too much of it as the cramp eventually passed. 

***

“I think I’m gonna order Chinese for dinner. You want something?” Alice asked. There was a little Chinese family restaurant right outside campus that they frequented, so much so, that the owner knew them by name.

“Uh, no. I’m not that hungry,” Jasmine replied. Her stomach had felt off all evening, and that in and of itself was enough to cause her anxiety to skyrocket. She would get the occasional cramp and found herself stifling acrid burps, attempting to hide her discomfort from Alice. 

“I’ll order you some dumplings, just in case you change your mind,” Alice said with a smile. It was a sweet gesture. She knew how much Jasmine loved dumplings. But right now, her stomach churched just at the thought of putting anything in her mouth. A flood of salty and bitter saliva coated her tongue and she felt another burp rise in her chest. Covering her mouth with her fist, she swallowed the burp back down. It made a squelching noise in her tummy, loud enough for Alice to hear. But if she did, she didn’t react. 

“I’m gonna go study,” Alice announced before making a beeline to her bedroom and closing the door. All that gas she kept swallowing down was really hurting her belly and she needed to get it out. She laid down on her purple bedspread and slipped a hand under her t-shirt, rubbing wide circles along her bloated flesh. A gurgle rumbled up her chest but died in her throat and she sighed. Feeling overly warm, she removed her flowy skirt and threw her hair up in a loose bun. 

Looking at her phone, she realized it had been almost two days since she’d talked to Brett. The morning after her boyfriend got sick at the restaurant, she messaged him to apologize for not staying over at his place that night. She wanted to be there to comfort him, like any good girlfriend should, but her intense fear of being around someone throwing up wouldn’t let her. Since that night, she had been trying to keep herself busy, distract herself from the events of that evening, and also the fact that Brett hadn’t responded to any of her texts. It had been eating at her, not knowing what he was thinking. What if he was ghosting her because he wanted to break up? Not that she would blame him. They had only been going out for a few months. It would be an ideal time to bolt, before things got too serious. 

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she quickly wiped it away. She had already spent the morning crying into her pillow, and didn’t have the energy to go another round. Her tummy let out an unhappy whine and she curled up on her side, bringing her knees up to her chest. All she wanted was Brett to be there to rub her back until she fell asleep. Maybe this is how he felt Friday night when she abandoned him? But she didn’t abandon him, she reminded herself. His brother was there. He was fine. 

***

The sound of the front door slamming jolted her out of a light sleep. She must have dozed off. Jasmine heard Alice’s combat boots clomping on the kitchen tiles and the sound of plastic bags rustling. For a moment, Jasmine forgot what she was doing before she fell asleep, but a wet hiccup brought her attention back to her stomach. It felt sour and overly full, even though she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Deciding that a hot bath may help her relax, both physically and mentally, she slipped her skirt back on and grabbed a change of clothes.

Alice was already stuffing her face by the time she walked out of her bedroom. There were several Chinese takeout containers on their tiny dining room table, including two pork filled dumplings. Jasmine repressed a sudden gag at the thought of eating them, holding her breath to escape the nauseating smell as she walked past her roommate on her way to the bathroom.

“You okay, Jazz?” Alice asked, a noodle hanging from her lip. Refusing to admit that she didn’t feel well, Jasmine tried to play it off. 

“Yeah, just tired,” she lied. “Figured a hot bath would help me decompress and get ready for the week.” Alice eyed her suspiciously.

“Alright. Well, I’ve got your dumplings here. Did you want me to leave them out for you or put them in the fridge?” She asked.

“Fridge,” Jasmine quickly spat out. Her tummy let out another grumble, and she bolted away to the bathroom. By this point, she had started to panic even more. The whirling in her gut pushed her over the edge from queasy to full blown nauseous. Looking in the mirror, it was obvious that she was sick. No wonder Alice had asked if she was okay. Her skin was a shade lighter than usual, and the yellow undertones had been replaced with a tinge of green. Sweat beads peppered her temples and forehead, and her lips were pale and dry. 

The urge to cry was strong, but Jasmine knew if she gave in, it would be an admittance that she wasn’t okay, and eventually spiral into a panic attack. Throwing her change of clothes over the towel rack, she stripped herself of her slightly damp clothes and turned on the tap. While waiting for it to fill up, Jasmine collapsed on the closed toilet seat and bent over with her head in her hands. The room had started to tilt and spin around her, like she was on some tortuous carnival ride. 

Jasmine looked up in time to see that the bathtub had almost overflowed. As she scrambled to turn off the water, she tripped on the bathmat and banged her knee against the tub. Biting back a yelp, she collapsed on the bathroom tile and sat there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to try and steady herself. Eventually, she felt stable enough to climb in, sighing as the warm water washed over her sore limbs. She tried to ignore the continued sloshing in her belly, moving in turn with the bath water. 

A sudden wet burp had her scrambling to cover her mouth with her hand. A second burp came shortly after, then another, and another. They were quick and fairly soft, but definitely sick sounding. Jasmine’s cheeks flushed red. She really hoped Alice couldn’t hear her uncontrollable burps through the door. At the same time, she wished her friend was there to help calm her down and reassure her that everything would be fine. She really didn’t want to be alone, but she also didn’t want to ask for help. 

A tight belch constricted her throat and brought up a bit of stomach acid. She started to cough over the soapy water as tears trickled down her cheeks. At this point, Jasmine started to think that maybe she should get out of the tub and go kneel in front of the toilet. It was too little too late though, as her tummy spasmed and its contents were forcefully expelled in a violent heave. 

Jasmine barely heard Alice’s knocks on the door as she gagged over the soiled bath water. There were chunks of vomit everywhere from her projectile explosion. 

“Jazz, what’s…oh shit!” Alice exclaimed, throwing the door open and stepping inside. “Are you okay? What the fuck happened?” 

Alice couldn’t answer, too distraught and embarrassed about what had just transpired. Her face was wet with tears as she stopped gagging and started to sob. 

“Hey, you’re alright. I’m gonna help you, okay?” Alice knelt down next to the tub, careful to avoid the puddle of sick that had sloshed over the edge. 

Jasmine brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I…w-want my…want b-brett,” she spluttered. 

To be continued…

[moonlightlullaby]

no celebrations?

summary: Corpse and reader celebrate his birthday in the most chill way. Based on this lovely request (ty again for sending it!) 

pairing: corpse husband x gn! reader

category: fluff

warnings: food ingestion; alcohol ingestion; loads of physical touch (let me know if I forgot to mention anything)

A/N: Hello (: This is such a lovely concept, I just couldn’t wait to get started hehe Also, I got a bit carried away and just went with it, so I’m really sorry if that’s not what you’d pictured. I do hope you enjoy it tho <3 Take care!

word count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Walking into our shared bedroom, I catch the sight of Corpse exiting the bathroom. As our eyes lock, my lips curl up tiredly and a long sigh I didn’t even know I’ve been holding finally frees itself. He sits on the edge of our bed and extends his hand to me. When I take it, he pulls me so I stand in the space between his legs.

“How was the day?” he asks with both of his hands on my waist. 

I hum, quirking a brow and tilting my head a bit “At least tomorrow - you know, the most unspecial, completely ordinary day of the year -” this earns a giggle from my boyfriend “is Sunday and I can just ignore all of that” I wave my hand in the direction of the adjacent room, where my laptop - filled with texts, assignments, spreadsheets and appointed Zoom calls - is. 

At my words, Corpse wraps his arms around my figure, pulls my body even closer to him and plants a kiss on my stomach through my shirt. My hands, in turn, caress his upper back and soft hair. 

Coming in contact with the string of his eyepatch in the process, I lean back slightly, which causes him to shoot up at me with a small frown and pouty lips. He sits still, though, as I carefully remove his eyepatch, and, while his eyes are still closed, I give each of his lids a peck. He smiles and tilts his head up to meet my lips in a long, tender and effortless kiss. Oh finally.

The idea of quarantining together was welcomed as a blessing by both of us. It meant more time spent together after all. However, with my school and work demands and Corpse’s irregular schedule, we still barely see each other throughout the day in spite of being a few feet apart from one another. And when bedtime rolls in, we’re both so exhausted all we can do is mumble words that could be counted in the fingers of one hand before drifting off. This, of course, when my boyfriend doesn’t stay up until dawn working. Don’t get me wrong, I’m his number 1 fan and admire his passion and all the hard work he puts in everything he sets his mind to, but I’m also not going to lie and say I don’t miss his warmth at night. Hence I want to devote this Sunday to him.

After a while, I break the silence “I’ll be right back.”

I let go of his hold and take my turn to use the bathroom. After doing my night routine, brushing my teeth and getting into my cozy pajamas, I walk back in the dark room and lie down, settling myself back in Corpse’s hug like two puzzle pieces matching together.

~~~~~

The excitement for a new day - not any day, no, but August 8th - washes over me as soon as I open my eyes and get a glimpse of the sleepy boy next to me. 

A couple of minutes go by as I contemplate on getting up, torn between prolonging our cuddling for some more and doing something to show Corpse my appreciation for him. The latter wins and I, cautious not to wake him up, slowly unwrap my arms from him and step out of the bed. Drawing the curtains to make sure the summer daylight doesn’t disturb his peaceful state of mind, I make my way out of the room and to the kitchen. 

Wondering what to make for breakfast, I take a good look around until my eyes catch the plethora of fruits we’ve bought a few days ago. Fruit salad it is. 

Corpse has, for as long as we’ve known each other, made it very clear he isn’t too fond of his anniversary and similar celebrations - and, even if he hadn’t explained it to me, it’s rather evident how uncomfortable they make him. This year, his friends’ and especially his fans’ hype for the date - although unintentionally - has added an extra layer of unease to it all, to which I don’t intend to contribute.

Even though I don’t want to make matters worse and would never overstep his boundaries like this (because, thankfully, I’m not Betty Cooper and he isn’t Jughead Jones), I still want to celebrate Corpse. I want to celebrate his birth and his existence, which I’m immensely grateful for. He’s both the best friend I can confide in blindly and the lover I want to share my lifetime with. He sticks to his truth and dreams higher than I could ever imagine. He turns the darkness in the world and in his mind into light with his words and with his laugh. Having him in my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me and seeing him fly makes me more proud than I can put into words. 

There’s a lot to toast to, so the solution is a celebration that is so smooth and so chill - the smoothest and most chill possible - that it doesn’t even feel like one. Just log off and enjoy a laid back day together.

As I chop a kiwi and make a mental list of fun and uncomplicated things we can do that don’t require much time and many skills, in walks Corpse, in an old white tee which is one too many sizes bigger than him and in his black sweatpants. He rubs his eyes and lets a raspy “good morning”.

“Mornin- wow! They really weren’t lying when they said when you hit 24, hotness knocks at your door”

He chuckles and shakes his head “No one’s said that”

“Well, then consider yourself the muse of a new proverb, baby”

He scrunches up his nose in response before grabbing the cup of orange juice I’d placed on the counter and taking a gulp. 

“Thank you” he turns my face and gives me an orange-flavoured kiss, neither of us having ever really cared about morning breath. 

“For calling you hot? Oh save it to when I’m done with the list of cheesy compliments I have for you” I take a grape and before I can get it in my mouth, he steals it, with wrinkles on the corner of his eyes.

“Then we’d be here for eternity!” he’s not wrong.

Corpse helps me put the fresh fruits in bowls and, with them and our juice cup in hand, we head to the balcony. Sitting next to each other, we calmly eat, take in the light blue sky and the cars and passersby changing the scenery ahead of us. Conversation flows naturally.

As we empty our bowls - after stealing many bits from each other -, I twist in my seat and face him “Hey, Corpse, do you see this?” I point to the very prominent and familiar dark circles under my eyes. “Wanna help me get rid of them?” I ask, knowing damn well it’d take a lifetime for them to actually go away and not giving up regardless.

~~~~~

The bathroom is filled with chatter and laughter and the sink, with hair clips, scrunchies, a sharpie, bowls, hair products and a towel. Corpse hisses as our cool homemade face mask comes in contact with his skin. His curly hair is pushed back and held by a blue hairband and I apply the mask to his face, making sure not to leave any spots uncovered. Well, that’s what I’m trying to do, which becomes an unnecessarily challenging task when my lovely partner can’t be still for more than two seconds. 

He kept switching between dancing to Soulmate, by Mac Miller, and mouthing its lyrics. Now that I got him - after a small threat that I wouldn’t hesitate putting this weird mix we made in his pretty mouth - to keep his lips together, the (adorable, admittedly) swaying, however, continues. He stops momentarily, only to shuffle things around right after.

Something cold touches my skin, making it my turn to let out a hiss this time. The sound is accompanied by a small jump, caused by the surprise. Corpse chuckles and, when I glance at the spot on my arm the cold thing came in contact with, I realize it’s just the sharpie. All he does is give me a mischievous smile.

While I keep massaging his face and covering it with the mask, Corpse litters my body with his drawings. Smiley faces, lightning bolts, hearts, clouds... his repertoire is vast and any exposed skin he can find becomes his canvas. Each line causing me to giggle and shudder a little. With him focused on his creations, it’s 10 times easier for me to complete my task. 

“Alright, my turn” he states, smiling, and I’m quick to grab the sharpie. 

As he adjusts a matching hairband on my head, I put a dainty heart on his neck. And, as he takes the bowl in his hands, I swiftly plant a kiss on top of the drawing. At this, he sighs in content and my chest gets warmer.

I soon understand how hard it was for him to stay still as Stay comes on and all I want to do is have a little karaoke session and dance. Corpse entertains himself with my struggle and, because it’s his birthday, I’ll let it slide. So, to make the whole process easier, instead of focusing on the song, I focus on the gorgeous face in front of me. A beautiful face to a beautiful soul. 

One of the various perks of sharing an apartment with Corpse is I get to see this face in all ways: sleepy, completely clean - no makeup, no mask -, all wrinkled in the morning, red when he’s embarrassed or when he laughs too hard… His laughter. Its sound pulls me from my trance “You’re staring, y/n” 

“Well, at least I wasn’t moving around, Corpse” I reply with squinted eyes and nudge his side playfully. 

We begin collecting the things scattered across the sink and storing them in the cabinet, and the song comes to an end, giving way to Dang!

“How long do we keep these on?” 

I hum at the question and check the playlist on shuffle on my phone “How does 5 minutes and 2 seconds sound?” 

Facing him, his grin mirrors mine and he spins me around. We laugh and allow ourselves to be as goofy as possible, jamming and moving our limbs around with a green paste on our faces.

~~~~~

After washing off the masks in the shower and painting our nails - so we’re both rocking the black nail polish look -, we’ve set our minds to - finally - finish the puzzle we started two months ago. It’s a 90’s anime setting inspired composition and we’d gotten about 40% of it done before our schedules got more hectic and the game, well, pushed aside. For weeks, the pieces sat on the ground of our living room and silently judged us every time either of us stepped to the side, as we crossed the room, in order not to crush them.

Sitting around the puzzle with comfy clothes, we team up against it and indulge in the wine Corpse’s got us and the hawaiian pizza I’ve ordered. 

As the picture comes more and more to life, moments of comfortable silence and of chattery - when we talk about anything from our shopping list and gossip about our neighbours’ lives to parallel universes and the matrix - follow one another. A different playlist on shuffle is our background noise. 

Time flies and the sun’s already hidden when it clicks to us that there are only 5 pieces left. Each piece is fitted in the whole with a giddier feeling than the previous. Corpse picks the last one - deep blue with purple and black specks - and turns to me with an excited smile and an eager gaze that I’m sure are mirrored on my face. I nod encouragingly. He places it in the puzzle and celebratory sounds fill the room.

Corpse stretches his arms and pulls me in a hug, but, since we’re both kneeling and because of the distance between us, we end up falling and lying on the ground in rather uncomfortable positions. 

“Come on, puzzle, that was easy breezy! Gotta step up your game if you really wanna challenge this duo right here!”

“Oh for sure!” Corpse squeaks as we laugh at our nonsensical brag.

After a moment while we catch our breath, he rubs my back and speaks, pulling my attention to him “Not that I’m not loving this position, but what if we watched some Drag Race?”

Is this man real? If I couldn’t feel his heart beating under me or his arms around my figure, I’d be sure he’s just a figment of my imagination. “But it’s your b- don’t you wanna choose something you like more? Li-” 

“Nope,” he boops my nose “Drag Race, or maybe Love Island, would be great right now.” And people still dare say the perfect man doesn’t exist!

“You’re such a dream!” I give him a quick peck before continuing “Ok, so I put on the show and you get more wine…?” He hums in approval and stands up. Our eyes briefly jump from each other to the puzzle and back to each other, then we simply nod. A silent agreement to leave the puzzle here. We’re both too lazy to put all the pieces back in the box and too proud of our achievement to let it go just yet; besides, everything’s been sitting here for about two months, what are a few more hours?

He steps to the side, gets our glasses and makes his way to the kitchen. I lie on the couch and scan Netflix for Drag Race. Corpse comes back, placing the glasses next to the couch, and gently lies down on top of me. He nests his head on my chest and we both hum contently.  

While RuPaul announces what the winner’s prize will be, I play with his hair, letting my fingers knead his curls. His right hand flies up to meet mine and I bring our intertwined hands to my lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses. The gesture is cut by a loud laugh that escapes my lips as miss Vanjie Mateo’s iconic moment replays on the screen. 

“Hey,” Corpse’s voice makes me look right back at him “I love you. You know that, right?”

My heart melts at his words and at the way he’s looking at me right now. I nod with a smile.

“I love you too, birthday boy.”

[ktheist]

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au. 

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

x

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you. 

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms. 

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it. 

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here. 

Yoongi takes another step toward you. 

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought. 

x

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie. 

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life. 

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie. 

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

x

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman. 

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

x

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

x

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

x

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

x

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

x

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

x

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first ���I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

x

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

x

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym! 

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.

[kangaroo-writes-trash]

Day Three - “Taunting”

Ugly gasps escape the lithe figure, veins bulging from their pale face as the man atop him continues to crush their throat. The vampire’s hands still try to uselessly pry away an escape, their legs just barely unable to find leverage from the lower stairs. And yet, despite their body’s desperate need to escape, their crimson-red eyes stare right into their hunter’s hazel. Forcing unavoidable eye contact for their final delight, for them to even begin to understand how much they want this. The monster’s strength leaves quickly once they allow it to, their hands barely held aloft by the time they leave one final, satisfied gurgle. Their eyes never close - the last thing they see, being the tears gathering at their killer’s eyes. Then, the sickening snap of the thing’s neck. Only then does Maddock’s own held breath escape; rolling onto their back, panting. Tears uncontrollably stream down the sides of his face, knowing it’s done. The adrenaline slowly fades enough to otherwise outline a fierce pain in his side; a rib, maybe two, broken. Broken? Fractured? He’s unsure of the right word - he’s meant to know that. His eyes clench shut, wiping away the wet from his face whilst mentally scolding himself for such a response. He forces his breathing to settle and clambers to one knee, solemnly gazing upon the single painting in the room. A moment frozen in time, of a family unaware of how the creature to his side will slaughter them. The face of the central son, staring through him. The stolen face held by the now-dead creature of the night. The same creature that saved the canvas, only to doom himself. ‘Stop crying, you fool. They don’t deserve your sadness, nor your guilt. They’re evil. Of Devil’s make, an affront to God and everything good. They deserve worse than death, but that is all we can give them.’ The memory of his father’s booming voice echoes within his head, a coldness spreading up his spine as it does. Lord Penndragon, feared by monster and men alike, but none more than by his own son. The only person still alive to know the deepest depths of that man’s anger. He’s known for one thing and one thing alone: the scorching hatred that fuels his extermination of all things unholy. And there, by the cold corpse of Maddock’s fourth kill, he cries. “Now, what a fantastic show that was!” Abruptly calls the ever-playful voice of what should have been dead, joined by a slow, one-handed clap. “Your mother would have been so proud!~” He startles, quickly turning to stand, ignoring the piercing pain that runs through his side as his eyes fall upon that same, lithe figure. The same black dress, but untouched by their brawl. No cut along their cheek, nor fear within their face. They lean against the entryway wall, holding a half-drunken glass of red, their eyes still piercing. Maddock’s breath hitches, eyes darting to their side to where that creature should lay. But they’re not. What is there, though, is a repulsively-smelling brown housecat, looking up at them with uninterested eyes, whilst three bloodied daggers sit to their side. ”Another blasted trick.” Maddock belts out, reaching for one of the remaining knives, yet they freeze halfway through. “Uh-uh.” Utters the somehow still-living figure, a small flick of their finger causing the hunter’s muscles to lock in place. Followed by a slow sip. No matter how hard he tries, his body simply refuses to listen. The animal edges up against his legs, and he finds himself able to move his head enough to watch them, their attention soon grabbed by the vampire that slowly approaches, fangs escaping from a sickening smile. “Don’t mind her, my little old Rafflesia.” They state, gesturing to the cat as it jumps up to Maddock’s shoulder, the stench worsening. “I’m quite impressed, truthfully. But, she did give up near the end, didn’t she?” “What?” He snarls, trying and failing to bat the cat away with his head. “What do you mean, what? You didn’t actually think I was going to be here the whole time, did you? I popped off during the end there, felt a little thirsty.” A beat. “Want some?” Maddock’s further growl is answer enough. “Your loss.” Accentuated with a slow sip that grows into them emptying the glass fully. “Delicious. But-” They lunge forward without warning, their left hand firmly on Maddock’s shoulder whilst their right lifts his face up and away, uncovering the entirety of their bare neck. Another inhale, and a finger dragging across the flesh. “-I’m still thirsty.” “Get the fuck off me!” “Or what?” They jab the man in his pained side. “You’re going to break my cat’s neck again?” Their lips part, easing closer and closer to the virgin skin, as the scent, alongside the stench of their pet, mixes wonderfully. They’ve never tasted a Penndragon before; such noble blood must flow through those veins. To succumb to their thirst, to empty the man before them... to bring the fury of their father. It’s intoxicating. Then, their eyes lift to gaze upon the canvas. It only takes six or so seconds, but for the pale figure, it lasts so much longer. They force themselves apart, having taken nothing. Confusion mixes with the fear already plastered on Maddock’s face, seeing a mote of... something behind the creature’s soft features. “Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself. Diarmuid Corvus. It’s truly your pleasure.” He whispers, before leaning forward and planting a kiss on their lips. Maddock watches the creature’s pupils dilate, just before they quickly leave his view. The man’s bloodied lip sends a shiver down Diarmuid’s spine, mixed with the salt of fallen tears - fascinating. He steals away the cat and quickly retreats up the stairs, their eyes avoiding the painting with every step. “I won’t be this kind a second time, Mr. Penndragon. Leave my home, and never return. I’ll kill you if you do.” Movement finally returns to the lone, baffled man.

[keytomythoughts]

Perfect Imperfections | Chapter 2

Chapter Index

»»—————————————-　

“Wait, you’re making your debut soon? You were still a trainee when I was in high school, right?”

He nods, one hand on the steering wheel while the other hangs outside of the car. “The company told me a month ago, so we’ve been practicing like crazy. Fortunately, practice ended early today, so I was able to swing by and pick you up from the train station.”

I smile smugly, punching his arm playfully. “Aww, you did miss me. Look at that.”

He snorts but doesn’t refute my statement. 

The evening sky is dusted in shades of rose, gold, and soft orange, the mix enveloping the horizon similar to a canvas being brushed with aesthetic paints. The clouds hang low, the sun casting shadows on the tallest of buildings with its warm, pale-yellow glow. The wind doesn’t nip at us sharply, instead shifting to a more calming, serene breeze. 

The car ride shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, but I realize halfway that he was purposely taking the longer routes home. Sensing my lurking apprehension from our phone call hours ago, my brother picked up on that cue and decided to distract me as much as he could before we inevitably had to return.

Something my parents failed to realize. 

“Oh right, I forgot to ask,” Jaehyun stares ahead and switches lanes with ease, heading towards yet another highway, “how are Eunwoo and Moonbin?”

I did mention that Eunwoo and Jaehyun are close friends as well, so it wasn’t surprising when I found out that he knows of my friends circle. Well, those two really. Imagine my horror when I realized that they were the same age and friends. Shocking at first, but I got used to it. Besides, it’s not like we were awkward about it or anything. Moonbin also knew my brother, so we all essentially got along fairly well. 

I push the strands of hair away from my face, glancing down at my phone in my lap to find no new notifications from them since I last texted. Sighing, I look out to my right. “They’re fine. Both of them are gonna be in Seoul for the summer, so we’re just planning on hanging out until college starts.”

“Have you guys decided where to go, what you want to study?” 

I shrug my shoulders. “Not really. I mean, I’ve been thinking about medicine at Korea University, but,” I sink into the seat a little, sighing, “you know it’s not up to me.” My voice drops to a whisper near the end, my eyes casting towards the road ahead. 

Jaehyun turns to me, taking his hand off the steering wheel to gently pat my arm. “I know, sis. I really do. But still,” he removes his hand and places it back on the wheel, his eyes refocusing back on the road, “you should tell them what you want to do. Who knows, they might listen this time.”

I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. I tilt my head back against the seat, turning to look at my brother. “You really think so?”

To this, he doesn’t respond. How could he? It would be a lie meant to comfort me, but we both know the truth. He simply sighs, running a hand through his hair and leaving it behind his neck. I heave another sigh as well, both of us knowing that things may not work out the way we would like them to. 

This wouldn’t be the first time anyways.

We exit the freeway and merge onto the familiar streets of my neighborhood. Soon enough, we were pulling up into our driveway, the nervousness replacing the initial excitement of being back home. Jaehyun turns off the engine, neither of us making a move to leave the car first. Of course, with my nerves shot and breathing shallow, there would be no way I could go inside alone. Lucky for me, I’m not.

But why can’t I shake this sick feeling?

Jaehyun reaches out and squeezes my hand once, flashing that stupid grin of his at me. “C’mon, let’s go inside. Your oppa will protect you~”

I swat his hand away, my nose wrinkling in disgust but the laughter bubbles in my throat. He rubs my head again before removing his shades and stepping out of the car. Before I can unbuckle and step out myself, Jaehyun already stands at my side, holding my luggage. He waits patiently until I close the door behind me, my steps wavering slightly as I stand before the elaborately carved wooden door of our house. 

Jaehyun nudges my shoulder, smirking. “It won’t bite, Hyu.”

I roll my eyes as I follow right behind him. He unlocks the door and turns the doorknob and disappears past the threshold. I trail close behind him, a breath catching in my throat as I walk towards the living room. Everything was the way I remembered it, minus the new decorative pieces presumably from my father’s visits abroad. Living as a surgeon requires him to embark on trips overseas, sometimes not returning for months at a time. My mother, on the other hand, doesn’t actively practice surgery, instead deciding to teach as a medical professor at a top university in the northern district of Seoul. 

Four years and nothing has changed, huh? 

Jaehyun states that he’s going to put my belongings in my room before coming back down, and I nod at him. Just as he ascends up the stairs, my mother emerges from the kitchen, smoothing down the front of her lavish apron, a tight smile adorning her small, petite face. Her reddish-brown hair is worn in a small bun, her glasses hanging from her shirt. I won’t lie to you, my mother is a beautiful woman, even in her late forties. Smart, rich, and insanely polished. Not only her, but my father is the same as well. It’s no surprise where my brother gets his enviable features from, while I question what leftovers were given to me. I never believed myself to be smart or beautiful, like my parents. Nor was I carefree and sociable, like my brother. Sometimes I question if I was ever adopted, seeing as I seem to be my family’s outlier. The odd-one-out. Yet, Moonbin and Eunwoo highlighted those little bits of me that I’ve shamed myself on. Where I saw disappointment, they saw genuity. The “flaws” were my strengths. They prided me on the things my parents didn’t view so favorably. 

How I wish they were with me right now.  

My mom approaches me, enveloping me in a rather tight embrace. Wasn’t expecting that, but I reciprocate the action anyway.

“Hyuna, dear, I’m so glad you’re home,” she pulls away, grabbing me by my arms as her eyes scan my face, smiling, “and you’ve gotten so much prettier. I see your aunt took care of you well, I’m glad.” She places a hand against my cheek.

I smile nervously. “Happy to be back, mom. Sorry for not informing you and dad that I was coming back today.”

She shakes her head, tapping my cheek lightly before moving away from me. “Nonsense, dear. Your father is in his study, so he’ll be down shortly. I know how very tired you must be, so let’s set the table for dinner.” She shuffles back towards the kitchen, soon bringing out various utensils and a stack of plates. I immediately grab them from her and arrange the items on the table for the four of us. My mom kisses the top of my head and smooths my hair down, returning to the kitchen so she could bring out the meals. 

Something’s not right here.

My mother isn’t really the affectionate type. While it was blatantly obvious that I wasn’t the favorite child, that title reserved for Jaehyun (again, no surprise there), they didn’t really hate me, if that makes sense. They just tended to leave Jaehyun to do as he pleases, while I would have to listen to them. I don’t doubt that they care for us both, as good parents should, but I can’t help but feel disheartened when they would dismiss my feelings and decide to enforce their own ideals on me. Claiming that this would be “the best for me”.

As much as I respect my parents for raising me to be the ambitious, hardworking woman that I am, a part of me wishes that they would see me as a person with hopes and aspirations of my own, not just an extension of their legacy. 

How could they decide what’s best for me when I don’t even have the ability to voice them myself?

Moments later, my father descends from the stairs, my brother walking down from behind him as well. It seems like he’s been busy with office meetings, seeing as he’s still dressed in his formal beige button-up shirt and black dress pants. His glasses sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. 

I bow my head in respect. “Good evening, Father.”

He acknowledges my presence with a curt nod. No surprise again. He’s a man of few words, but when he does speak, he’s blunt and gets straight to the point. Wasting time and skirting around the truth has never been his philosophy. He practically radiates with superiority and firmness. From the stoic expression on his face to his neatly styled brown hair, my father was nothing short of a posh man in his early fifties. The best surgeon, the perfect doctor, the staple of all admirable men in South Korea.

In short, he’s practically worshipped by professionals across the nation. 

Naturally, my brother and I take great pride in our parents and our family’s rather successful and lavish legacy. Of course, with this reputation, it’s expected of us to uphold it. Education must be nothing short of challenging. Careers must be everything but disappointing. Appearances had to be pristine, no flaws or shortcomings apparent.

You get the picture.

My brother attended college for a short while—a year and a few months, if I’m not wrong—before dropping out once he got scouted by a reputable entertainment label. I don’t know specific details, but I do know that my parents weren’t initially too pleased to hear that he wanted to pursue a career as an idol singer. Nonetheless, and with the things Jaehyun was allowed to get away with, this was just another thing to be added to that list. I figured my father would come around and think that the Jungs shouldn’t be limited to more “sophisticated” fields—medicine, law, business, and the like. Branching out and including fine arts, including performance, would only solidify the notion that our family is meant to dominate every field imaginable with integrity and poise. 

My mother and I finish setting up the table and call for the rest to sit. Seeing the variety of dishes laid out, you would think it was a special occasion. Surely they weren’t celebrating my graduation as class Valedictorian. I haven’t told them any of my accomplishments, but I’m sure they had their means of getting access to my reports even before I was made aware of them. Connections, the most vital thing in the Jung family. It’s what helps us climb ranks and secure top positions in society. Why we’re so heavily respected, as well as feared. 

Jaehyun and I sit adjacent to each other while our parents are seated across us. We begin to eat in silence. Nothing too different from how we had family dinners back then, albeit the absence of my father or mother from late meetings or an overseas conference. To be quite frank, it did seem strange to have a meal with all of us present after so long.

My father suddenly clears his throat. “Hyuna, I heard from the teachers at your high school that you performed excellently. I’m pleased to hear this.”

I pause, my eyes training up to meet his steady gaze. Though pleased, he didn’t seem to express it facially. A direct complement is seldom said, so it comes as no surprise that it was the only thing I, or my brother, would be receiving. 

Jaehyun nudges me, realizing that I hadn’t responded as my father awaits with the same steady expression.    

“O-Oh, thank you, Father.”

He nods, placing his utensil back down on the plate before clasping his hands in front of him.

“Now that you’ve graduated, have you considered your possible college options and future career plans?”

This. This is the very question I’ve been dreading.

I can feel the air around me grow thick with anticipation. His words hang in the air, the words to respond with the scripted lines I’ve recited endlessly in my brain unable to fall from my lips. I suddenly recall what Jaehyun and Moonbin had told me prior, to try and voice my opinions in hopes that they may be heard and properly considered this time. After all, I would never know if I didn't try. Here’s my chance.

But, my father continues upon my brief hesitation. “With your academic record, you would have no issue enrolling in the top universities within the country. Even abroad, if you considered that as well.”

I gulp, my fingers clenching tightly in my lap. I force my rapid heart to slow its pace in fear that it may burst out of my chest, my breathing trying to be as calm as it can be. I can feel Jaehyun eyeing me from the side, and my mother stops eating as well. 

There’s silence. One which I break when I open my mouth to let the words bottled up in my mind spill out before I can properly think them through.

“I want to stay here, in Seoul.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 

[mimithings97]

Heartache (M)

Summary: You didn’t know such a feeling was so real, so vivid, so hurtful. But it had happened and happened to you before you could stop it. Tae had become written into your life hard and fast, so when you leave you question that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t willing to unwrite him.

Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Heartache for starters, Unprotected sex, Oral (male receiving), Swearing, Nude modelling, Taehyung’s a sappy mess, Mentions of Alcohol

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Can’t lie in saying how morbid it is that I enjoy writing angst. It’s light angst though and a lot lighter than how fucking whipped Tae is at the end. Much love for the bub though, so, enjoy x

Ahhh jungkook features as well forgot to mention. Still love him. Nothings changed there.

Heartache.

Cringy, you once thought to yourself. 

How could you be so dependent, so set and so immersed in something that your heart actually aches? 

It didn’t make sense to you until the day words were spoken that couldn’t be taken back, bags were reluctantly packed and more tears were shed than there is water in the Thames. Heartache was real, vivid and the hardest thing you have ever had to live through in your 24 years of life. 3 weeks of a deep set dropping in your stomach that couldn’t be shaken despite the booze intake, the occasional listening to his voicemails and the relentless tears.

Your mother told you that if you built up too many walls it would hurt so much more when someone knocked them down. You had told Taehyung this on the first date, your first date, ever, with any man. You had always drawn a line between pleasure and dependency, settling for short flings and the occasional online relationship (purely for the sexting) instead of the commitment and responsibility that weighed on vulnerable shoulders when you bear your entire self to another in a relationship. Taehyung knew this. But he fell and you fell harder. You fell completely and utterly under his spell for three years. 

And then he told you he wanted to marry you. Bastard didn’t even propose, just mentioned that one toxic word of marriage and you instantly laid the bricks of that wall he had so unceremoniously knocked down all those years ago.

It felt so adult yet so childish leaving someone over the concept of marriage, but when talks of marriage turn to talks of children and one party wants something completely different to the other, what kind of relationship is there to continue. 

So three weeks later, just as the physical pain of emptiness and heartache has begun ebbing away, the emotional trauma of your decision begins to cave in on you.

To Jungkook:

11:31pm

You: I know I said I’d stop this

You: But I really dont know if this is worth the pain

You: His mum sent me a get well soon card today bc he told her i was ill and that’s why i hadn’t visited

You: I’m never going to not love him

You: How does anyone get over this shit its not fair

11:35pm

Guk: Oh noona

Guk: It’ll take lots and lots of time and lots and lots of tubs of ice cream and wine but youre both adults who want different things and not everything is meant to be

Guk: Sacrifice for the greater good right

11:35pm

You: There’s no fucking greater good here

You: I hate this

11:37pm

Guk: Noona you know that down the road hyung wants children. I don’t think marriage was that big, but he’s always wanted to be a dad

Guk: It’s not fair of him to ask you to have something you don’t want but its also not fair to leave him without the thing he’s always desired the most

11:40pm

You: Its just too hard to take

You: It feels like three years for jack shit

11:41pm

Guk: If you’re really struggling that much, noona, talk to him. I know he wants to talk to you still, he’s tried to contact you everyday. Maybe it will give you some closure or just help you see what’s right

11:41pm

You: Love you

Your phone is down as soon as Jungkook mentioned talking to him. How could you take one step forward and a million steps back by talking to him? It would be like hanging just what you want right in front of you but no touching, no talking to them after that 5 minutes of hell, no seeing them ever again. Closure is what you need but never what you’ll want.

The sheets that surround you, nuzzled closely into your neck and still unwashed even after three weeks just to keep that tiny scent of Tae over you naked skin, warm you to the point your eyes drift. You don’t mean to fall asleep so easily, but when every little action weighs so heavy on you during the day, sleep comes too easily. However, so does the nightmares of crawling alone in the black abyss.

---------------------------------------------

Resuming work was never easy on a broken soul, but alas, here you were, with three weeks of sick pay under your belt you’d rather not have and 20 children at your feet.

Ironic isn’t it.

You break up with the only man you’ve ever loved because you can’t face a future of settling down with children, yet you wake up at the fucking godforsaken hour of 6 am to tend to a bunch of five and six years olds every day. No, you didn’t hate children, but they weren’t the joy of your life either. You were good at your job and you had this mad psychological complex that if you could help a child at five or six like you had so desperately needed at that age, then maybe you’d make their life just that little bit easier and that little bit brighter. Taehyung always found your reason for working so admirable - fuck that look of pure adoration in his eyes when you told him - so he found it equally hard to come to terms with when you told him the opposite. When you told him you couldn’t have your own children because the responsibility scared you. His ears were ringing at the point where you told him you also didn’t want to share him and his kindness, even so, the damage had been done, whatever the reasoning.

“Y/N! Jennie said you were back,” it’s a tight smile from you and a loose hug, but it’s amazing you’ve managed that with the way your head is far from in the room let alone the conversation at hand. “God, I hope you’re better, you were out for a while.”

You squeeze a weak laugh out, “Yeh, it wasn’t all that fun.”

“For a second me and Jennie were thinking you might be pregnant.” The heartache subsides, rivalled by the very distinct feeling of sickness. The ball of energy in front of you persists in conversation, but it’s to drowned ears and for a second you think you’ll faint. 

You miss your name being called. Shit, you don’t even know where it’s coming from, because the all-consuming feeling of this tide of emotions has swept you far from your spot in the classroom. Marie in front of you still calls, asking if you’re okay, but it’s the tug on your skirt, not harsh, but enough to garner a reaction that casts your eyes down.

“Miss Y/N?”

It’s Jojo, eyes wide and glaring up at you, still clung to the material of your skirt.

“Miss Y/N, why are you crying?”

You instantly draw the back of your hand to your face and it catches a cascading tear, much to your shock. You face must morph into a mortified expression at the thought of so carelessly crying at work, in the presence of the kids you look after with a smile and a skip in your step each day.

“Miss Y/N, it’s okay to cry. You can draw with me if you feel crying…” he shakes his head, “sad. Sad I mean.”

You feel Marie’s hand on your back, but Jojo’s eyes sweep you into a frenzy of more tears before you find yourself kneeling on the floor by the table. His table, where he sits alone each day, with paper and paints, or pencils, or chalk, sometimes he just folds it and hands it to you saying he made his paper into a flower. He already has one of his drawings on the go but scribbled over it thoughtlessly before starting out on a series of words. ‘To miss Y/n’.  Your eyes well further, but his words stop you.

“I think sometimes that drawings can make you better. Can make better the sadness.”

---

“Tae are you still going at it?”

You peer around the corner of the door, leaning half in half out of his man cave to study your boyfriend at work. 5 hours he’d been couped up in there.

“Hmm.” 

He didn’t let you see his art until the product was finished, completely finished, because sometimes he’d say he was done and then go back when he’d found the smallest error only to get pissed off that you had witnessed anything other than the completed masterpiece.

“Tae, you’ve been in here for hours, just come out to help me cook.” You plead with him over the canvas, not daring to peak any further.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He hasn’t looked at you since you came in, his brow well and truely glued into a furrow and the tea you’d brought him earlier cold and untouched beside him. You lower your tone into a more serious one.

“You okay?”

Silence.

“Done.” He doesn’t sound relieved or happy at the finalising of a five-hour art project like most would, like he normally does. He’s merely, ‘done’.

With an apprehensive tone, you ask, “Can I come see?” A gentle nod and you round the canvas, his arm dropping the brush in favour of tugging at the skin of your waist until you’re gently seated in his lap.

It’s beautiful and it’s simplistic and there’s so much life and emotion in it that you know the five hours weren’t all spent with brush to canvas but with him mulling over the memories and thoughts it conjured up.

“Your grandmother’s house?” Your voice is soft, not a pitying soft, but a soft that lets him know he can talk freely.

“Hmm,” he presses a kiss to the shoulder exposed by the shirt that hangs off you loosely. “Wanted to do something for her.”

You let the silence and the painting speak for itself for a while as his hands brush at your sides and you lean into his head that rest against you, chin to shoulder as his warm breath lulls you into calmness.

“You miss her?” 

“So much.”

“Painting makes it better?”

… another kiss and a sigh, warm.

“Mmm. Sometimes painting and drawing just makes the sadness a little easier, just makes it better.”

---

You see Tae in this tiny boy, this boy who draws to ease the sadness, who coups himself away on his table to be alone, too afraid to cry in front of the other boys and girls. Is he doing it too? Is he alone and painting? 

Then Jojo slides you his paper, wordlessly and your eyes with dried tears, prick once again, heartache replaced with something completely different, regret. And now hope. It’s those small boys words on paper, insignificant to him, and probably tiny in the grand scheme of things, but it’s his words that make you seek out for the one thing you know you can’t live without, the one thing that will heal your sadness.

‘To miss Y/N, i hope your crying gets better soon. Its okay to cry but its also good to make you happy. I hope you find your happy. From Jojo.”

You’d already found your happy, you just had to get him back.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Y/N!?” 

And it merely takes your name for you to lose every word on your tongue. Any word you could’ve conjured at that moment couldn’t have described how you felt. He looks dishevelled, and beautiful, hair unwashed and falling into his eyes, white top littered with stains and his pyjamas bottoms you bought him for Christmas hanging off his hips. 

His eyes lull from their immediate shock before he turns to look at his apartment, running a frantic hand through his hair and stumbling on his words. 

“Shit. I- I mean. I wasn’t really thinking- I didn’t expect you.”

You probably shouldn’t have come. Some people would’ve turned and gone the other way. Maybe that was the right thing to do, was that the brave thing? Were you being a coward by rooting to the spot and not being able to speak a word?

He looks at you, then behind you somewhere, then back into your eyes and his gaze sinks so far into yours, you think you might just cry there and then.

“Dooo you want to come in?” He sounds apprehensive, he probably thinks you are too, but all you want to do is be back in his apartment just like three weeks ago, touching him, talking to him unhinged, perhaps feeling the skin beneath his shirt where his heart lies, feeling if his heart has ached as yours has.

With blinking eyes that try not to glaze over, you nod, short and curt, and you miss the puff of air his mouth rings out with relief. 

He dashes away once you’re past the threshold, scampering around as if to distract you from the surrounding environment - it’s dusty, too cold and dark with the way the curtains shut out summer light and you barely recognise his floor as wood with the way food scatters and clothes are strewn.  Small shards of light reflect from out of the study and your eyes naturally draw there only to find a mess, door open just enough for the hoard of half-finished painting and wasted canvas’ to come into view. The door is closed by Taehyung like he knew where your gaze would lead you.

“I-I’m fucking sorry about this, it’s gross and it’s messy and i-”

“It’s just like mine.” The corners of your mouth turn up sympathetically but also because you’re relieved he’s not okay. It’s awful to say but heartache has clearly done a job on him too and for that you’re relieved. “Don’t worry, it’s just fine.”

“Just fine,” he mutters under his breath with a half-laugh. 

You’re still stood stuck to the doormat, jacket hanging tightly to you like a defence mechanism and your hands remain tight to your sides. When his eyes find yours, you seize up further like it’s the first time he’d ever seen you.

---

You’d told Janice one too many times for this situation to be coincidence. You may or may not have told her you were a sucker for exhibitionism. She’d found it all shits and giggles until the art class she headed entered into ‘naked form’ week and it was too good of an opportunity to pass by. 

So the robe drops and you’re way too aware of the last time you shaved - you think you’d be prepared, but pair a hangover with a 7:30 start and bodily care wasn’t the first thought to come to mind.

Janice gives off a flow of instructions, pointing to your body like you were a cow on show, and telling the artists to ‘admire her form, the way her body dips and flows and let you brush or pencil do the responding as though her body was talking to you’ - you almost scoff aloud at her waffle because art is so full of shit.

Exhibitionism kink or not, you’re thirty minutes in and the way your hip cramps and you eyelids lower, there is nothing alluring or desirable about this. 

But then the door on the far wall swings open all too harshly for your eyes to feign jolting away. And they blow out further when they’re met with the masculine figure uttering apologies and skidding halfway from door to seat with his urgency.

‘Just women’ she said. ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ she said. It ruined the whole ‘i like being stared at by fit men’ at first but then put you a little at ease that some 70 year old man, trying to spice up his last years of life with a too expensive art course, wouldn’t be staring your tits down. 

Yet here you were, with a man with eyes too beautiful to be tarnished by the view in front of him, gazing in shock at your naked body.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nude form week. Guessing you didn’t get the email?”

You only have your imagination for what his voice must sound like because he only shakes his head, throat too dried and scorched from you laid out, baring it all in front of him for him to say anything.

But your imagination didn’t do justice in those two hours of torture. Because his voice telling you he’s ‘sorry for interrupting the session’ and even ‘sorrier for being so unworthy of staring at something so beautiful’. 

You’d always hated cringe. But cringe never sounded so good when it was spun off Taehyung’s silk tongue.

---

“Can I get you anything?” 

It’s him who breaks the silence, and it’s a godsend because you were two seconds away from spinning on your heel and cowering out of the entire thing.

“N-no. Thank you, Tae.” 

He groans at the timidity of how you say his name and nickname at that.

And silence soaks the atmosphere again, tenser this time because greetings have been uttered, drinks offered and there’s nothing more to say that unspoken words of the past.

That’s what you thought you were here to do at least. To tell him you’re sorry, first and foremost, because you’d never intend to break a soul as tender-hearted as his. Then you were supposed to tell him that you loved him, and you would always love him, and that sacrifice must be made for the greater good.

Jungkook had told you that once. But he’d said Taehyung must be the one sacrificed and you should be the one salvaged - until you realised there was no greater good in that situation, no salvation to be had.

“I’ll sacrifice myself,” words come out loud and unexpected as your train of thought is voiced. They’re too loud also, and they break the atmosphere to his shock, so his brow furrows like he doesn’t understand. “I- I will sacrifice myself for you.”

His face falls and you can’t bear the way his words stutter and his throat fills with a choked cry, as though he’d held it in as soon as your presence had hit him. It must have done the same to you because your body befalls you and tears and on the floor as you work your feet towards where he is rooted.

“I can’t ask that of you. You know I can’t do that,” he closes his eyes when your  body meets his, hands firm on his cheeks because they’re wet with tears and his shoulders are hunched in pain, “please.”

“Please.” You reciprocate. 

This is it for you. You’ll do anything for this quivering shell in front of you. You’ll plead. You’ll beg. You’ll give up your livelihood and every mantra you have ever told yourself about self-preservation because fuck it, some things are too good that you have to lose yourself in them. 

“You- I-”

“I’m- I might not be ready for kids now. I will though. If that’s what it takes. Fuck it I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

He chokes on a sob when his eyes meet your pleading ones and a quick hand wipes the stains from his cheeks so he can see every expression you give to him - untainted and full of love.

“We can take our time over this or we can have it all at once, but it has to be we. I’ll really do it for you, I have to Tae,” another sob and a whimper, “isn’t that what we’re here for. Kids.” You’re babbling now in a frenzied expression of all you have to give, and you’re so lost in his eyes that you laugh out, “‘be fruitiful and multiply or some shit.’ I’ll do it, I swear to you.”

“You’re not even Christian.”

“I would be if you told me to.”

“Fuck.”

He kisses you quick and without care, wanting to feel everything you have to give him like it’s what keeps his heart beating - and it’s beating fast because you finally find fingertips under his shirt and against the pounding that intensifies underneath.

He grapples at your hair, then waist, then hair again because his hands can’t decide on what he wants most. So you grab at them yourself and intertwine fingers as though he’d never left you. Each knuckle deserves a kiss and that’s what you give when your lips part.

“I’m so sorry-” you keep kissing across his hand, “I ever left,” and bring his hands to your neck, “never again.”

The tears subside in his eyes as they do yours. There is still relief, hot and painful inside your stomach because you have come back to him and he has taken you back, as if there were never to be anything but the two of you as one, yet now he finds your lips in something that claims more than just love. Possession. He has to know you’re his.

You were correct when you thought his room would be as sorrowful as yours - heartache as painful as what you had felt. 

Food containers stripe the floor dirty. Towels strewn and clothes dirty and forgotten. Again the blinds are closed as though you’re not here at 5 in the afternoon when the sun begins to fall into the red and purple hues of evening. 

But the blinds leave enough of a gap that his face is haloed, angelic and all too beautiful for your eyes to feign staring when your mouth departs his. Eyes glow amber and skin glows golden and you never want to look away, not from him, not now.

“You really want this don’t you.” There’s no question to the way Tae speaks. Instead, it’s disbelieving, like he can’t quite fathom that it’s really your shirt he has under his fingertips and your smell that lingers under his nose. Heartbreak had slowed his heart enough that it’s beating too fast for him to keep up with, so he slows it down.

“I really want this- You. I really want you.”

“And everything that comes with me? You’re sure?”

It’s a loaded question but at this point it is so light on your shoulders you laugh, grabbing and pulling up his shirt so you can sink lips to his chest, trying to find the beat of a heart somewhere there. 

“You act like you’re a chore, Tae.” You’re eyes soften when he still looks like you like he’s young and vulnerable. “Baby, I am so sorry I ever did this to you. Left. And made you feel like that.” 

Your hands map his skin delicately and you preserve how it feels because you hope, but never know, if you’ll feel it again.

“Never again, yeh?”

“Yeah.”

Clothes are shed until he looks at your naked body like the art that he first saw it as. He wants to paint it, remember it and cherish it as though he’s never seen it before. Every scar and blemish, precious to his vision, but the painting would only be worth it to him because he’s all who gets to see you.

“You’re not gonna turn off the lights?” 

Something that you’d told him was a habit of yours. Maybe something, a subconscious body image thing that was another way of saying, ‘I can’t give my whole self to you, I’m sorry’. He’d ran with it as though it didn’t hurt his pride. But now, as you push him down on his bed and clamber over his thighs, he’s so grateful he never got to see you in this light, because he loves it all the more now.

Fingertips tremble over your thighs when your hips find his, naked crotch so close to where he throbs. 

“Tae,” his eyes don’t meet yours, pieced, instead, onto where your bodies are so close to meeting like his gaze can fuse them together. “Tae, it’s me. Relax.”

Purposefully, your hands find his hair and coax him into a state of submissiveness, because his body still quaked underneath you no matter the words you uttered. 

You can’t lie when you say sex was a factor in your relationship you had missed. There was a heartfelt bond that went deeper than sex.

Admittedly the flatmate before Tae, the friends before the boyfriend and your parents who knew you better than you admitted to yourself had all said you were sex before substance. Some hated you for it and some laughed. Some said, ‘I wish I could be as emotionally detached as you’ and some thought you were the local gal whoring about like bodies were meant to be used. Then, somehow, Tae flipped the whole thing on its head. Made you feel butterflies before orgasm and it had you spellbound. 

So, no. Sex wasn’t it for you when you were with him. 

Yet, here you were, over your man gleaming with the physical sweat of want and need as well as the even more apparent glow of how his body lit up for only you.

“How do you want me Tae, what can I give you?”

“Fuck.” His hands fall over his eyes, not comprehending that you’re his and you’re this plaint. No, he wants you to take over him. “Anything, baby. Fuck. Anything.”

Instantly nails brush over the hardness that had been laid out under your folds obediently since you’d found yourself on top of his crotch.

A man could only control himself so much and immediately Tae found his dick twitching and his hips leaving the mattress in favour of chasing your hand.

“Y/N, I really don’t know if I’ve got it in me for teasing, I’m so horny I could cum!”

Well then.

The outburst has you struggling to fight off a laugh because he seriously is that desperate. Not the laughing kind either. The all-bearing, stripped clean and pleading kind of desperate.

So, you sympathise and let your lips find his, hand still trailing lightly so he doesn’t cum early, but enough for the need to remain.

“You wanna be inside me Tae?” His tongue is on yours yet the words are clear. 

“Urgh, fuck, please.”

Your eyes peer between your bodies, mapping where his muscles, tight with restrictions, create a V-shape down to the very distinct outline of a red hard cock. You think it’s photograph worthy in the moment, something worth slipping the camera out for, and if you hadn’t kept his dick pics from months ago maybe you would. But:

“Please baby, -need it.”

You deny yourself the simple pleasure of slipping him in because Tae whining and pleading is something worthy for the spank bank. You drop lower down the bed so his hips meet your eyes and the skin glistens so beautifully in this light you have to leave his dick untouched just so you can kiss around the area. 

His stomach, thighs, crotch, they see it all, lips and tongue mapping bold strokes because he tastes just as you remember and you want to savour it.

“Y/N ple- oh fuck,” and the taste of his dick beats anything that preceded it, let alone the noise that came with it. 

His tip is taken care of first, small licks and stripes with your tongue, so he’s unsuspecting when you choke him whole.

“FUCK.” 

Hands grab your hair violently. He’s deep and hits the back of your throat so you choke, unashamed of the noise. You’re past that and you know he likes it anyways. 

You set a rhythm, and it soon becomes clear he’s going to cum from it and that you very much want him to. Your hand finds his balls to fuel the process and the other one snakes to your core because there’s nothing that beats Tae’s moans when he’s getting a good sucking. 

“I- Fuck Y/N, I can’t- Shit!”

He’s close. Stomach seizing and balls throbbing in your palm so you sink back down again and take the choke like you want it and you want his cum more. It’s fast from there.

“Love you. I’m cum- Fuckkkkk,” salt and warmth line your throat, but only for a short while because he came quick. His hips stutter a few times and your eyes water when you continue to take it. 

Then it’s cold and silent. Yet somehow you feel buzzed. Like someone cumming down your throat was enjoyable. Like you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant he’d say he loved you again.

The hands that had once set deep into your scalp and verged on making you horny now pulled at your cheeks to lift you to eye level. 

He’s sweaty and a mess. 

“You’re sweaty and a mess baby.” 

His laugh is unfiltered, wholesome and worthy of the way your heart stutters.

“Because someone’s got a mouth on them sent from the gods.”

Blush overtakes your cheeks, whilst your stomach tumbles over at the fact that your blowjob skills are up to scratch - you thought a month off might have done something to your ability but clearly, you’re still on point. The bitter taste in your mouth tells you enough. 

“What’ve I done to deserve you coming back.”

Sincerity returns into his eyes as well as his words, and somehow you feel his dick twitch again from underneath you. He’s so soft under your hands so you keep feeling at his skin to reassure you he’s real.

“Nothing. You’re enough. You’re it.”

You kiss and kiss again, keep going until the fire ignites in him once more where it still flamed for you.

“Please.”

His voice is low no matter how much he whines so a guiding hand slips him into where you’re filthily wet. And he’s huge despite seed already spilt. He’s loaded like it was meant for you and not your mouth, throbbing enough so your pussy can feel it.

And suddenly you realise it’s bare. Complete bare. As in, bare enough that you are willing to take on a child kind of bare.

His eyes tell the story when yours find his, wide and curious. They roll back into whites when you pull up fully and then sink back down, milking him for all he has so he knows this is your full intention. Naked in every sense.

“Shit, Tae.”

“Fuckkkkk,” he doesn’t swear often, but sex is a must and the quirk of your lips tells him just how much you like him losing himself in pleasure.

He hits deep from here, cock lodged far in and even further when he begins to take control. 

His feet plant and his hands pull you down so skin flushes to skin and he can pump up into you with unadulterated need. 

Your teeth have to clamp onto his shoulder with the way he hits your cervix, it’s uncomfortable yet you love it. That kind of sex where everything is so fulfilling that you just can’t mutter ‘stop’. How could you say such a thing anyway when he’s groaning that he loves you with every upbeat.

It hits good once. Twice.

“Tae, fuck. There.”

Three times. 

“Here?”

Again.

“Oh my fuc- Fuckkk,” and there’s nothing you can do when you’re so stimulated you tumble deep and hard onto him and continue to do over and over in waves. 

He’s finding his end in the way your pussy grips him. 

“Baby. Y/N, Cunt so good, jesus.”

You’re burning when he’s going so fast the headboard bangs louder than your moans. So your hand quickly finds his balls underneath you and that does him, unravels him to the point he quakes.

“Holy- Love you. Love you. Fuck. Love you.”

Your ears might ring but that’s all you hear for the next minute. His mantra that keeps his lust alive until his love is so set in stone the words are not needed. 

Your hand, winding into his hair and the thrum of your heart against his tells him enough.

It’s this. Silence and tranquillity yet with the constant buzz of electricity all around you.

You’re still there entangled, limbs on limbs and lights touches on bare skin as the slither of light through the blinds turns ruby red in the heat of sunset.

You know his eyes must glow golden from where the sun angles on his face so you can’t help but spare a glance. And you’re right when you imagined it as beautiful because the sun bathes him like it was meant to. 

He’s still awake because his eyes flutter when you trail the outside of your fingers down his cheek and then onto his lips. It’s even more apparent when he brings his hand up to yours so he can kiss each knuckle individually.

“You came inside.”

It weighed heavy on you, the obvious factor that had happened earlier. And before allowing the beauty of the moment to settle in you had to see his expression when you mentioned it.

Yet there’s nothing but closed eyes and the slight smile that had been painted on his lips since you’d told him how much you wanted him.

“Mmm.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It’s not harsh, just a question from you. A security query because you have to know what this was for him. Caught up in the moment or something deeper?

His eyes bolt open at the question though.

“Are you?”

You almost have to think. Almost.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“And so am I.”

[dreamingyouth]

[Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader] Part 4 - Little things

Hello ! Are you new here ? Be sure to check the other parts below :

- Part 1

- Part 2

- Part 3

- Part 4 : You're here !

- Part 5

Words count : 2200

Warnings : none

Inspired by this lovely ask, thank you again anon ! ❤

You were never great with goodbyes.

The sky was clear, two fluffy clouds taking bets on which would be the fastest to reach the horizon under the warm autumn sun. The blue infinity above your head appeared to you like a never-ending sea. Would you ever be able to sail and explore the unknown lands? You couldn't know. At least, it left you dreamy; you found magic in how it changed color, azure blending gradually with soft shades of pink and orange as the day came to an end. The sight was incredibly beautiful and yet was only an introduction, waiting for the night to take over with its countless shining stars illuminating a dark blue, almost black canvas.

The trees around you seemed to be inspired by it, the bright green of their leaves slowly changing to a set of warm colors- yellow, orange, red, brown, every one of them pleasing the eye as if it was looking at a master's painting. They were full of life, though: the wind was playing with the branches and inviting the leaves in a joyful dance, some of them slowly falling to the ground in a last curtsey.

This was a setting you could admire forever without getting bored. You were lucky enough to live on a planet blessed with seasons, each of them lovely in their own way; but what you were most grateful for was the male in front of you, his hands gently holding yours while you kept your forehead against his. It became a little habit of yours to do this before parting every night: you would close your eyes and enjoy the silence around you, faces close enough to touch softly and let you appreciate each other's presence one last time.

At times you would exchange the sweetest kiss, at times a longing gaze would be enough; not once was it easy to part and leave, even though you both knew you would see each other again the following day. Sometimes you wanted to tell him how you desired to keep him by your side, not having to be separated even for just one night. Would he think of you as a clingy person? Would it bother him? He probably needed his space just like you did, maybe even had secrets you never knew of.

"Maul...

- Yes, angel?"

You smiled. Hushed whispers murmured against your lover's lips was something you treasured preciously, just as much as the charming nicknames he came up with from time to time. The intimacy you both shared bloomed from the smallest things: it was all in quiet words and little touches, thoughtful gifts, the warmth of a loving embrace. You felt lucky, not only to have this but to have this with him: to many, he might look scary or threatening, his appearance more the one of a devil than one of an angel. And yet... You somehow managed to bring out the softest side of him, one you guessed no one has ever seen before you. Probably no one would even think of him having such gentleness and care in his heart. His vulnerability was a secret you kept dearly, and it made you feel special.

"There's... this book that will be out tomorrow, and I wondered if you would accompany me to the bookstore. Maybe we could meet in front of it? And spend the day together?"

Your innocent request and your soft voice made him smile fondly, though you noticed a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he spoke.

"So, you're asking me out on dates now, hm?

- What? I- No, I just- I just thought it could be nice to spend time together-"

He chuckled. His question made you embarrassed, your face heating up a little as you tried to justify yourself, looking to the side. This caused you to involuntarily expose your neck to him, which he obviously noticed; and to cut your rambling, he placed a long, tender kiss on your skin, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close. It caught you by surprise and you stopped rambling, your fingers getting a hold of his dark clothes while he murmured in your ear.

"I never said it bothered me."

He was playing with you, and you both knew it. You didn't mind, though: it was a part of him you loved, after all, and you wouldn't exchange it for anything else in the galaxy.

"Oh..."

Your lips stretched with a smile, embarrassment leaving your face with every second passing by as it was replaced with nothing but affection for the Dathomirian. He lifted his head up to lock his intense gaze with yours, which you probably enjoyed for a little too long before moving again. Your digits slowly traveled up, leaving the soft fabric of his tunic to brush against the tattooed skin on his neck, tracing the intricate designs on their way up to his sharp jaw. You could feel him slightly shivering under your touch and imagined such a gentle contact was something he wasn't used to. Maybe he never experienced it at all- yet he allowed you, blindly trusting you as you explored higher, palms finally cupping his cheeks before pulling him into a sweet kiss.

"Meet me there, then... and don't be late!

- You're one to talk."

His words made you laugh. He never forgot.

After exchanging a few words over the last details, you reluctantly let go of him, hands sliding down his arms to his hands and holding them as long as you could before you had to part and go home. This would be the first time meeting him anywhere else than under your tree or at home. Not to mention, this was your first real date, too. This was new, and it would feel a bit scary if you went with anyone but him; but you trusted him as he trusted you, and quite honestly, it felt like you could face anything coming your way if Maul was by your side.

***

You had been expecting this moment since the second you woke up. You made sure you looked your absolute best: your favorite clothes on, your face washed and fresh, you checked once more your bag and found that, for the third time, everything you've been planning to take with you was there.

You were going on a date.

You were going on a date with Maul.

Your excitement and slight nervousness met as you glanced at the clock on your wall, begging the hands to move faster until they indicated the time you were waiting for to leave your home. You didn't waste more time, your bag thrown over your shoulder as you rushed to your front door; you locked in a heartbeat before running on the path leading to the nearest city, each of your steps leading you closer to the one you loved.

As you approached the street where you were supposed to meet, you stopped. Your chest rose and fell in a quick pace, betraying your excited rush; he couldn't see you like this. He would mock you again, wouldn't he?

After catching your breath, you finally turned the corner of the street and walked to the bookstore. You could see him waiting in front of it. As usual, he was there before you, which you noticed was something he liked; after all, not once did you have to wait for him to appear, except this one time when he returned with the sun setting.

"Looks like my date arrived."

He welcomed you with a little smirk, his playful remark bringing a smile to your face. His hood was up, covering his horns and toning down the red tattoos on his face; it didn't hide them though, and you were grateful you could still admire the symmetrical designs they traced on his skin. They fascinated you from day one.

"Sorry I kept you waiting!

- I arrived merely minutes ago. You don't have to apologize for anything."

His arms, previously crossed, moved as he took off one of his black gloves to reach for your face. Slowly caressing your cheek, he took a good look at you; and as much as you were embarrassed about him touching you so tenderly in public, you loved feeling his fingers on your skin and allowed yourself to get lost in his flaming eyes for a moment.

"You look lovely today."

The truth was, he wasn't used to giving compliments. He barely got any from his master, and never got the opportunity to do so himself; learning about the enemy -the Jedi- and training hard day after day left little time to socialize. Not that there was anyone to socialize with in the first place. It came almost naturally with you, however, and your happiness was enough of an excuse for him to try.

His hand slid down your arm to hold your hand, his grasp a little more possessive than usual now that there were people around. You both made your way into the bookstore; you knew it by heart now, and it wasn't long before you were standing in front of the right section. Your gaze moved along the spines of the numerous books available, looking for the one you wanted before spotting it on the highest shelf. Letting go of the Dathomirian's hand for a second, you stood on tip-toe, eager digits reaching out to try and catch the copy above your head; yet it was too high, and you were struggling.

"It seems like someone needs help, hm?

- Maul !"

You turned around, only to find your lover looking at you with an amused expression, his strong arms crossed over his chest. You couldn't come up with anything more to say. How could you? He was right.

He took some steps forward as his soft chuckle reached your ears, his warm hand settling on your waist before he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"It's alright to be short, love. It's cute on you."

You could tell these weren't words he used often, and it only made them more precious. Focused on the sweet encouragements he offered you, you didn't notice him reaching up to grab the book you were longing for until he gave it to you, another kiss landing on your forehead; only then you went to pay, Maul's arm still around your waist and holding you close. You sure were a strange pair: he was dark and intimidating, but you were happy and full of life. It seemed like the two of you weren't meant to get along at all, yet you did, and more closely than you would've ever expected.

"You were waiting for this for a long time."

It was an affirmation, not a question; given how he knew you by now, you weren't surprised in the slightest by him being so confident.

"Yes... I feel lucky we're able to get it here. I was afraid it would only be available on other planets, if I'm honest.

- You know I would've gotten it for you if you asked.

- I know... but I didn't want to bother you."

You looked up with a small smile, your gaze lingering on his red and black skin before meeting with his eyes. You were grateful to have him. You were aware of how some people changed their path not to cross his, aware of the wary looks he would get from others. But you... you knew. You knew there was more to him than scary appearances and threatening glares, you knew there was a well-hidden vulnerability waiting for the right person to come and reveal it.

And you were so glad to be this person.

"Let's go home."

His words brought you back to reality. Without saying anything, he paid for your book, adding a beautiful bookmark to it before leading you out. Not once did he let go of your hand, his steps fast but adjusted to your own speed.

"You didn't have to. I feel like you're spoiling me more than I deserve."

He stopped. You were out of the city by now and on your way back to your house, the comfort of being alone with your loved one enough to bring you warmth on this autumn afternoon. He turned to you, his fingers lacing with yours gently as he brought his free hand to your face.

"I don't. I'd give you the galaxy if you asked me to."

Your gaze softened, and a fond smile spread on your lips. There was no way you could deny how sincere he was, given how it was perfectly conveyed by his tender words; you moved closer, your own free hand mirroring his as it rested on his cheek- not before pushing his hood down, revealing his majestic crown of horns to you.

"I know."

Your voice down to a murmur, you tilted your head up to press your lips against his, the taste intoxicating and getting you more addicted as days went by. But how could this be wrong? He was yours.

"I love you, Maul."

And you were his.

--------------------------------------

I don’t know what to feel about this one. Some parts I like, others not so much... I was very busy this week and I’m visiting family this weekend, but I still wanted you to have this new part ❤ I hope you’ll still like it ! As always, if you like this series and want to be tagged for part 5, please let me know !

Tags : @maulieber​, @gooseyhouse​, @gczanetti1​, @noiralei​, @catsnkooks​, @brilliantbutbatty​, @mother-0f-monsters​, @farmelcarmel​

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XVII)

Chapter 17 : Before The Water Lilies

Here we go again for a new chapter!!! We stay in the very cute Christmas spirit in London for these two idiots pinning for each other like crazy... Warning for extreme fluffiness, side effects might include a lot of 'awwww' and some hearts melting, you've been warned!!!

I hope you like this chapter, tell me what you thought about it!

Word Count: 2603

Trafalgar Square exceeded your expectations.

There was someone dressed as Pikachu dancing to Staying Alive in front of the majestic National Gallery, people hurried to avoid the sharp cold moving around the tall column and the fountain. Many tourists took pictures in front of the black statues of lions. A little crowd had gathered around a man playing guitar. Traffic was loud and dense, red buses and dark cabs and random cars driving around the square and passing under the Admiralty Arch. A woman was drawing mountains on the pavement with chalks.

Your eyes glimmered with joy and awe and excitement, and Harry was grinning from ear to ear at the sight.

You were going to the National Gallery that morning, and you couldn't wait.

The sky was grey and seemed low above your heads, sign of imminent snow or rain. But a moody weather was far from enough to stop you from exploring the city.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked, guiding you across the square and towards the large museum.

You nodded, clapping your hands together in excitement, jumping a couple of times instead of walking, making him laugh.

"They have some of Monet's water lilies, you know?"

"I know. I've been there before."

"And some De Vinci…"

"They do."

"And Van Gogh!"

"Indeed."

"And Turner, and Cézanne!"

"Are we attempting to name all of the painters that have their paintings exposed in there or…?"

You swatted his arm playfully, rolling your eyes.

"Sorry, I'm just rambling," you mumbled, but he nudged you, making you look up at him.

"I was just teasing you. I like it when you ramble."

"You like it?"

"Yeah, it's cute."

"Cute?"

He shrugged, suddenly realizing the meaning of the words he was speaking out loud, and he thanked the cold for giving him a perfect excuse for his flushed cheeks.

"I mean… yeah…" he stuttered. "Come on, hurry up! I'm freezing out here, and I need a wee!"

You laughed at him, but let him escape for this time around, and hurried with him to seek shelter from the winter wind that seemed to be cutting through your cheekbones.

The entrance was set in a more modern hall that the famous columns overhanging the square, with a wall made of glass and a large boutique to buy souvenirs. You studied the map of the museum while waiting for Harry as he went to the bathroom, and when he came back, you had a plan for the visit, to which Harry didn't complain. As long as it kept this grin on your face, he was up for anything.

The halls themselves were as majestic as you could have imagined, large stairs of stone and pillars and high ceilings and cracking wooden floors. You made your way through the halls, travelling through time from De Vinci's and Michelangelo's sketches to the grave figures pictured on Flemish paintings to the stormy oceans painted by Turner and the weird shapes of Picasso's works.

Every hall offered surprises, little gems that you liked more than the rest. You walked with Harry never leaving your side, whispering to each other either to make stupid jokes and shushed giggles, or to comment on the paintings you admired.

You walked around and spend time revisiting your favourite paintings, and you settled on a bench in front of your absolute favourite: Monet's water lilies.

Harry was resting his head on your shoulder while you both stared at the paintings, studying the touches of paint and movements of the brush that seemed to have scared the colours across the canvas. People passed around you, sometimes blocking the view, but you didn't care. There was something peaceful in sitting in the art gallery, surrounded by these paintings that had taken so many hours to make, for sure; in the rhythm of the crowd moving all around you and the shushed voices speaking in many languages, most of them that you couldn’t understand and sometimes not even recognize. Life felt slower in there. People's movements were not rushed, they took only little steps to move through the room, stopping before each painting, taking pictures of their favourites.

And Monet's painting in itself was soothing as well. Green and blue and touches of white and pink and purple to paint the bridge crossing the little river covered with waterlilies, their tiny white shapes lost in their large leaves. It felt like you were there, almost. It felt peaceful, tender. A little haven in your busy and fast life. Crazy how the painting of a place you had never visited could echo through your chest, make your heart slow down, shush your thoughts, make your limb a little numb and your lips curve into a smile as you studied its beauty.

And there was also the fact that Harry was by your side. You had taken off some of your warm clothes and opened your coats. He held both your scarves in his hands, resting on his laps. His brown curls tickled your neck, his head heavy on your shoulder, the pressure reassuring, a welcomed weight to carry as if it had felt empty without it, as if his head was meant to rest there, fitting perfectly into the shape of your shoulder and neck. Your knee rested lightly against his bruised one, after the fall of the previous night while ice skating. Your two arms were pressed together, and you had to admit that you were eager for the contact, welcoming every new inch of his body touching yours. It felt reassuring, natural. Almost meant to be. You felt safe with him so close to you.

"Did you know that when Monet grew older, he couldn't see well anymore," you let out in a whisper. "He was sick, and he couldn't see clearly shapes and all the shades of blue and green."

"Really?" he asked, lifting his head just a little to tell you he was listening, but not enough to disconnect your two bodies in any way.

"Yeah. I don't remember the name of the disease but… he spent years and years and years going back to that same spot to paint this bridge. And as his vision deteriorated and yet he kept on painting, the shapes became less and less clear in his paintings, and all the shades of blue and green he painted red or purple instead."

"I didn't know that. It must be terrible though… You've spent your whole life painting, and then you get sick, and your vision falters. And you can't do the only thing you're good at anymore. What can you do then, if you can't do the only thing you have talent for?"

His voice grew quieter as he went on, and you wondered if he was still talking about Monet when he was done.

You shrugged.

"You find other things to live for. You find another purpose. You still have everything else: your family, your friends, the people who love you, other hobbies and places you've never explored to go to. You still have sunrises upon frozen rooftops and strawberry ice creams in June and ducks to feed at the park. So I guess… even if it's hard, you just keep on going, only, you bend your own path to fit your new life instead."

He slowly nodded, and the worry that had made him frown seemed to have melted and turned into a soft smile.

And perhaps it was because he was so relaxed looking at these paintings, or perhaps it was because all he could smell was your perfume to a point where he forgot any other scent he had ever breathed in, or maybe it was because of how his head rose and fell just the tiniest bit every time you breathed, or maybe it was because of how close the two of you were in general and he was too tired to stop it from blurring his mind… he wasn't sure why, but before he could think them, he had uttered words he might have wanted to keep for himself. Sometimes, the most earnest words were the hardest to keep quiet though.

"I hope you'll still be there when I'm old and can't sing anymore."

You rested your cheek on the top of his head, slowly nodding.

"I'll always be here, Harry. Don't you know that by now?"

He smiled, just like you did.

"You know what? I think I do."

You were sitting on a bench watching ducks paddle off down the pond.

It was cold, and the clouds were still white above your heads, and the more time passed, the more you were certain that they were about to break.

Saint James's Park was a cute little park. With trees and patches of grass and ponds and ducks, even though at this time of the year most trees had lost their foliage, and most flowers were still unborn. The grass wore white glitter made by the frost under the shade of bushes and trees, hidden places that the sun couldn't reach to make the ice melt. You watched a few sparrows flying around while you rubbed your bare hands together, punishment for forgetting your gloves at Harry's. And you felt sorry for the little birds, they must have been so cold without shelter…

"If I were a bird, I think I would like to be a swallow," you blurted out, making Harry turn his attention to you again instead of the ducks in the brownish water.

"Hmm?"

He had taken off his beanie, and the tip of his ears were made crimson by the biting cold. The tip of his nose had the same shade too, and you found him absolutely adorable this way.

"I mean, it's nice!" you went on in a dreamy tone. "You leave for the South when it becomes too cold around here, and then you come back when it's warm and sunny again. Plus, your return means that spring is coming, you carry lovely meanings in your flight."

Harry's lips curved in a tender smile, and he slowly nodded.

"You're right, it's nice."

"What bird would you like to be?"

"I don't want to be a bird," he shook his head, a playful glint alit in his eyes. "I'd rather be a fish."

"A fish?"

"You have the entire ocean as a playground, so many adventures ahead. Wouldn’t that be nice?"

You laughed, but nodded anyway.

"It would be nice indeed."

"So you can be a swallow, and I'll be a fish."

"What kind of fish?"

He shrugged.

"The kind that lives near swallows."

You couldn't refrain a barely noticeable gasp, before smiling at him in the softest of ways.

"Well then, let's do that for our next lives then. Harry the fish and Y/N the swallow."

"Sounds good to me."

Harry noticed how your kept on rubbing your palms together and moving your fingers, blowing puffs of air against them to warm your skin. He remembered then that you had forgotten your gloves at his place that morning.

So he took his own pair off, and took your hands one by one, putting his large gloves on you.

They were so warm after he had worn them for some time, it was reassuring, and your painful skin almost instantly felt like it was burning instead of freezing.

"You're gonna be cold," you protested, although you didn't stop him from taking your other hand in his, his long fingers oozing warmth through your skin. He wasn't wearing any of his rings today and his skin was gentle and soft against yours, just like his movements.

"We can share. For now, you're the one who's freezing. Better warm your hands up before your fingers start falling off."

"Ha ha ha! Very funny!" you crinkled your nose and rolled your eyes, making him laugh.

Harry was about to tease you some more when he was interrupted by the sensation of something tiny yet very cold touching the bridge of his nose. He squinted quite ungracefully, trying to see what had touched him, before rising his bare fingers to his face. His skin was a little wet.

But then he spotted a white snowflake caught on your scarf, just as your eyes grew wider as you realized what was happening.

"Harry! It's snowing!" you gasped, a grin splitting your cheeks and digging cute creases at the corner of your eyes.

You looked up at the sky with eyes glimmering with excitement while Harry looked at you instead. You were so happy and beautiful…

It was starting to snow harder and harder with each second ticking by, and Harry mindlessly reached for his phone. He barely thought about what he was doing as he captured your picture in this moment: you were laughing, your arms and hands extended before you to catch the snowflakes. You examined the crystals with a curiosity and joy that could have belonged to a child. And it made his heart feel warm and big and growing even more as if it were filled with sunshine and couldn't keep the light in…

As he checked the picture again, he reckoned that he had found his new lockscreen.

You giggled in the most adorable way as a couple of snowflakes made their way between your scarf and your collar, making you shiver as they landed at the base of your neck.

"Ha! It's cold!" you squealed between your giggles, making Harry burst out in laughter.

"Do you think it'll snow enough to cover the ground?" you asked him, but your friend could only shrug.

"I don't know. It wasn't even supposed to snow today."

"Well, they got it wrong."

"It's nice that they were wrong on that one though, don't you think?"

You nodded.

"Yeah, it's nice."

Harry grew quiet again, grinning and turning his face to the sky to feel the frozen droplets against his skin, closing his eyes and reaching to hold the sleeve of your warm coat, as if to make sure that you would stay close even if he wasn't looking. As if he were afraid you weren't truly here, and that if he let his eyelids fall, you would disappear in thin air or be carried away with the snowflakes. But you had no intention to go anywhere.

You watched him as he threw his head back, face towards the sky, enjoying the stinging cold of the snowflakes delicately fall onto his cheeks. His hair was already stained with snow, white dots caught in the mess of his brown curls, and a few of the ice crystals had been caught on his eyelashes as well. He didn't seem to mind though. He was smiling, beaming even. Your heart seemed to be growing in size, and your whole body felt relaxed and warm. A smile formed on your lips, tender and gentle, and there was no way for you to refrain it. You wished you could run your fingers through his hair and keep them there just like these snowflakes hanging at his curls.

You noticed every detail of his face, every crack at the corner of his eyes that came with smiling, how his dimples grew deeper, every tiny mark on his skin, and every barely noticeable freckle, and the tiny crack on his lips caused by the cold…

It was overwhelming, sometimes, the situation you were in.

And you wondered then if you would ever feel that way with Gareth too, because deep down you knew that one day, you would have to. Perhaps it was time to try harder to do so…

*******************************************

Tag list :   @ponycake27​ @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy​ @addictedtofictionalcharacters​​ @staringmoony​@madamrogers​​​​​ @cronias13​​​​​ @stylesfics-xx​​​​​ @mellamolayla​​ @mariaenchanted​

[bcbdrums]

My 50th Drakgo Fic

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13645532/1/Sunlight-Paint-Flip-Flops-and-Old-T-Shirts

This is in answer to prompt #2 over at @drakgoprompts which was to use the phrase “the great blue moon,” and bonus points if it describes Drakken’s rear.  I think I got carried away...  Slightly mature content under the cut.

But...it’s my 50th Drakgo fic, guys!!!

---------------------

Drakken had been struggling to get the paint can open for nearly five minutes, keeping his grunts of frustration as quiet as possible as he kept glancing over his shoulder at Shego to see if she'd noticed. But she was on the other side of the room, atop a ladder and taping along the frame of the picture window, the canvases having already been spread on the floor.

Their new house was large, and that had been part of Drakken's argument to hire professional painters. But Shego had reminded him that the goal of getting an actual house—one that happened to back up to thousands of acres of National Forest and was situated atop a cliff overlooking a lake—was to disappear. Hiring painters would defeat the purpose.

Drakken pried frantically at the lid as he saw Shego finishing with that last window. He hadn't wanted to ask for her help, as he usually did with nearly every jar and bottle they owned. But it seemed he had run out of time.

"Um... Rachel?"

Shego finished with the blue tape and turned around on the ladder, surprised for just a moment as she peered at Drakken's chagrined and slightly apologetic face. She immediately began looking around his feet for spilled paint.

"What?" she asked.

"Could you...open this paint can for me?" he asked reluctantly.

Her brow rose. "Seriously?" she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she descended the ladder.

She stepped bare-foot across the cool canvas in the large, sunlit room that would become their combination dining room and living room. It was still extremely strange to think of them just becoming...domestic, while they tried to figure their lives out.

All they had determined so far was that they wanted each other—that was first, and most important—and also that they didn't really want to be in villainy anymore. But they also didn't want to be part of society.

Society it seemed, also had no interest in them. Despite the fact that the world probably couldn't have been saved without Drakken, and despite the fact that they had both been pardoned, it didn't stop crowds worldwide from crying for justice against them. And while they were annoyed, they also understood. Some of their plots had had earth-shattering consequences—literally, in the case of the one with the giant magnet.

The world's rejection was their final push, though they had hardly needed it. They impulsively ran away together one night after a mass of protesters had swarmed upon their lair and tried to kill them. They had quickly and shamelessly purchased the new house with their ill-gotten cash and had been living in it for about a week. But as their escape had been so hasty, the only furniture in the residence was the fridge, the stove, and the air mattress they slept on. They had rapidly tired of living on what they considered to be less than bare necessities, and after some discussion had agreed to turn the house into something that could be theirs forever, no matter where life ended up taking them. In the past they had always returned to the lair... Now, they would always return to the house on the cliff.

Hiding seemed to be the best option that suited all of their needs. It kept them safe, and it kept them together.

And honestly, the seclusion was exactly what they needed most. Falling in love had surprised them both, and it had happened just as suddenly and unexpectedly as had Drakken's plant mutation. They needed to get to know each other in a new way. And moping around the lair and literally fighting for survival hadn't been much help.

So now they stood in a three-million dollar home in the middle of nowhere, preparing to put paint on the walls together. Shego had never painted a house. Drakken had watched it being done, once.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't—"

"Just give me the screwdriver!" she said as she knelt down next to where he squatted in front of the array of paint cans.

She was glad he had finally changed clothes per her insistence as she looked at the thin gray-black hairs on his shins and his smaller-than-average feet in his old brown flip-flops. She hadn't even known he owned flip-flops. But his insistence that he wouldn't get his jeans and nerdy button-up dirty had had her literally shoving him back into their unfurnished bedroom to change. Now he wore his tricolor blue, green, and teal swim trunks and an old white t-shirt. And the flip-flops.

"She— Ah, Rachel?"

Shego shook herself out of studying the way the thin t-shirt barely hid his skin and grabbed the screwdriver. Her brows knitted.

"You've been trying to open it with a Phillips!?"

Drakken recoiled from her ire, and Shego looked around until she saw the putty knife they had used the day before to patch some cracks in the ceiling of their over-priced house that had stood vacant for too long. She grabbed it and shoved it under the rim of the paint can and began gently prying off the lid.

"You've at least got the paint trays ready?"

She watched his eyes go wide, and he glanced around quickly. There were no paint trays in sight. Shego followed his gaze and realized there were also no brushes, rollers, or mixing sticks.

"Drakken..." she growled lowly. When his brow knit in slight worry, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Sorry... Drew," she corrected, after she had calmed her voice.

That was something else that was new. Since they weren't going to be villains anymore, they were trying out calling each other by their real names. So far it was extremely awkward and even painful at times.

Drakken only associated his name with failure and humiliation, so to be called 'Drew' and associate the name with happiness, love, and caring was very difficult for him.

Shego hadn't been called by her name since before the comet. In fact Drakken was the only person outside of her brothers who knew her name, if her brothers even remembered it... And 'Rachel' had slowly been destroyed by Team Go and their controllers since childhood, thus she had never wanted any association with the name again. 'Shego' was who they had made her. It was what she called herself in her head.

It was still startling each time Drakken said her real name.

When they argued and fought, however, they reverted to their villain names. It was an unspoken agreement; a topic that had never been discussed, that to say the other's name with anger or malice was something that would never happen. They were trying to create a new life together. And that meant putting to bed the ghosts of the past.

"They're still in the shopping bags in the kitchen," Drakken said, scrambling to his feet and nearly tripping over his flip-flops.

Shego shook her head as she continued prying the lid off the can. Why they were attempting something that neither of them truly had a clue how to do was beyond her. Except that...they wanted to. They wanted to reinvent themselves and their lives. Painting their new house and learning how to do it together was a fair enough start.

Drakken rushed back into the room with the plastic shopping bags that contained the rest of the painting supplies and begun dumping them out over the floor.

"Careful!" Shego cautioned as she pulled the lid off of the paint can. The paint inside was white.

Shego's brow furrowed as she looked at the label on the lid, and then at the other cans stacked in front of the canvas-covered fireplace. The cans of dark teal paint were mixed in among the cans of white.

"Drakken..." she growled again. She watched as he looked down and started at the sight of the white paint.

"Oh, uh...s-sorry."

Shego began slamming the lid back on the can more violently than was needed.

"We agreed to paint the back wall teal first. Then we mix the teal with white and figure out exactly how light we want the other three walls."

"I know, I...I was just...so worried about getting the can open I forgot to read the label... Here, let me," he said, getting down on his hands and knees and leaning past her to reach for a can of the teal.

Shego fell back to her rear in surprise as Drakken's own rear end nearly bumped her face in his haste to grab another can of paint.

"Hey...Drew. Move your tail gunner," she said in annoyance.

Drakken peered back at her over his shoulder, his brow raised in confusion.

"Get your big blue moon out of my face."

She watched as Drakken took another moment to process her meaning, and then his face flushed as he quickly crawled back, eyeing her uncertainly as he sat back on his heels next to the pile of paint brushes and rollers. Shego rolled her eyes and grabbed a can of the teal herself, prying it open quickly. Drakken pushed one of the paint trays in front of her and she lifted the can and poured some of the dark and thick liquid into the tray's shallow reservoir.

"I think...we're supposed to start at the top..." she mused as Drakken pulled the plastic off of two paint rollers. "So get the— ...I'll get the ladder. You use the extension handle."

Drakken's face was still a bit pink as he watched her walk away. Her gait to his viewing was perfect, almost like she floated with each step. He had never noticed it before when they were just super-villain and side-kick. But now that they were together he noticed every little thing about her. The way her hair swayed in time with her steps, how perfectly shaped her green legs were—particularly noticeable in the tiny, black athletic shorts she was wearing—and the way her forehead wrinkled when she was deep in thought. It didn't do that when she was angry... Just when she was thinking.

His eyes drifted off of her face as she set up the ladder in front of the hearth, backwards so the steps were facing the fireplace. He was a bit annoyed that she had stolen one of his old Captain Constellation t-shirts to wear while painting. But the annoyance and the rest of his thoughts faded as he realized that she wasn't wearing anything else beneath the dark gray t-shirt with the red and white rocket ship over the blue circle of a starfield.

Shego set her hands on her hips and her forehead remained wrinkled in that way Drakken found cute as she looked between the ladder and the fireplace.

"Okay, hand me the tray," she said, reaching down and gesturing with her open hand.

Drakken set the roller carefully atop the tray before lifting it with two-hands, knowing if he spilled it he would get an earful about wasting their resources. She took the tray and set it on the ladder's shelf, but she did a double-take and paused with her foot on the first step when she looked at him again.

"What?" she asked.

Drakken blushed lightly. She had very nearly caught him staring at her chest...

"...'Tail gunner'?" he asked, pouring paint into another tray for himself.

Shego crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. He even thought that was cute.

"You know..." she said, shrugging lightly.

Drakken shook his head as he began rolling his paint roller into the tray, the soft white fluff of the tool rapidly being concealed by the teal liquid. He actually didn't understand the analogy.

Shego sighed loudly. "Tail as in your rear end, gunner as in...you know... Sounds coming out...like a machine gun."

Drakken blushed bright red and he spluttered for moment as he searched for a response. "I... I do not—!"

"We share a bed, Doc," she said with an affectionate smirk.

Drakken watched as she climbed the ladder, immediately distracted again by the lovely green length of her legs. He wondered how she was able to balance on the ladder bare-footed as she was. But his attraction to her was stayed somewhat by the embarrassing accusation she had just leveled against him.

He couldn't let her get away with it.

"Oh yeah, well...well maybe I don't like the way the bathroom smells after you've been in there 'reading' Villainess for fifteen minutes!"

Shego's jaw dropped as she gasped, affronted. Several seconds of silence passed, and as Drakken gazed at her fairly-glowing eyes he realized he'd made a mistake.

"Why, you—!" she snarled as she shot a small glowing blast in his direction. He quickly leaned out of the way to dodge it and nearly tipped over the open paint can.

"Hah! Missed me!"

"Maybe I don't like how sweaty your feet are at night, Drakken!" Shego said, descending the ladder carefully as she minded the paint tray.

"Well maybe I don't like how much hair is left in the drain after you shower!" he retorted.

"Some of that is yours, mister 'nineteen-eighties is high fashion'! And what about all the circuit boards and wires you leave lying around all over the place? Why are those even here!? I almost cut my foot yesterday!"

"At least you didn't spend hours scrubbing black lipstick out of the carpet in the bedroom. What kind of person leaves make-up out all over the floor!"

"We don't have any furniture!" Shego growled, throwing a larger green blast at him from a mere two feet away.

Drakken saw it coming and dodged again, but for some reason something in his mind told him he needed a greater defense. And for some reason that same something told him it would be a good idea to pick up his now-saturated paint roller and thrust it out in front of him.

Shego gasped and side-stepped away from the surprise defense-turned-attack. But her hair swung up with the inertia of her quick movement and collided squarely with the length of the roller.

Shego and Drakken gasped in unison. Shego's jaw worked silently as she held up her hair and stared at the thick, teal stripe marring the black. When her eyes turned back to Drakken's they were filled with fury.

"Uh oh," Drakken chirped.

Shego's teeth were bared as she spoke. "Do you have any idea...how long it will take to get this out!?" she snarled.

She raised glowing hands in menace and Drakken leaned back, thrusting the paint roller forward instinctively. Three tiny teal splatters hit Shego's face, and she gasped in anger.

"Why, you—!"

She turned back to the ladder and grabbed her own paint roller. Drakken scrambled to his feet, brown flip-flops falling from his feet as he tried to run. But a second later he felt the hard impact of Shego's paint roller against his upper back.

"You'd better cover your great blue moon!" she growled, stalking after him as he staggered away from her.

Somehow, Drakken had had the presence of mind to hold onto his own paint roller and he swung it around blindly as he took two huge steps away, whirling around just in time to see Shego dodge. He gasped as she lunged forward, her roller connecting with his arm at the same time he swung his and hit the side of her head, marring more of her hair.

"Rrargh!" she cried, shooting a glowing blast at his feet and causing him to jump. It was enough distraction for her to hit him just below his chin with her roller. He dropped to his knee as he choked from the hard impact against his throat, his hand grasping at the spot protectively and getting covered in teal paint.

"Drakken?" Shego asked in sudden alarm.

He looked up with narrowed eyes as he clutched his throat, swinging his roller hard and spreading a broad line of paint across the front of her thighs. Shego jumped back with an annoyed gasp as she surveyed herself, but when she looked up Drakken was rising to his feet again with a devious smirk and a hoarse chuckle. Shego's eyes widened.

For the next minute they batted at each other with the paint rollers wildly and carelessly, irritated shouts turning into laughter and squeals. Their arms received most of the blows as they continued trying to defend themselves amid what had turned into playful attacks. And when they were both too winded from laughing they stopped and backed away from each other, standing about five feet apart as they tried to recover their breath. The canvas beneath their feet bore more signs of the battle, teal spots splattered haphazardly around the room with some having landed on the hearth and picture window.

Shego stood with her feet apart as she continued laughing breathlessly, gazing affectionately at Drakken. Drakken was leaning forward with his paint-covered forearms on his knees, but he saw an opportunity and seized it, lunging forward with a smirk and a growl. Shego hadn't been expecting it and her dodge wasn't soon enough. Drakken's roller went straight down her shirt, teal paint completely covering the red and white rocket ship on the blue starfield.

"Hah!" Drakken shouted triumphantly, raising his paint roller high in the air. Two drips of paint fell down and hit his face next to his eye, and he flinched in surprise.

Shego's shock melted into a broad smirk. "'Hah,' yourself. You just got paint all over your shirt."

Drakken blinked his open eye as he rubbed the paint away from the other one, realizing she was right. But as he gazed at the woman he loved in front of him, flushed, breathless, and grinning, he discovered he didn't care in the slightest.

"Take it off then," he said with a smile.

Shego started in surprise. But a moment later both paint rollers hit the floor as the pair crashed into each other, limbs and lips meeting in a frenzy. Drakken brought them down to their knees, and then he carefully lay back on the hard ground and pulled Shego up over the top of him. She tossed her paint covered hair aside as his lips captured hers again and again, his arms wrapping tightly around her back.

"Other way..." Shego breathed after a minute. Drakken immediately obliged, rolling them over so he covered Shego's form as they lay on the heavy canvas that protected their hardwood floors. The tacky feeling of drying paint was between them as hands and limbs sought for even greater closeness.

"Why?" he asked, kissing her neck and up behind her ear.

"Mm, so I can feel your...jiggly blue jello?"

Drakken's lips left her neck and he looked up at her with a grimace.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Too much," he nodded.

"Hot buns it is," Shego said with a small smirk. Drakken felt all ten of her fingers dig firmly into his rear end, and he brought his lips happily down to hers.

"You're the one with the hot buns," he murmured before surrendering to her touch.

He would never get over the fact that she, heaven's beauty sent to earth, had chosen him. Her mere presence had been enough for him before, but now...his life was joy beyond description. He let his body sink against hers and his hands began to wander, one of them settling to knead her thigh as the other snaked beneath her shirt and his palm slid up her flat stomach towards her chest.

"Drakken..." she breathed, her fingernails sliding slowly up his back, catching in the drying paint at his shoulder blades.

"Shego...mm, Rachel," he amended as his hands and lips took possession of her, his touch fierce and intimate as he suckled at her neck.

"You've...never called me Rachel when we make love..." Shego said breathlessly.

"Rachel..." he said, bringing his lips back to hers. Her answering caress was soft and yearning. "Rachel..."

Shego's palms pressed firmly into his back, one arm sliding around to grip his waist and her other hand moving to grip his shoulder.

"Mmmh...ohh I love you, Drew Lipsky... But there's nowhere in this house to make love."

Drakken slowly pulled his lips from her cheek with his brow furrowed and his eyes slightly anxious.

"Air mattress?" he said hopefully.

"If you want us to be uncomfortable the whole time."

Drakken grimaced. He closed his eyes and scratched at the drying paint on his cheek as he tried to push down the fire that he'd allowed to build within him. When he looked at her again, she was smiling affectionately. The fingers of one of her hands began twirling the hair of his ponytail.

"...Furniture store?" he asked.

"You start the shower. I'll put the paint away."

Drakken grinned.

[youmademe-stay]

lee know/minho x (y/n) oneshot

I felt the buzz of my phone from my pocket and sighed. I am never going to get any work done if I keep getting messages from people. "I'm too famous," I think to myself as I place my paintbrush down and take my phone out of my pocket

'let's see who -' I say out loud to myself as I unlock my phone before I realised what the message is for I can't believe this My Uber Eats guy cancelled my meal It takes me a minute or two to understand this, but when it fully hit me it hurt even more than when I came home and sat on my bed and found an open red tube of paint underneath my covers. He is never cancelled on me... I've known him for 3 days, I thought this was going to last forever I sigh, before putting my phone back into my pocket and picking my paintbrush again. This is why my mother taught me to be independent - you can't trust anyone.  

 I stroke the paint onto the canvas lightly and move my wrist ever so slightly once a stroke is done and a new one begins, to get the perfect look of the wind. this painting was meant to inspired by the weather, but now that's it's been a few hours since I started it, it's beginning to remind me more of my bedroom on a bad day

 I put the paintbrush down again and stretch my arms. I feel the buzz of my phone again and use one hand to take it out of my pocket again, leaving the other suspended in the air. I swear to god Uber Eats if you don't find me a new guy I - 

 I stop complaining and freeze. then let my other arm fall to my side. then smile.

 "babe it's time" I read for the third time in a row. it's time? seriously - he made me wake up at 6 in the morning and now it's fine?!

 "okay. on my way" I message back before putting the phone down and rushing to my bed, where my outfit of the day is already laid out. I change out of my black painting slacks into a white jumper crop top and leggings, with a pair of jeans overalls over the leggings. as I take my hair out of my lazy attempt at a messy bun and brush it with a comb, I hear the phone buzz a few more times from where I left it.

 i slip my socks on as well as my birthday bracelet before walking back to my desk and picking up my phone and unlocking it

 "it's okay, take your time"

"Actually, don't take your time, I'm very emotional right now"

"Actually, just hurry up. I feel like killing jisung right now. we're sitting on your patio"

I couldn't help but smile. god, as much as I deny it when he says he is, he can be so cute sometimes. I rush out of the room with my backpack and towards the front of the house, quickly slipping on some converses before opening the door, seeing the backs of two grown men sitting on my patio, smiling at the both of them, and locking the door

 I assume at the sound of the lock, they realised I was actually behind them because when I turned around after locking it they were both facing me, one with a cardboard box in his arms and another with a cheesy grin on his face

 '(y/n) noona, why did you have to come so soon, i wasn't done annoying hyung~' jisung teased as he approached me with his arms open. i threw my bag into his arms and instead of hugging him like he expected, grabbed one of his cheeks with my thumb and forefinger, like how my mother did, forcing him to turn around

 'my boyfriend is not the type you can tease, is that understood Mr. Han jisung?'

 'ah, noona, please~' he whined in a slurred voice. I let go of his cheek and patted it lightly before taking my bag away from him

 'I mean, you can tease him, but only when I'm there, so I can help'

 jisung laughs loudly at this, much to my amusement. it's great to remember how hilarious I am sometimes...

 'you're not funny ((y/n))' Minho mutters in an annoyed voice. damn it. I forgot he could practically read my mind

 'I actually am though, dear boyfriend'

 'you're actually not though, dear girlfriend' he mocked back. on a normal day, we probably could have kept arguing for hours on end, but luckily, he had reminded me so much about this day before it happened that, I knew today wasn't the day to argue with him

'I’m going to leave now (y/n) noona. take care of hyung, he's a bit sensitive because of "you know what"' he winked at me and smiled cheesily again before jumping off the patio and off my front lawn.

 when he reached the end of it he turned around and shouted, 'he's probably on his period!' before immediately running

 'i feel so bad' Minho sighed as he moved closer to me. i put my backpack on and tried to take the box from him, but he shrugged my offer off and just kept looking into my eyes

 'I’d hug you right now, but...' 

 'it's okay' i smiled, 'i know it's tough for you, so the hugging can happen later'

 'the first house is about 5 minutes away from here, and the others are close by. that's why i didn't bring the car'

 'okay'

 'and also because...' i could tell what he was about to say, but i didn't interrupt anyways. it's not right to interrupt a normally emotional - less person, especially on a day like this. 'i want to spend as much time with them as possible'

 i glanced at the box and noticed the little holes at the top. around each hole was some sort of scribble, which i assume was meant to be the name of each kitten. i couldn't help but smile at this.

 'what?' he asked in a sad voice. he must've noticed me smile, since he isn't even trying to look directly at the box

 'it's nothing. let's go' we made our way off the patio and as we walked to the first house, i kissed my first two fingers and pressed them against his cheek

 'I'm sorry I can't kiss you right now. it's not like I don't want to, I just...'

 'it's okay, i understand mama Minho'

 on an average day, he would've rolled his eyes at this old nickname, but today instead he smiled weakly and shook his head

 'I'm going to miss being called that'

 'I mean, I'm the one who called you, it. the kittens didn't really understand how to speak'

 'yeah, but they gave the name, purpose'

 'well, you still have jisung right? just adopt him'

 i watched him carefully as his sad face changed into one of disgust, prompting both of us to laugh out loud. even though I can't stop him from being in his feels today - not that I'd ever do it anyway - I'm glad I can be with him to get through them

 we arrive at the house and stay at the door as the couple who live there open the box Minho was holding for so long and carefully take out two baby kittens. it took me a while, like 1 or 2 weeks, but when they were newborns I was taught each of their names, and even though I didn't see much of its point before, I'm so glad I did now

 'that's Mini, the girl' I told the lady, and then to the man, 'and that's blueberry, the boy'

 'please take care of them' Minho added in a low voice.

 the couple promised that they would, and after some friendly small talk, we left to go to the next house

 'i shouldn't be this sad' he suddenly said once we started to walk again.

 'what do you mean, it's completely okay to'

 'but I'm on the verge of crying when I haven't even known these cats for more than 2 months'

 'and? who said 2 months is a short time? it's quality, not quantity, and you spent every minute breathing with them, Minho. you have every right to be in your feels right now'

 'I guess that's true' he sighed. I glanced at the box and felt an urge to take it from him and hold it until we got there, but it didn't matter since we arrived there a lot quicker than I realised

 we made our way to the front of the house, made small talk with the parents and the little kid to whom Pringles the kitten was going to, before leaving. there were only a few cats left, but I could feel his sadness growing and I was at this point, running out of ideas on what to do to make him feel better

 'so, how're your paintings going?' he suddenly asked. thank you, god, for giving me a boyfriend who can read my mind, and instantly know when my awkwardness spikes

 'they're going good'

 'going good? don't you mean, going well?'

we made eye contact and I smiled and rolled my eyes at the sight of his cheeky smile. 'listen, i took art as my career because as much as my parents wanted it, there was no way i was going to take literature when i can't even speak right'

'you mean speak correctly?'

 'if you weren't holding the box I'd punch you' i warn as he laughs.

 'so, what were you doing before I messaged you'

 'nothing much, just finishing a painting for my gallery'

 'are we all still invited after...' 

 I look over at him and sigh, nodding my head. 'even though you destroyed one of my paintings by replacing all the eyes with printouts of all your ugly faces, you're all still invited. I need someone to be there to distract my parents from lecturing me'

 'should I ask my parents to visit?'

 'depends on whether or not they're okay with talking about marriage with mine'

'oh, I think they'll be fine with that. my mother still questions why I decided to be an idol when i can be 24 with a housewife and 2 kids at this point'

 now it was my turn to laugh. 'parents really think just because we're out of school and earning money, we should use that money on marriage and kids'

 'yeah. I want to settle when you're ready to settle'

 'yeah same, i - what?!' 

 I stopped walking and stared at him as he turned around and smiled at me.

'you're kidding right?' 

 he shook his head. 'have you never thought about us getting married one day?'

 I mean....of course I did. but I thought I was the only one

 'Yeah, but...how can you be so confident about it? shouldn't you be saying "when my fiancé is ready"?'

 'in my eyes, you're already my fiancé' he admits, in a weird yet cool way

 at this point, I'm stuck between wanting to punch him and being starstruck. like, god Minho, way to be straightforward. 

 'i can see why your fans like you, Mr. straight-to-the-point' i try to say without mixing up my words and looking dumb, 'c'mon, we need to get to the next place'

 I grab his arm and proceed walking, even though he's the one out of the two that knows where the next house is

 'After we're done, let's go to your place' he says after a bit of silence. I don't say anything and just nod. but then i take it in and realise what he said

 'why not your place?' I ask

 'it's a bit messy right now. had a struggle getting all the kittens together this morning'

 'oh, okay'

 'you still have some of my clothes, there right?'

 I glare at him and smack his arm and hard as I can, but not so hard that the remaining kittens feel it through the box

 'weirdo. yes, I do, but they're mine now' I state loudly and clearly, ignoring the people around us that saw me smack him

 'just like how you're mine huh?'

my jaw drops a little as I look into his eyes and this...revolting statement. god, if he sleeps over today, I'm going to have to listen to this jisung - level cringe for.....how long??

 'oh yeah. if you think that was cringe, I got a whole lot more coming up' he said as he nudged my elbow with this. 'you can thank jisung and changbin later for all the inspiration they gave me'

 #a few hours later#

 'can i put this here?'

 i turn around and see him place the box down on the sofa. as much as I’d appreciate it to go in the recycling, there's no way i can say it to him, so i nod and walk up to him, looping my arms around his waist as i rest my head on his chest and snuggle into it

 'it's been a long day' I say in a low voice. 'and I'm really proud of what you did. all those kittens will get the love and care they deserve Minho'

 'but what if they don't?'

 'then we'll take them back. i will attack the owners for not caring for them, and you take them, and we'll raise them here' I look up at him and smile. he smiles back, and despite it being a little bit fake, i take it and kiss him on the lips

 'What did I do to deserve that?' he asked after the kiss.

 I laugh and respond with, 'not much, but since today your inner mother is a bit hurt, I'll be nice to you. go ahead and wash up and I'll make something for us to eat'

 'don't you want to finish your painting?'

 'well, are you going to stay over tonight? is your schedule for tomorrow busy?'

 he looked away from me and thought about it, before looking back down and shaking his head.

 'well, that's good. when you sleep, I'll finish the painting off. so, from now until midnight we can do whatever you want'

 'and what if I don't sleep?' he asked with a smile that I know and have seen too much of.

 'then I will give you sleeping pills and make you watch literal paint dry until you do' I smile back as I unloop my arms and begin to make my way to the kitchen. ha take that Mr. I - know - I'm - sexy - when - i- do - this - smile. you just got served...

 whilst he went off to wash up and be weird, i stripped out of my overalls, leaving just my crop top and leggings on, and got out the ingredients for some pasta. thankfully, out of the two of us, I'm the better cook, so I'm not always desperate for his food - unless Chan made it - and I'm never starving.

 once I finish the prep work for the pasta and it's in the water, I go over to the freezer and take a frozen cake out as well as a tub of ice cream. this is all textbook breakup food, but since he let go of his "children" today I think that the food gods will allow an exception.

 i leave the cake on top of a plate in order to defrost along with the ice cream and go back to the pasta, doing all the things i need to do before i can take a break and check up on Minho

 'it's pasta day?' i suddenly feel two hands on my hips and his sharp jaw rest on my shoulder. jheez, this guy reads my mind too much these days...

 'not only pasta but cake and ice cream day!'

 'you want me to eat all of them together?'

'well if you want, yes. me, on the other hand, will enjoy them all separately'

 he chuckles and hugs me tight, mumbling, 'I’m sorry for being a mess today...'

 'it's okay' i say in a low voice

'this was the first time i had to do this and...it felt right, but wrong at the same time. i felt like i was giving a part of myself away each time one of them left the box'

i open my mouth to respond, but then close it without saying anything. in these times, it's better to let him say it all out so he can get it all out of his heart

'and yeah, i know that now each family will be happier, but those kittens reminded me of when i got my first ones....and when i was younger and more carefree too'

 'those kittens gave me time to distract myself from everything. work, social life, stress. all of that. and i....god (y/n) look!'

 my eyes enlarge as i realised that the water in the pot was overspilling. i let go of his hands I’d been holding onto as he spoke and lowered the flame and put the lid on the pot, allowing the water level to lower a bit

 'sorry, i was listening to you and - '

 'no, I’m sorry. I’ll help defrost the cake and ice cream, so you don't get distracted'

 before i could say no i felt his arms leave my sides and suddenly felt too cold. i watch him as he took the cake and placed it in the microwave and put the setting "defrost" on before opening the ice cream tub, getting two bowls out with spoons and forcing the still - frozen ice cream into the two bowls.

 once he finished, he closed the tub and put it away and picked up the two bowls and walked to my room. i guess he isn't in a movie mood then.

 once he's out of my eyesight, i continue making the pasta and getting it tasting just like how he likes it. i get two wine glasses out and fill them with sprite and ice -cubes, and take the cake out of the microwave.

 as the pasta is finished and i begin to put it all in a large container for the two of us to share, he comes back and takes the wine glasses

 'fancy a bit of the bubbly sir?' i ask in my best British accent. my heart warms as i see his blank face break into a smile as he replies in probably the worst accent I’ve ever heard,

 'if the madam wants it, the madam shall have'

 he leaves and i take the container and the cake to my room and - 

 'Minho!'

 how i didn't drop the food I’ll never know.

 he...somehow (?) cleaned up my room, made the massive pile of laundry near the window disappear and had my laptop sitting on top of my bed table, with the wine glasses on either side of the laptop and the ice cream bowls next to the glasses

 'i put your clothes in a bundle, so you can not trip up when you bring the real food in' he smirks as he snuggles into his side of the bed. i made my way towards the bed table, place the cake on my side and the pasta on his and sit down, giving him a kiss on the cheek immediately after

 'you didn't have to tidy up, but you did. so thank you'

 'you're so cute'

 I scrunch my nose at this remark. 'not as much as you think, but let's not argue in front of the food. c'mon, what d'you wanna watch?'

 'I don't mind anything. you can choose, YouTube, drama, a variety you name it'

 we ended up watching Knowing Brothers, one of my favourite shows now and enjoyed the food as we went through a random selection of episodes, and although he did laugh some of the time, most of the time he just sat back and had his arm around my waist and stayed silent.

 eventually, he did what I thought he'd do and lie down and pretend to go to sleep. he didn't nag me to put the food away or to make the videos quieter - he just went to "sleep". as he "slept" I quietly packed the food away and put each thing on the floor one by one, before closing the laptop and putting it and the bed table away too. once it was all gone, I shut the lights and lied down too, snuggling my face into his back and my arm around his middle

 in the silence, I felt his hand touch mine and held it tightly. he started to quiver a little, and I could tell it wasn't because he was cold. I said nothing as he cried, and waited until he turned around and let me hug him to speak

'it's okay Minho. I've got you. it's okay' I kept whispering as I stroked the back of his head.

eventually, he stopped crying and shaking, so I assume that meant the crying tired him out and he fell asleep.

 'I love you Minho. and so, do the kittens. and so, do Soonie, Doongi and Dori. and so, do all your fans and members and family...I'll accept you as a mean old grandpa, a weird on-drugs uncle, a sarky homosexual boyfriend to jisung, and as a caring and sensitive person. you can always cry to me, and I'll always be there to hug you' I whisper as tears fill up in my eyes. every word, I mean from the heart, and if he was awake right now, he'd know since he always knows what I'm thinking or feeling

 suddenly, his arm went around my waist as he hugged me tight and said, 'i love you too'

 god damn, he's a good actor. although i feel a bit annoyed that he heard all of it, I’m more glad than annoyed. 

 'i love you and want to grow old with you'

 'i love you and want you to be my fiancé'

 'i love you and want to be your wife'

 he moved his head back and has the funniest look of surprise, excitement and confusion written all over his face

 'what, did you think you were the only one who thought about marriage?' i joke, my heart beating like crazy at my confidence

 'no but, does this mean...'

 'yes Minho. i accept your lame ass proposal from before. now, let me say now i don't want to marry soon - '

 before i could finish my sentence he pulled me closer and we kissed. very deeply. i almost forgot, during the kiss, what we were talking about before it.

 a minute or maybe two passed before he moved back and let air enter both of our lungs

 'i will marry you whenever you're ready, and if you're never ready then i will stay by your side as all those things you mentioned - as an grandpa, a drugged uncle whatever you want'

 'Minho...i - '

 'and today wasn't my intent to propose - i actually had so much planned and - '

 'Minho - yah'

 'yes ((y/n))'

 'i love you'

 'i... i love you too'

 and that's when i saw it. today's first, full, genuine smile. 'can we kiss again?'

 'if that' what madam wants, that's - '

 I kissed him before he ended the sentence. god, I need to tell him soon that...if we are getting married one day, he'll have to promise me in the wedding vows, to never use that accent again

[venusxxlangdon]

draw me like one of your french boys

warnings: smut, fluff, handjob, oral (female receiving, facesitting), praise kink, sub!Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, shy!Michael, female!reader

 summary: reader is an artist looking for a live model for her new artwork. When she meets Michael, she realizes that the boy, who looks like a Renaissance painting, is exactly who she’s been looking for. They grow found of each other, and one day Michael asks her to draw him. Naked.

word count: 6850

Every artist experiences existential crises at least once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t experienced it yet, it means that they are about to. It’s an inevitable burden that occurs in everyone’s life, especially after they become successful and the dependency of other people’s opinion increases. An artist, who once created for the sake of the process itself, gets trapped in the idea of being liked by their audience. That’s what you were afraid most of all. To become a puppet whose only desire would be to meet somebody else’s expectations.

The sales of your paintings have increased drastically in the past six months and, as your manager kept telling you, it was high time to paint more. You started making new clients and getting offers for a personal exhibition, but it all felt like the weight of the world was forced on your shoulders. You wanted to rebel against it: tell your manager to shut up, and lock yourself in your studio, where you were alone with your thoughts and nobody told you what to do. It had always been your happy place with sketches all over the floor, your very first paintings hanging on the walls, a huge easel right in the center of the room. You loved the smell of fresh oil and ink, and two huge windows that offered a fascinating view of city skyline. How disappointing it was to come over one day and realize that nothing was making you happy anymore, and the main reason for that was right in the corner of the room. A big canvas of your last painting you had been struggling to finish. It was a drawing inspired by the early Renaissance period: a cherub in the rose garden, wrapped in a navy blue silk that was coming down his lean body in waves. The flowers turned out really beautiful, so delicate and precious with the drops of dew on the rosy petals. The problem was with the cherub. For some reason you couldn’t paint his face, and the blank space instead of its place was driving you mad. You wanted it to be special, and you had spent days trying to find a proper live model who could pose for you, but, unfortunately, all these handsome males, you tried to get inspiration from, lacked the innocence of an angel (especially that one guy who posed for you half-naked, when you were painting cherub’s chest, and decided to hit on you. You were quick to explain to him that the job of a live model wasn’t about hooking up with an artist and made sure that he wouldn’t appear in your studio ever again), the lightness and purity. Days went by, your manager started being really annoying, but you kept looking for that very special one, because you felt he was somewhere out there. Your intuition never deceived you.

It was a regular rainy afternoon when you found yourself sitting in a local coffee shop not far from your studio, thinking how bad you didn’t want to go there and face the unfinished painting which was some sort of a reminder of your inability to draw something decent. Another notification popped up on your laptop desktop, and you already new what it was gonna be about. One more email from Mallory.

“Y/N, Mr. Gallant called, and he’s expecting the painting to be done and delivered to his apartment by next Sunday. Get back to work, please”. You sighed disappointedly. Fuck this stupid time-management. You are an artist, a free-spirit and you will be done when YOU decide that it’s time. Having aggressively shut the lid of your laptop down, you stared through the window.

The rain was oblivious of your worries, as each drop bequeathed itself into a cooling air. You felt pathetic and unprofessional. Why everything had to be so complicated? Why did you let your perfectionism take over and prevent you from drawing a face of any model you could pick from a local model agency? It wasn’t even the artwork you’d hang in your apartment, and the man you were painting it for could care less about the face of a cherub as long it was pretty. You knew the answer to all of these questions — because you could never do things halfway — it was either all or nothing, even if it meant sacrificing set deadlines.

You rolled your eyes when your phone started vibrating with an incoming call.

“Yes, Mallory?” You didn’t even have to look at the display to know who was calling, Rubbing the bridge of your nose tiredly, you prepared yourself mentally for another lecture from your manager. “Y/N, you know I would really appreciate if you answered my emails” the voice on the others side was monotonous.

 You sipped your coffee and winced, realizing that the drink had gone cold. Damn.

“I told you I was busy” you answered and looked around the coffee shop, thinking that the way you spend your time could hardly be identified as “busy”. Chewing on your bottom lip, you brought your gaze back to the window.

“Please, tell me that at least you’ve read my last email and you are familiar with the new deadline” you could picture the way Mallory adjusted her glasses, her thin lips pursed, and pale face grimaced with annoyance.

“Yes, I have” you mumbled in response and narrowed your eyes, as you noticed a group of boys crossing the other side of the street. They looked young. Really young. Maybe in their early 20s. Dressed in brown trench coats, they were jumping over puddles briskly, trying not to get their feet wet. Only one of them had an umbrella, so the others were trying to get under it. They were pushing each other with their elbows, playfully fighting for dominance. And then you noticed him. A tall guy who was trying to follow the running boys with his coat unbuttoned, so you could see his black and white uniform. There was a silk ribbon tied neatly around the collar of his crisp white shirt that made him look like he was straight out from some 18th century novel about a private boarding school. His blond hair, wet in the rain, sticked to his chiseled face with sharp, prominent cheekbones and pointy chin.

You literally got glued to the window, admiring him, and forgot that Mallory was still on the line.

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? The painting should also...”

You cleared your throat and understood that it was either now or never. You didn’t have much time, as the boys took their way down the street away from the coffee shop.

“Mallory” you harshly interrupted her. “I can’t talk right now”, you hanged up on her without even letting her finish the sentence. Her complains were the last thing you worried about when there was a gorgeous boy, who had the face of a cherub you were dying to paint, just several feet away from you. You grabbed your jacket and stormed your way out of the coffee shop. It seemed like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with an overwhelming excitement like a trapped bird. You have found him. You have finally found him.

Faster than the wind you ran after the boys hoping they didn’t go far. You saw the tall guy take a turn around the corner, and without even realizing what you were doing, you shouted at the top of your lungs:

“Excuse me, sir!”

He didn’t pay attention. “Shit” you thought to yourself and speeded up. Raindrops were running down your cheeks, and the wind was blowing right in your face making it extremely uncomfortable to run.

“Heeey!” you almost stumbled and instinctively put your hand out to prevent yourself from falling. Your purse hanged off your shoulder and nearly fell down in the puddle, but you managed to catch it. “Excuse me!”

Right at that moment the guy stopped and slowly turned around. With a slight confusion on his face he watched you slowly approach him, as you were trying to calm your heavy breathing. You imagined that you looked like a wet rat with your hair clanged to you face and smeared mascara — definitely not the most presentable look for the artist whose paintings cost thousands of dollars.

“I’m sorry? May I help you?” the boy asked. His voice was low for an angelic appearance like his. He looked even more handsome up close. The gray sky tinted his blue eyes beautifully, making them brighter. They were piercing at you cautiously, as he was trying to figure out whether he found you familiar. Even though his hair was wet, you still were able to tell that it was curly, as they were sticking to his cheeks in messy waves. You took a deep breath and tucked a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, but it didn’t make any difference to your look.

“Hi!” You smiled brightly. The only thought “it’s him, it’s him!!” was ringing in your head, making you grin like an idiot. Nobody could understand your delight at that moment. It seemed like sleepless nights, when you were eating yourself up for the lack of inspiration, have come to an end. If only this beautiful boy before you agreed to work with you! You would be the happiest person in the world. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir. But I really need to talk to you...”

“Mikey!! What’s up, dude? Are you coming?” the other boys were calling him. He turned around and raise his right hand in the air.

“Just a moment!” he shouted back at them. He adjusted the collar of his coat bringing it up, so the rain wouldn’t get behind his back. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

You realized that you should’ve introduced yourself first, but you were taken aback by the beauty of a real-life angel, so you couldn’t blame yourself for that.

“My name is Y/N. I’m an artist” he furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding how it was connected to him, “and I’m looking for a model” you explained. “I’m working on a painting...”, you paused, “of a cherub for a very famous client, but I can’t finish it because I don’t have a model whose face and I could paint, and you are exactly what I’ve been looking for”, you bubbled excitedly.

You could see the blush bloom on the boy’s cheeks. He parted his finely-carved, scarlet lips, but didn’t say anything. Only somewhat confusingly ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a model”, he mumbled, lowering his eyes. You couldn’t explain the feeling inside of you as you watched him. He reminded you of Botticelli paintings. There was something ethereal about him: in the detached beauty of his perfectly sculpted face. He looked so fresh, so innocent, so pure, as if he was made of ivory and rosy petals.

“It doesn’t matter”, you hurried to assure him, “you don’t have to be one. It’s just...” you took a deep breath, thinking that you might have die if he didn’t agree. “I’ve been looking for a face like yours for months. It would be an honor to work with you...?” You heard one of the boys calling him “Mikey”, but you wasn’t sure what full name it stood for.

“Michael. Michael Langdon” he said, still smiling shyly. He drew his bottom lip between his perfect white teeth and looked at you through his lashes. “Look, I’m really fluttered. Thank you for your words, but....”

“Michael, we are going now!”, the boys shouted, and he turned his broad back at you one more time. It was pouring by now, and you knew that you couldn’t hold the boy any longer.

“Michael, please, think it over and give me a call, okay?” You took your business card out of your purse and handed it to him. “I’m offering you 50$ per hour. One session usually lasts up to 3-4 hours. Please, do the math and give it a thought”.

His doe-like eyes widened at your words. Not only he was blushing from your compliments, but he was stunned by the boldness of your offer, as if you were asking for something inappropriate.

“I-I-I’m really not sure...” he stuttered. You understood his reaction: how often does one gets stopped by a stranger who offers them to model for a renaissance-inspired painting? But you really, really needed him, and you were running out of time.

“Look, I’m not expecting you to answer immediately”, you said looking him in the eye, and noticed that he instantly looked away, blushing even more, “let me know if you agree by Friday, okay?”

The boys started whistling at Michael. He took your card hesitantly, his fingers were slightly shaking. He looked up at you and nodded slowly, hiding the card in the inside pocket of his coat.

“Alright, thank you”, his voice sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself, “thank you”.

The corners of your lips twitched, but he didn’t return a smile, being too confused and embarrassed with all this unexpected attention to his persona. You watched him join his friends. They tapped his shoulder, as he approached them, and shoot you a curious look.

You realized that you didn’t even care about the pouring rain anymore. You were completely soaked, but the only thing you were capable of thinking was a gorgeous blue-eyed boy you just met.

xxx

The sound of the ringing phone disturbed the comfortable silence of a Saturday afternoon you were spending in your studio. You were waiting for Michael’s call yesterday, but as the hour and the minute hands of the huge clock on the wall stroke midnight, you understood that he turned down your offer. That’s why you found yourself in your studio on the following day, standing in front of the unfortunate painting and thinking that you needed to start looking through the list of potential models Mallory had sent to you.

“Hello?”, you answered the phone, noticing an unknown number on the display. A familiar raspy voice made your heart drop.

“Hi, is it Y/N?”

“Michael?” you turned away from the painting and sat down on sofa, placing your feet on a small coffee table.

“Yeah, hi”, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. Got really busy with school”. School? How old was he? “But I have been thinking about your offer...”

You hummed.

“Have you?”, you had to admit that you didn’t like the fact that he ignored your request to call you back by Friday, because it meant that he wasn’t the most responsible person, and only God knew how you were gonna arrange the appointments with him since he was incapable of planing his time. But then again, weren’t you the same way? For a second you even sympathized with Mallory who had to deal with your own irresponsibility 24/7 (but only for a second).

“Yes”, you could tell by his voice that he was nervous. You smiled at the memory of him blushing in the rain. “Well, I-I-I think I’m ready to try...” you swear you could ready to explode brighter than the fireworks on the 4th of July, but you managed to keep it cool.

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Michael. Do you have a pen to write down the details?”

You two agreed that he would come on Tuesday for 2 hours, so you could look at him properly and decide what exactly needed to be added to the painting. Then he could come 2 time a week for 3 hour session. You didn’t plan for the entire process to take too long, 3 weeks maximum. Thank God you had managed to persuade Gallant to give you more time. Actually it didn’t even take a lot of effort: last week, after you discovered Michael, he came came to your studio and got so stunned by the painting that he let you take as much time as you needed. If only all clients were this way.

On Tuesday Michael knocked on your door in time. Dressed in a loose cotton shirt and linen pants, hair clipped in a messy bun, you went to greet him. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Just like you thought, his hair was curly indeed. Crisp, golden locks were styled messily, covering a part of his forehead. He was wearing the same coat and holding a big leather bag in his hand. You stepped aside, inviting him in.

“Hi”, he said, blushing, and you curiously wondered if it was an uncontrollable habit of his.

“Hello, Michael”, you took his bag from his hands and carefully placed it on a table by the hangers. “I’m glad you came”.

He nodded. His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his trench coat. He carefully hanged it, and you noticed how elegant his movements were. He pulled the sleeves of his black sweater a bit up, exposing his delicate wrists. You definitely were staring, but not in a romantic way. You were observing him like a picture in a museum and wondering how you got so lucky to meet this precious boy. He was looking around cautiously, as he followed you into the studio, scanning the unknown environment with his eyes. You made your way to the center of the room, took one of the chairs and pulled it closer to the window, not far from the easel.

“Please, make yourself at home” you smiled at Michael. He looked amused, as he studied a huge painting that was almost of the size of the wall for one of your old clients who ordered it about eight months ago. You created your own version of the Miracle of the Bread and Fish, and really like the result. For some reason, biblical scenes always were your favorite to work on. “Would you like some coffee or tea, maybe?”

Michael looked at you and shook his head.

“No, thank you, I’m good”, his eyes were searching for a place were he could sit, and you pointed at the chair. He took his seat and folded his hands neatly, lacing his fingers together, so you wouldn’t notice them tremble. You watched him amusingly with your head tilted to the side. He was absolutely adorable.

“Do you live here?”, he noticed your gaze and smiled shyly, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

You shook your head and turned away to take the painting of the cherub and carefully place it on the easel.

“No, I rent this studio for work purposes”, you nodded at the painting. “So what do you think?”

Michael was in awe. His ocean eyes were glistening with excitement, the tip of his pink tongue ran along his bottom lips nervously, as he said under his breath:

“Oh my God, this is magnificent”.

For a moment it seemed like he stopped being nervous and expressed his opinion sincerely. That’s what you adored art for: it made people feel different spectrums of emotions, all at once. It lifted the armor and left one bare, vulnerable, and unguarded. “I’m not sure if...”, Michael covered his mouth with one hand and than placed it back on his thigh, “if I’m good enough for posing for such a masterpiece”.

You couldn’t believe that such a stunning human being could doubt his looks. Michael’s appearance was worth being painted by the best artists all over the world. How come nobody told him that?“

“I think you will be just perfect for that”, you didn’t admit it, but making Michael blush was your new favorite activity. “But it maybe a bit tiresome to sit still for such a long time”, you instructed him, “you’ll get used to it”.

It was quite a disaster, you had to admit to yourself after some time. Michael just couldn’t keep still. He was constantly shifting in his chair, playing with his fingers, and always felt the need to scratch his jaw or toy with the collar of his sweater. During your first session your were doing sketches of his face, and by the moment your time was up you were practically begging him to relax and stop frowning. He couldn’t let go of his pressure and shyness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, he pleaded, as he was putting on his coat. You smiled at him, washing your hands and watching him get dressed from the kitchen.

“It’s okay”, you approached him and gave him the money for his work, “thank you for coming today, Michael. I’ll see you on Thursday”.

Despite his surprised squeak, you pulled him closer for a hug. You needed him to relax for the sake of posing for the painting. The sessions might haven taken longer than you had thought.

xxx

It took him a while to start opening up to you. By your fourth meeting his hands stopped shaking and he no longer seemed to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t feel embarrassed to ask you to make some tea for him, and you learned that he liked it with lemon and one piece of sugar. As he sipped on it, watching you preparer the canvas and oil paints (you were done with pencil sketches by that time), he told you about his studies at Hawthorne school (Michael was twenty, and apparently, hated his birthdays. You found this fact absolutely astonishing, and made a side note to change this horrible omission), his friends, and his family. Turned out that he had a very troubled childhood, so his behavior started to make sense to you. Sympathy towards him grew with every session, and at some point you caught yourself thinking about him all the time. The thought about your meetings coming to an end made you feel extremely frustrated. Even though you kept reminding yourself that the relationship between you two had to stay professional, and it was wrong of you to think about him in a romantic way, but every time his blond mop of soft hair popped in the door frame you couldn’t hold in a radiant smile. It was impossible not to hug him and accidentally brush your fingers against his flushed cheek. He looked so damn cute.

You grew found of this marvelous boy, who turned out be very sensual, with a bright and vivid mind that generated ideas at the supersonic speed. He loved asking you questions about history of art, he was genuinely interested in learning about your favoring painters and why you loved them so much. He never stopped amazing you with his mindset, and his child-like innocence bribed you.

Another Tuesday night was traditionally spent in your studio apartment with Michael at his usual spot in front of your easel. You were working on the cherub’s eyes. Crystal blue and bright just like Michael’s. Your brows were frowned as you were trying to concentrate on the movements of the brush. The smell of oil paint was filling the room. You glanced at Michael to pay very close attention to his long eyelashes framing his eyes. That’s when you noticed a very strange look on his face. You couldn’t understand what was that. Confusion? Doubt?

“Michael, what’s wrong, darling?”, you asked him adding another brush stroke to the canvas. He slowly shook his head, trying not to move too much. From hours of watching him attentively you had learned his body language quite well. Now you could tell that something was definitely up, judging by the fact how he was holding onto the chair. His knuckles turned white. However, you proceed to painting, considering that maybe he was thinking of his problems or whatever there was on his mind.

“Love, please, look up for me”, you asked him after a while, trying to paint the patches of light in the eyes of the cherub. Michal started biting on his lower lip, but obliged your order and lifted his gaze. Suddenly it all felt like you were back to session 1, when he refused to relax. You put the brush aside and whipped the excess of paint off your fingers.

“Michael, please, tell me what’s bothering you?”, his face turned bright red at your question.

“Nothing”, he mumbled in response.

You sighed and took a step towards him. Carefully you took his face in your hands, forcing him to look up at you. You were glad that he didn’t shy away from your touch like he used to at the very beginning.

“Love, I can’t paint you when you look concerned”, you gently stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he instinctively nuzzled against your palm. It was unprofessional of you, you thought to yourself, but whatever. “You know that you can tell me anything”.

His eyes flattered, long eyelashes were casting shadows on his cheekbones in the dim light of the room. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists and carefully put your hands away.

“You’re gonna laugh at me”, he said, looking down at his knees. You frowned. Why was that? All this time you were trying to show him that he could trust you and you were his friend, and his doubts almost felt offensive to you.

“Michael, darling, I would never”, you assured him, watching him closely.

A broken cry escaped from his chest, as he hid his face in his hands. You started really worrying about him, was something hurting him? Maybe he wasn’t feeling well? You petted his head lovingly.

“I can’t tell you”, he sobbed, and looked up at you. The expression of his face was unreadable. Eyes glistened with salty tears, as he was desperately trying to hold them in. “It’s so e-emb-b-barrassing. You...”, he sighed, “you’re going to think that I’m weird. I can’t ask you for this...”

By that moment you stopped understanding anything from what he was saying. You wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, resting his head against your stomach.

“Shhhh, baby”, you coed, running the fingers of your one hand though his hair and petting up and down his spine with the other hand. “What do you want, Michael? Please, tell me”.

You felt him tightening his hug and nuzzling into your shirt like a cat. He sighed heavily before he answered:

“I was thinking”, his voice sounded so small and vulnerable, and you started wandering what sort of a dreadful sin Michael was going to confess that made him so insecure. “Maybe you could draw me?”

He lifted his puppy eyes at you, and you looked at him confused.

“Baby, isn’t it what I’m doing?”, you chucked softly. Silly boy.

Michael closed his eyes and nuzzled back into your stomach. You had to listen carefully in order to understand his muffled words:

“I was thinking maybe you could draw me naked?”

Your fingers froze in the air inches away from his curls. At first you thought that you must have misheard him, but as his shoulders started shaking in anticipation, you realized that you had heard him correctly. Your heart started pounding, you could hear the blood ring in your ears. The most terrible thing , in the context of your unprofessionalism, was the fact that his words sent impulses straight to you core making a thin cotton of your panties wet. You cleared your throat, looking for the right words. Michael was terrified. He decided that if you had stopped playing with his hair, you got mad at him, so he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“Michael...”, you started slowly, but he interrupted you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry”, he was talking fast, afraid that you could kick him out for his foolishness.

Multiple thoughts were running through your mind at that particular moment. Could you really draw him naked and manage not to lose control? Of course, it would be a wonderful sketch for your portfolio, but you doubted if it would be okay for you psych. The silence was making Michael feel even more embarrassed, so he started standing up from his chair, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to keep him seated. God, he was so scurrying all the time, it was almost unbearable.

“Alright, Michael”, you finally replied, hoping that he didn’t sense how hesitant you were about this decision, otherwise it would devastate him. A wide smile spread across his cherry lips.

“Oh my God, thank you, Y/N” he whispered giving you that look through his lashes you could never say “no” to.

You nodded and made your way to one of the shelves to get a sketchbook.

“Well,” you turned back to him, “get ready, and I’ll go find the fabric to wrap you in”.

Michael was eager to oblige. You didn’t expect him to want it so bad, but as he quickly stood on his feet and rushed behind the folding screen, you thought otherwise.

Unable to believe what you had just agreed to, you started looking through the rolls of fabric, trying to decide what color would suit Michael. Probably silver. It would look good with his skin tone and the icy blue of his eyes. You grabbed the fabric and approached the changing screen behind which you could see the outline of Michael’s body. You hurried to hang the piece over the screen and shook your head, as if it would help you to get rid of the indecorous thoughts.

“I think silver will look good”, you said to Michael, “just wrap yourself in it when you are ready”, you swore your hands were shaking. What, you and Michael suddenly switched personalities? God, how were you gonna draw him when you were blushing like a teenage girl?

“Damn, Y/N, you’ve worked with so many models. Get your shit together and breath”, you scold yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready”, you turned around when you heard his low voice, and your jaw dropped. Adonis in flesh. You stood there blinking dumbly trying to comprehend the view of his broad shoulders, taut stomach, and his creamy thighs wrapped in silver silk. If the fabric had been navy blue you would have thought that your cherub painting came to life. No less. You opened your mouth and then closed it without saying a word. Michal blushed and awkwardly crossed his arms, waiting for the instructions.

You coughed and turned your gaze away from him.

“Alright, get comfortable on the sofa”, you figured that a chair wasn’t suitable anymore. The boy laid down on a green velvet sofa you had bought for an extremely expensive price at one of the auctions, and at that moment you were glad that you had, because Michael’s pale skin looked even more fragile, tinted by the emerald color of velvet upholstery. He bent his long legs, carefully put them on the soft material, and leaned back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. For a second you forgot how to breath.

But as soon as you started sketching you felt relaxed. You let the pencil wonder around the clean sheet of paper, drawing the outlines of Michael’s body. He couldn’t stop smiling and looked genuinely happy that you’d let him pose for you. The skin of his cheeks and neck was in delicate pink hue, and he was biting his lips again. You wish you could bite them, too. Fuck.

Your brows frowned when you noticed that the silver fabric slipped off a little and didn’t look as good as you wanted it to be, so you put your pencil aside and stood up to fix it. Michael thought there was something wrong with him.

“Did you do something wrong?”, he asked worriedly. You wondered why he always felt the need to blame himself for everything.

“No, I just need to adjust the fabric”, you explained, without meeting his gaze. You tried not to touch his skin, as your fingers cautiously folded the silky piece, draping it in wavy folds. But the skin of his stomach looked so soft, and couldn’t help yourself and brushed it with just the tips of your digits. The muscles in his tummy tensed immediately, and you heard his breath hitch, so you hurried to take you hand away. Then he did something that sent the remains of your self-control straight to hell. Michael wrapped his fingers around your wrist and put your hand back on his stomach. Feeling enchanted, you slowly moved it to his abdomen and stopped right above the happy trail of blond hairs that went under the fabric. When you glanced at Michael, he was watching you in awe, his lips parted and his eyes wide open. It felt like his skin was burning under your touch.

“You like this, don’t you?”, the tone of your own voice was so low, you didn’t even recognize it. Michael gulped and nodded. His lids fluttered, as you move your hand to his chest.

“Please”, he murmured, licking his scarlet lips. He looked so soft, so innocent, and you wondered how beautiful he would look all wrecked and fucked out. You felt the adrenaline rush through your veins and the familiar heat between your legs. The last thought that came across your mind was “Fuck it”, as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against Michael’s parted ones. He let out a surprised mewl, but eagerly kissed you back. You felt his hands sliding down your waist to pull you closer against his bare chest. The fabric couldn’t cover the outline of his arousal: you could see the contour of his erect cock in the crease of his thigh. The tip of your tongue ran across Michael’s swollen lips, and he gasped into the kiss.

“You’re so pretty”, you said, as you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against his. The look in his big eyes was completely dazed. You smiled and cupped his face in your hands. “Babe, are you with me?”

Michael nodded and pulled you for another kiss. You yanked his head by his locks and moved your lips to his jawline. Numbing on the thin skin, you decided to test the waters and slowly snaked your hand down to his cock. He moaned brokenly when you stroked it through the fabric. There was already a wet spot of his precum. You moved the sheer material aside and took a look at the long shaft with flushed head glistening with the pearls of his arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, when you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroke it.

“Y/N”, he pledged. He sounded so needy, so desperate. You formed a fist and started making circular motions with it around the head of his cock. Michael opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a word, lost in the sensation. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He looked like a painting with his boyish features, soft curls, and ripe, sinful lips he kept licking. You started stroking him faster, thrilled to take him apart and find out what his angelic face looked like when he was cumming.

“Shhhh”, you soothed him, lacing the fingers of your free hand into the strands of his hair and gently scratching at the nape of his neck. “My pretty boy”, you kissed his forehead.

Michael whimpered and pressed his head against your breasts nuzzling into them through your linen shirt. Holding tight to you, he carefully cupped your right breast and squeezed it slightly, making you moan and throw your head back. He was pleased with your reaction, as it got him braver, and he started unbuttoning your shirt, exposing more of your skin. You kept pressing feather light kisses to his closed lids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose and his lips. His face must have been carved by angels from the finest marble. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and delicately sucked on it, drawing broken moans from your throat.

His hips were rutting against the crumpled fabric, meeting the thrusts of your hand. You stopped only for a second just to lick your palm, and wrap it around him again to resume pumping your fist.

“Y/N...”, he whined hopelessly, “I’m close”.

You knew that he wouldn’t last long. He was so young, you were surprised he hadn’t cum right after you kissed him.

“C’mon, darling”, you encouraged him, teasing the slit of his tip, “cum for me, angel. My personal cherub...”

You adored the way his lips twitched, forming a perfect “o”, the tense muscles of his stomach that spasmed in a convulsing pleasure, as he came all over your palm in white ribbons. You wished you could paint him this way. The picture of him cumming undone was forever imprinted in your mind. You smiled fondly when he looked up at you, feeling the warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you”, he whispered, and you chuckled at his boldness. His hands traveled up to your unbuttoned shirt and slid it off your shoulders, reliving your exposed chest to him. He caressed the nipples and leaned forward to suck on them again, swirling his wicked tongue around the hardening buds. “I think I owe you an orgasm now”.

You looked at him in surprise. He didn’t have to. You just wanted to make him feel good, but Michael seemed pretty determined.

“Could you, please, sit on my face?”, he blushed at his own words, but managed not to turn his eyes away from you. Such a polite boy.

You hissed through gritted teeth, and before straddling his chest you involved him in another passionate kiss. He shifted on the pillows, sliding down the sofa to let you straddle his chest in a kneeling position. You scooted forward until your thighs were on either side of his head. The gold curls were disheveled. Lowering your body, as your pussy made contact with his face, you moaned loudly. Michael placed his hands on your thighs and calves for your leverage. As soon as his tongue licked a wide stripe across your wet folds, you cried out, thinking you were in heaven. The feeling of dominance was alluring to you, and in no time you started drawing figure eights with your hips, rubbing yourself against his tongue. You were probably suffocating himself a bit, but judging by Michael’s muffled moans he was enjoying it. He used his fingers to help himself and spread you open, wrapping his lips around your clit. The gently sucking was alternated with him lapping on your folds.

“Good boy”, you praised him, and his whimpers sent delicious sensation to your throbbing core. You reached for your hair clip and took it off, letting your hair down in loose waves. “Just like that, baby, just like that”.

You thought that you lost yourself when his started fucking you with his tongue, stretching your tight walls with each thrust of it. Your legs started shaking not only from your attempts to keep steady, but from the mind-blowing pleasure the boy between your legs was causing you. He was devouring you, as if you were his last meal. You looked down at him and moaned at the sight of him all soft and flushed beneath you. The fact you were sitting on the face of the boy, who looked like a real-life angel, made your insides quiver. A really warm fuzzy feeling spilled inside you, making you scream out Michael’s name, as your orgasm pierced through every cell of your body. It was so good, to the extent of being extricating. Everything seemed unreal. Michael had let go of your thighs, and you bent over to kiss his mouth covered in your wetness.

You were laying on top of Michael, skin on skin, legs entwined, as you two were kissing lazily on the sofa.

“What are you going to do with all the sketches of my face after you sell your painting?” he asked, stroking your bare thigh.

You folded your hands on his chest and rested your head on them.

“I was thinking of using them for my personal exhibition”.

Michael’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

“You never told me about the exhibition! Y/N, that’s awesome!”

You petted his cheek, smiling at his reaction. Thanks to him you started to remember what it felt like to be grateful for every little thing in you life. Somehow, despite all the difficulties, Michael managed to keep his inner child safe and happy.

“Am I invited?” he wondered shyly.

“Of course you are, love” you rolled your eyes at his silly question. “You are my muse, after all”

Tag list: @lovelykhaleesiii @langdons-rep @babypinkstyles94 @sammythankyou @kaigitana @ms-mead @sebastianshoe @langdonsdemon @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon

People who might like it: @lvngdvns @icylangdon @ritualmichael @langdonsoceaneyes @ccodyfern @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @sojournmichael @wroteclassicaly 

Amazing art by @theghostoflangdon

[sugaryandspicey-blog1]

Canvas

Jungkook x reader

Summary: you see a gorgeous stranger walk by your studio and it inspired you to paint…

A/n: this is the first time I’m posting something like this… hope you like it. It’s just a drabble but yeah..enjoy!

You are an artist working in your art studio in New York and are currently standing by the huge glass window on the front side of the space, zoning out. You see this tall muscular dude passing by with his phone in one hand and earplugs on. He’s wearing a green and yellow Jersey with some black fitted jeans and looks so good. Your canvas which was blank till now since you had no idea what to paint, suddenly had random colours spewed on it with a vague figure of a man standing in the street outside your studio in a rainy weather. Your mind was buzzing with inspiration and everyday you poured yourself into it more and more. 

The fact that the beautiful stranger passed by every morning was only adding to your vigour to complete the masterpiece… every once in a while your eyes would meet for a fraction of a second and you’d pass each other a small smile. It had been 3 weeks already and the painting was at long last nearing it’s final stage and you were busy giving it the final touches. Your frizzy out of control hair were especially getting in your way so you pulled them up into a bun that was supposed to be artistically messy but somehow turned out as just ugly messy. But oh well.. unless it did its job all is well.

You knew the guy had a mole beneath his lip and you loved that little detail on him. But the worst thing ever was that you couldn’t remember which side of the face it was on! And it was driving you absolutely nuts with frustration. You were stressing your mind but nope.. it was coming up blank. So you waited for the stranger to pass by again today. And you waited some more. It was long past his usual time, so when you finally saw him turning the corner through your big glass window you breathed a sigh of relief. But wait, wow he had a bouquet of roses in his hands today instead of the usual phone.

You immediately stuck your pencil in your bun and took out one of the two paint brushes already nestled there. He was close now, you had to see where that damned mole was! So you glared out your window and as soon as he came into your vantage point his eyes collided with yours, a bit taken aback… probably because you were still glaring. A second later he gave a small grin and turned… wait, you hadn’t seen the mole yet! Ugh how stupid could you be to get lost in his doe eyes after waiting for hours.

But oh no… fuck the direction he was turning towards was the door to your very own studio. He was not in your line of sight anymore. The wind chimes on your door jingled in the sweetest possible sound but that sound was currently killing you because he couldn’t have just walked into your studio! That damned wind chime had your breath stuck in your throat. And then he entered and you suddenly realised how fucking creepy you would seem if he saw a full fledged painting of himself on a freaking canvas in a stranger’s studio! You obviously couldn’t throw it out the window, covering it up with a sheet was out of question because it was still not dry and you didn’t have enough time to hide it in the storage room because he was like ten steps away!

In a panic all you could do was stand hastily in front of your embarrassing but phenomenal painting of the totally breathtaking man in front of you and pray to all the damned gods out there that he won’t notice it… but who were you kidding, the only reason he could be here was to see your paintings!!! He walked towards you and said a ‘hey’ through his charming smile. You could only squeak out a hi in a really high pitched tone

“I’ve seen you through that window a couple of times and i know it’s like.. really stupid and direct but i really think you’re cute. Would you like to go out with me perhaps?” This guy, whose name you did not even know, the totally smoking hot stranger who’s face was making you burn from both front and back, found you … cute?! Where in the hell did the sun rise today?! He said all this rubbing the back of his neck with one big hand while the other held out the roses to you You stared dumbfounded at his face, finally seeing that the mole was on the right side, and then at the roses, back at his face and opened your mouth to ask him what his name was or if this was a prank… or any other rational question except for a loud and sudden, 

“Shut. Up.” Poor guy was so alarmed by your reply that he immediately took a step back and held up his hands in defence “I mean- oh god I’m sorry. I’m just shocked. And thanks I’d love to go out with you but wait.. what’s your name?! I’m y/n by the way,” you said it all in one breath and he just stood there grinning at your cuteness and came upto you.

“I totally forgot to tell you my name! This wasn’t planned fuck,” he murmured a bit too loudly. “I’m Jungkook.” You took the flowers he offered you tentatively and almost took a step back, grinning like an idiot but suddenly realised you couldn’t do that because the painting was like 3 inches from your back. “Umm.. i love your hair you know,” he suddenly said to fill the awkward silence. And for a second you thought he was joking because seriously, who in their right mind would like your hair?! But when he took another two steps towards you, you completely froze. “I love the bun babe but-” he pulled out the pencil and brush stuck in your hair and let it open-“ i think open flowy hair suits you better.” Makes you look really fun and crazy in the cutest way.” He blushed like crazy saying this and in turn made you blush too. Nobody had liked your hair before this. It didn’t make you love your hair suddenly or your insecurities didn’t jump out the window but it felt… good to have your insecurity complimented upon.

But when he saw your smiling red face, his eyes diverted 2 inches too much to the left and he saw your painting and it’s safe to say you were ready to dissolve into a puddle at that moment. “Hey that- did you.. paint it yourself?”

You jumped in front of him and tried to make him look at you again… anything to make him NOT see it!! But it was too late. He stared behind you and moved you to the side by your arms. “No it’s not complete- it’s nothing really… please.. no ugh wait,” nope. He wasn’t having it. When he moved you aside and saw the whole painting in front of him, a shocked gasp left him. You closed your eyes and covered your face with your hands, eyes burning with frustration and helplessness. The level of embarrassment was immeasurable. You heard a few steps approach you but you didn’t dare open your eyes or lower your hands. Suddenly there were warm firm hands surrounding your wrists, slowly prying them off your face. “I swear I’m not a freak, you just inspired me that day..” you muttered in a low cracking voice, eyes downcast.

Those strong arms wrapped themselves around you and pulled you to his chest, the musky cinnamon scent of him enveloping you whole. “Sweety, I’m not judging you i swear. I love that painting, it’s like the best damn art I’ve ever seen! And it’s really reassuring to know i affected you as much as you did to me. So yeah, please don’t be upset,” his voice vibrated through you and it calmed you a bit. He pulled back a bit and raised your chin to look you directly in the eyes.

“You really think it’s good?”

“I love it! And well… i know I’m one of a kind specimen,” he said with a smirk and hugged you again, making you laugh and playfully hit his chest. You both went to the cafe down the street that day and talked for hours, about anything and everything. He complimented you every now and then, making you blush so hard but then it was your turn to make inappropriate innuendos and make him fluster up. Maybe it was the start of something meant to be…

Ps. He knew you had painted him… he saw it once while staring at you for like 20 minutes when you were busy painting but didn’t tell you because he didn’t wanna seem like a creep either lol.