#I need to find painter- but I had no luck so far - didn’t even get server rooms lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The pleasure is all mine."

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take him home the next day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use me, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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just-an-enby-lemon · 3 years ago

Text

*Random ATLA AU Idea*

1. Aang wanted to run.

The Elders wanted to send him away, to take Gyatso away. His mentor (the closest he had to a father, the only friend - except Appa - he still had, the only childhood left) would listen, would have to and when the morning comes (soon, too soon, so soon) he would abandon Aang just like everyone else. And Aang would be alone soalonenoonelefteveryonegonenotachildjustAvataralonealonealone.

So he wanted to run, to abandon Gyatsu first. Thinking somehow it would hurt less (it wouldn't or how it wouldn't).

0nly he did not.

Not in this world.

And it changed everything and nothing at all.

Instead he walked, walked though the nigth, walked to the familiar door, walked too his master room and cried. "I don't want to go".

Gyatso didn't ask how Aang knew about the Elders orders, didn't tell the kid that it was for the best. No, he huged his meente (his son, his friend, his baby, how could no one else see that this was just a child? Not the master of elements, not yet, just a kid) and said "You won't." It was a vow, a promise he had no idea how to keep. But he would.

They talked though the nigth. And when the morning came somehow Gyatso was able to convice the Elders to give Aang one more year. "Them he will be thirteen, mature enougth to truly understand his call".

But destiny is destiny and Aang's was a hundred years too soon.

So before the end of the year the Fire Nation attacked. And this time Aang didn't want to run, he wanted to figth and to protect. But he was the only hope and he was a kid and he was scared and Gyatso screamed "RUN" and he did.

He would regret running just as he would (he did) in a world where he runned that nigth almost a year ago.

And he and Appa somehow fled. Maybe it was destiny or the Avatar State or just dumb luck (or missfortune). And just as it should be they falled. And the water around them froze.

And so did they.

For a hundred years.

Until two siblings from the water tribe found an iceberg.

...

2. "I'm the last waterbender."

Katara froze. In all universes, in all possible words, Katara always froze on that moment. She wanted to figth, to tell the soldier her mom was lying, to do anything. But she always froze.

And her mother always died.

So she runned.

Too little, too late, but she did.

Runned, trying to get away from the body of her mom, trying to escape the ashes.

With a broken toy sword, and I useless toy boomerang, Sokka saw the ashes, and he wanted to figth. He always would want to figth. He was a protector and his people were dying. But he was a kid and in no reality he would ever be able to win.

And in ever reality Hakoda would send his kid alway, not too much, but enougth, away from the figth, away from his mother corpse and the burnt smell.

So Sokka runned. He followed his sister to the snow. They runned non-stop trying to fend the memories away, but they were never able to.

They runned so far that Hakoda only found his kids two days after the invasion, half-frozen, scared and starved but alive ohalivetheywerealivehedidn'tlosttheytoo.

Running didn't change much for them. Katara would still mature too early and Sokka would still be a warrior and everything would be almost exactaly the same.

And they would still meet a misterius kid in an iceberg and go save the world with him even if it was hard.

They running had nothing to do with the fact that it was Zhao chasing them instead of a certain prince.

...

3. Lu Ten was nine and he was running in a metaphorical sense. His father would be Fire Lord one day and soo would he. He needed to hurry.

So he talked his grandfather into letting him go to a war meeting. He did not understand war or death but Iroh did and he was terrifield of seem his son in a war room. His father didn't care, he discussed civilian sacrifice in front of his grandson and didn't noticed Lu Ten terrified face or heared any of the kids pleas, Ozai found it funny, making japes of what he called his "nephew weakness", Iroh quickly found a way to win without this move and convinced his father of it with everything he had.

For the rest of the day his child told everyone of how his dad was smart and a hero and the best. And Iroh almost forgot, almost belived his son had not lost a once of his inocence in the whole ordeal.

But on the night, where the darkest thoughts came, Lu Ten asked about death and sacrifices and if they were doing the rigth thing. Iroh said they were. But sudently he didn't belive it.

Lu Ten runned on the sense where he wanted to know too much too fast. And as the year passed, as his son turned ten, an his nephew turned two and his niece came to this world, Iroh realized he needed to make a better world for them. He could not keep this war, this conquer, he could not keep doing the wrong thing.

So he found a group of people and he joined them. He sabotaged his own country, his own family for the White Lotus, for his children. He would make a better world for them.

History would tell about how The Great General Iroh had gonne mad in his son sixteth birthday. How in a fit of madness he attacked his brother, how he killed his own child and not much after his nephew and niece. And them realizing what he done himself. How Ursa disappered soon after. The poor Fire Lady lost in grief.

The truth layed in a confy and somewhat famous small tea shop on the Earth Kigdom. On the old man who runned it and on his three kids. It layed on Prince's Zuko's (or Lee) nigthmares and his soft smiles and lack of scar. It layed on Lu Ten's (it was a fairly Earth Kigndom name and no one discussed how a painter could be the one in the group who lacked creativity for a fake name) hard training and darkened looks (exclusive to fire nation soldiers and wasn't ironic that he almost became one of them) and in his art and his laugther and his LIFE. It layed on Azula's (and honestly the fact she had insisted on ZuLa as here fake name was completly insane and soo stupid but they just stopped trying convice he otherwise) maniacal smile and uncontrolabe rage fits (diferent of Lu Ten's hers didn't had a specific target, but at least were mostly resulted in burned trees and rocks) and on her friends and her few, small apologies and her compassion (it didn't came easy for her empathy, but she tried, she truly did and sometimes she was cold and cruel, but still was enought). It layed on Iroh's (Mushi) conteplative (sad) stares (on his regret of not being able to take Ursa with them), on the strange people with a white lotus emblem that sometimes appeared on the tea shop (sometimes needing healing, sometimes delivering mensages, most planing), on his tea and his stories and on his hope.

And when the news of the Avatar traveling with two water tribe kids came to them. It layed on the decision of finding them before Ozai. Helping them. Making the hope grow.

...

4. Toph was a runner.

This never changed. She still runned away from her parents overprotectivines again and again. She still runned into the badgermoles and became the best earthbender on history. She still runned into competicions and still became the Blind Bandit. She still runned into Twinkle Toes and his gaang and his adventures (and became his earthbend teacher of course). The only diference was that there were even more places to run into, and so Toph runned into a dumb good humored painter (a soldier in other life, a corpse), into cozy Tea Shop, into a nice old man who was more a father to her than hers ever would, into a akward turtleduck of a teenager and into a angry cool fiery girl (who she never had a crush on, shut up, Sokka).

She runned into the Avatar family and into the Tea Shop one and somehow this was enougth to unite them. To make them just one family. Hers.

#Avatar #ATLA #prince zuko #azula #aang #katara #sokka #lu ten atla #lu ten lives #artist lu ten #toph #iroh #Iroh is great uncle #and a even better dad #Hadoka is also a great dad #found family #atla au #fanfic

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ybangtannies · 4 years ago

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Hi, good luck with your blog! I've just discovered it and I can't wait for your content. As for request... I would like to read about artist Tae where MC is dared to pose nude and Tae fall in love with her, or MC having a bf so she pose nude as a present for him but Tae (obssesed) blackmail her whereas he will show her picture to the public if she don't leave her bf...

Hello! Thank you so much for your request and sorry for taking long to answer, I had a lot of ideas of what to write so it took me a little to actually get to write it but here it is! I changed it a little, I hope that’s okay and you like it.

Masterlist

Word count: 3.3k

Taehyung has been an artist for several years, he started up by taking photos of landscapes he thought were pretty and painting simple things until he got where he is now: one of the most claimed painters of the country; he still likes photography and keeps painting nature sceneries but the reason why he is so famous and well-known is because of his portraits, his nude portraits. He doesn’t just paint whoever is willing to pay him, though, he just accepts if he finds the person to be worth it of both his time and his eyes, at the end of the day, who would like to look at an ugly naked body, having to memorize it and then paint it as if it was something beautiful? People call him arrogant, a snob, frivolous…and well, maybe he is but look at where that got him so he’s not complaining nor he’s about to change it. He’s an artist so who can be better than him to judge what is art and what is not?

It’s been a rough week, not even one out of all the people that has been going to his studio was worth his time and he’s worried that maybe somehow, he has already painted all the beautiful people in the whole country. That worrisome dispels one evening when he is about to leave his studio and call it a day and you appear at his door; you with a shy smile and so much light in your eyes, you dressed in a casual outfit but still showing that you put effort into looking good (not that you really needed to put much effort though), you that speaks in such an angelic voice and calls his name in the sweetest tone he has ever heard before.

“Hello, is this Vante’s studio?”

“Yeah, it’s- that’s me, yes”. He finds himself at a loss of words, something that never ever happened to him, normally it would be the opposite and he would be the one making people not be able to speak even a simple phrase when in his presence. He swallows and thinks about how his hyungs would mock him if they saw him like this.

“Uhm, can I come in? I would like to talk to you about a possible job?” You are looking at him expectantly and he gets lost momentarily in your eyes once again until he is finally able to get a hold of himself and move to the side you could come in.

You smile brightly and move inside his studio while he closes the door and takes a deep breath in hopes of clearing his mind enough to be able to attend your request how you deserve.

“So, what is it that I can do for you, beautiful?”

You stop looking at the numerous paintings and sculptures that occupy his studio and turn to look at him with a light blush adorning your cheeks.

“I would like for you to paint a portrait of me…naked”, you say the last word in a whisper, so low he wouldn’t have been able to hear it if it wasn’t for the place being totally silent.

Taehyung looks at you from head to toe, out of reflex, with curiosity and maybe already imagining you naked, totally exposed for his eyes only. When he finally moves his eyes to your face, he takes pride in seeing the blush in your cheeks is now more noticeable than before.

“Of course, love, it would be pleasure. For when do you want it?”

“Oh, really? That’s a relief, I heard you were quite…refined when choosing your clients… so I was a little hesitant if you would accept my offer, I’ve been a fan of your work for some years now, I really love the way you portray the beauty of the people you paint and don’t even get me started with you sculptures, sometimes it feels like they’re actual people looking at you with how rough their emotions are- oh God! I’m sorry I’m rambling, I’m just pretty nervous and excited about finally meeting you and- I’m doing it again, am I not? I’m so…”

“No, please, stop apologizing. It’s okay, it’s really cute, you can keep praising me”. Taehyung smirks at you, he looks amused at your spur of compliments and your opinion on his art. He really wasn’t one for hearing people praise his works or him for they more than not did it with the purpose of getting in his pants but there’s something about the way you talked…it drives him crazy, he wants to keep listening to you talk for hours on end. “And yes, you’re right about the part of me being refined when I decide who I want to paint and that’s exactly why I accepted your offer, you’re exquisite yourself, I would be a fool to reject you, love.” He can’t stop himself, it’s like he doesn’t have any filter and just says everything that comes to his mind, or almost everything.

“Thank you then, Vante.”

“Taehyung, please, that’s my actual name.”

“Okay, Taehyung,” you smile once again and he feels his heart skip a beat, “and answering your question: I’d need to portrait for the end of the month? That’s when my boyfriend’s birthday is, and I want it to be a gift for him.”

Boyfriend.

A fucking boyfriend.

Taehyung’s posture becomes stiff and the smile on his face falls a little, not enough for you to notice, though, but he can feel rage starting to form on his body. So, you’re not for his only it seems, but a lot of things can change in three weeks, right?

“That’s completely okay, we’ll have to meet quite a lot, though, for me to be able to have it on time. I hope that’s not a problem?”

“Not at all. But I thought I would only need to come for a couple of sessions and then you would finish the portrait on your own?”

“I like having the model in front of me from the beginning until the end of the process, so I can fully portray their emotions when posing and their bodies just the way they are.”

Lies.

All lies.

He’s actually very quick with his works, needing only two weeks on top to have them done and obviously he doesn’t need the model to be there the whole time. It’s all bullshit but you don’t need to know that.

“Ah, I understand. I like that, you’re so dedicated with your work. So when can we start, then?”

“That I am, love. Tomorrow works for you? The sooner, the better. I’ll probably need you to come thrice a week.”

“Sure, that works for me, sounds perfect. So tomorrow in the morning, at eleven o’clock?” You look so cute, so beautiful, so eager to start working on it and Taehyung finds himself with a bittersweet taste in his mouth at the thought, of course he is dying to see you naked but he doesn’t want to paint you for your boyfriend. “Oh, and what about the prize?”

“Sounds good. And don’t worry about the prize now, we’ll get to that when I have your portrait completely done.”

You nod your head, smiling kindly at him and start walking towards the door. Taehyung follows you, once again checking you out and damning your boyfriend in his mind for being able to call you his when the fucker is sure not worth even of your time. He’d like to make any excuse to keep you for a longer time there with him, just talking about your lives and getting to know each other but he has three weeks to do that and right now he needs to make an urgent call.

Right before you’re about to leave, he asks for your phone number in case something comes up and any of you have troubles making it to one of the appointments. Bullshit once again but now he has a way to contact you.

Taehyung closes the door and presses his forehead against it, breathing deeply and already tracing a plan in his mind to make you his, as you should be. You’re ethereal, a goddess and you truthfully belong by his side. With that thought in mind, he takes his phone and dials a number. The person at the other end of the call answers almost instantly.

“Yeah, Tae? What is it?”

Taehyung smiles hearing the voice of his friend.

“Hey, Jimin. I need you.”

The next days are a complete blur for both of you and Taehyung and before you notice it’s already been three weeks and the birthday of your boyfriend is upon you.

As Taehyung said, he asked you to visit him thrice a week and made you stay with him from morning until almost night; the first times it was a little awkward for you: getting there, disposing all your clothes and just posing for hours on end naked in front of Taehyung with barely any words shared in between you both. Taehyung made a huge effort in being as slow as he could when painting you, paying an excruciating attention to every curve of your body, touching you here and there (maybe more than he really needed to, but who can blame him? You’re precious) and obsessing over you to limits he didn’t think was possible. Taehyung finally got you to open to him, to start talking about your life, your job, your stupid boyfriend, your passions. Everything, he made you talk about every single aspect of your life and by now he probably knew you better than your own mother. You eventually started eating with him at his studio and surprised yourself spending more time than you should with clothes than without them.

Finally, the last day arrived, Taehyung had finished your portrait and needless to say, it was absolutely perfect. You could recognize yourself, of course, but were still astonished at how pretty he made you look, all your curves were so soft, you never knew someone would look at you and see that. But Taehyung did, he was more than proud of his work for it was by far the best of his large collection; he doesn’t think he was able to truly make you justice, you were way too stunning to actually portray that in a simple painting but it was pretty close to the real thing.

And so, your paths separated. You gave your boyfriend the portrait and he loved it, everything was fine in your life and you were happy, sometimes you got messages from Taehyung asking about your day and the opinion of your boyfriend on the painting but that’s it.

On the other hand, Taehyung was miserable. He misses you terribly. As he suspected, he hasn’t been able to accept any requests for more portraits, too captivated with the memories of you and your body still fresh in his head. But he had a plan to make you come back to him again, he just needed to be patient, just a little more.

And it’s been almost two weeks when, in the middle of the night, he receives a phone call with your name and the first thing he hears when answering is your sobbing and incoherent words. Taehyung smirks, fully awake now, sitting in his bed. He tries to calm you, acting worried and asking what is that has you in such distress. He’s able to make out the words ‘boyfriend’, ‘fight’, ‘photos’ and you asking if you can go to his house. Taehyung accepts almost immediately, getting out of bed so he can get dressed and go pick you up. You reject his offer, explaining that you need time to clear your head and the walk will help you; he doesn’t have any option that agrees even if the idea of you walking alone at three in the morning doesn’t appeal to him at all.

Twenty minutes later, Taehyung is in his kitchen making some tea when he hears a soft knock on his door and smiling cheerfully goes to open you. His smile, though, disappears the moment he sees you: you’re no longer crying but your eyes are red and puffy, and your hair is a complete mess. He is quick to hug you and puts you as close to his body as he can, trying to comfort you at the best of his abilities.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, everything will be fine.” You just stand there in his arms, letting him hug you, with your eyes closed and hearing the softness in his voice, helping you calm your nerves just a little. “Do you want some tea while you tell me what happened?”

You just nod your head and follow him through his apartment, not really paying much attention to your surroundings. Your mind is racing and your hands clutching an envelope against your chest with such strength that your knuckles have turned white.

“Here you go, love”, says Taehyung while offering you a cup of tea. You whisper a simple ‘thank you’ before taking a sip, still grabbing the envelope with one hand. “Do you want to talk now?”

Taehyung sees you struggling, he can almost hear the gears in your head moving and how you are trying to find the words to speak so he stays quiet, giving you all the time of the world until you’re ready to start talking. After what seems like hours for you, you are able to raise your eyes from the table and search for his eyes though you can maintain the look for more than three seconds before your eyes are fixed again on the table.

“I… I’m sorry I’m breaking into your house at this hour, but I didn’t know where else to go or who to call but you...”You look at Taehyung again and see him already looking at you intently, making you swallow and taking another sip of your tea. “My boyfriend received this envelope this morning, he confronted me when I got home from work in the evening and started calling me names and saying not so nice things to me. He- he broke up with me, didn’t even let me explain anything and just started throwing things and he broke the portrait and kept screaming at me, not giving me any chance to talk and then he… he kicked me out of our apartment.”

At this point you were already crying again, and Taehyung can feel his heart shattering into million pieces by seeing you so sad and broken. He cursed your boyfriend, now ex, in his mind and with a worried frown got next to you in order to be able to hold you in his arms again. He was already addicted to the feeling of your body pressed to his, feeling the warmth radiate from you and realizing just how perfect you fit against his figure. He can’t let you go. Never.

“Sh, deep breaths, baby, okay? Breath slowly for me, calm down.” He rubbed your back, feeling you grabbing his t-shirt like your life depended on it and Taehyung absolutely loved that idea.

Some minutes pass by, you trying to calm your sobbing, and Taehyung whispering sweet nothings against your head.

“Can you tell me what the argument was about? What is in that envelope that made your boyfriend so mad?” Taehyung finally asks after you managed to stop crying, he puts some distance between your bodies, enough to see your face and still keeps his arms around your waist.

“It’s… there are photos inside…of us. Of me, naked in front of you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Taehyung, I don’t know how this happened. I can’t comprehend how someone managed to take those disgusting pictures and made it seem as if I was going to sleep with you. And now my boyfriend thinks I’m a whore that cheated on him and he blocked my number and won’t open the door to the apartment, and I don’t know what to do.”

Taehyung keeps silent, thinking about what you just said and turning his gaze to the envelope that now remains on the table. He looks back at you as if asking if he can take a look himself and you just nod softly, not being able to look at him while Taehyung takes it and proceeds to see the photos.

Indeed, they led you to think that something was about to happen in between them, there are plenty of photos of you taking your clothes, smiling at him while naked, moving around his studio in just a shirt, and so on. All of them were taken from the street, from outside and all of them have a clear purpose: destroy both his and your lives.

“Has anyone seen them apart from you and your boyfriend? Are there more copies?”

“No, not that I know at least.”

“I really hope you’re right. We can’t let anyone see these, okay? We have to destroy them.”

Taehyung is serious when talking, looking a little distressed himself and you feel even worse about dragging him with you in this mess.

“I know… I’m really sorry this is happening, Taehyung. I never thought someone would follow me and take those photos, and I’m sorry this is involving you too.”

Taehyung frowned a little at your words, you thought someone could have followed you? For him, it would make more sense to be the other way around: a person he rejected or one of the multiple girls he fucked and never called again trying to mess with him now, trying to ruin his career by making it seems as if he wasn’t professional enough and couldn’t help but getting in the pants of his clients. It could potentially ruin him, no one would ever trust him enough to paint another portrait if those photos see the light of the day.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart, please stop apologizing. I’m sorry if I was a little harsh, I wasn’t expecting this to happen at all, I’m sorry. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Thank you so much, Tae. I truly cannot go to anyone else; all my friends are my boyfriend’s friends as well and I don’t think they’ll take my side on this.” The look on your face, so lost and troubled make him feel almost guilty about the whole situation.

“I understand, love. You can count on me, okay? You can stay with me here in my apartment if you want to, I have enough space.”

“Really? Could I?” Your facial expression changed to be one of relief that makes Taehyung heart jump in his chest and smile at you lovingly while caressing your cheek.

“Of course, love. You can stay here for as long as you want, nothing would make me happier than that. Come, you’ll have to sleep in my bed tonight, though, tomorrow I’ll tidy the room that would be yours.”

You nod in his direction, letting a yawn escape your mouth that almost makes Taehyung coo at you. He guides you to his bedroom, and searches for some clothes he can give you for you to change into. The thought of you dressed in his clothes, in his bed causes him to have problems keeping his breathing stable. While you are in the bathroom, Taehyung takes his phone to write a quick message.

Thank you so much, Jimin. It worked perfectly.

Right when he presses the send button, you enter his room again looking shyly in his direction with a sleepy expression. Taehyung locks his phone and smiles at you, guiding you both to his bed.

You reach out to him, asking for permission to hug him since you’re used to cuddle with something when sleeping and he doesn’t need to think twice until having his arms around you, your head pressed to his chest. He looks at the ceiling, feeling totally content with how things developed, sighing slightly when looking down and seeing you fast asleep already. The screen of his phone lights up but he pays it no mind, closing his eyes and falling asleep with you.

Anytime, Tae. Enjoy your prize ;).

#yandere taehyung #yandere bts #yandere hoseok #yandere jimin #yandere jungkook #yandere namjoon #yandere seokjin #yandere yoongi #yandere #bts #yandere au #taehyung au

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meruz · 4 years ago

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Hey I can't find this in your FAQ so sorry if it's been asked before! Your traditional art is so stunning and vibrant, would you happen to have any brand recommendations for people trying to get into painting? Maybe specific gouche paint, brushes, papers etc. Thank you so much and have a nice day!

no one has ever asked me this before because this is like the first time ive started putting traditional art on my blog! LOL umm to be honest I’m very far from pro on this front, most of my knowledge comes from a handful of classes I didn’t pay a lot of attention to and lots of youtube videos but here’s my recommendations:

Paint

A lot of my paints are winsor newton designer’s gouache because this is what my teachers made me buy when I was a freshman at art school LOL. it’s definitely kind of pricey, I think it’s like $10.99 for a tube which I was NOT a fan of as a college student and is still not my favorite thing now. But they’re overall worth the price if you really want solid, high quality opaque paints. Though I’ve heard their student grade winton paints are decent as well?

I’ve heard less good things about brands like reeves and artist loft... but I think turner is alright? m.graham is supposedly great.

I also bought a set of holbein acryla gouache when it was discounted on amazon a while ago and have found it very solid. One thing you have to know about acryla gouache is that it uses a binder more like acrylic paint (hence the name acryla). Paints are made out of pigment + binder and most gouache is essentially watercolor but with extra pigment/chalk to make it opaque - the binder is water soluble so these paints can be reactivated with water. Acryla gouache is NOT water soluble when dry and it dries pretty fast so it’s overall less flexible. But other than that you can pretty much treat it like any other gouache and I find they keep a little better too, less likely to get gunky or stiff.

All paint brands have a handful of starter packs which are slightly discounted but if you want to build your own starting palette I’d say get a warm and cool tint of all the primaries, get a lot of white (working with gouache somehow involves a lot of mixing with white lol), and get a brown, maybe like burnt sienna or raw umber for underpaintings. No need to get a black, mixing darks builds character, looks better, and having one out of the tube can become a crutch. If you find a white watercolor paint tube that’s cheaper you can buy that instead of a gouache white. Again, they have pretty much the same make-up. And white paints are generally opaque enough that the composition between gouache/watercolor shouldn’t matter too much.

I’ve never used a block tray of gouache. Like those paints that come in little blocks in a tray? I know there's a bunch out there but I’ve never used them and I don’t know anyone else who does so I have no opinion on them.

Brushes

I’ve been kind of exploring this myself. I recently bought a cheap set of flat brushes off amazon LOL and I like them a lot?

Theyre probably not The Best or anything but I found flat brushes suit gouache plein air painting really well because its suits the kind of color blocking shapes I want to make. Also these had the right handle length to fit in my painting bag. That’s like the main reason I chose them tbh.

Honestly a lot of my art supplies philosophy is “give it a whirl with whatever you have lying around and when it feels like you're missing something specific keep an eye out for when that stuff goes on sale”

Paper

GOTTA BE HONEST I’m using cheapo paper. Because I’m making these paintings half for study and half to give my parents something to hang in the living room.

You can actually see some of them curling in on themselves here lol. If you’ve seen the sketchbook I’m holding in any of my pics of paintings it’s one of the canson mixed media books.

and its FINE... I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it lol.. I like that the texture is very fine but it doesn’t hold a lot of water and definitely distorts. Also I keep ripping off the surface with painters tape but that might just be on me. Oh buy artist tape. Just because its so satisfying to have clean edges.

I’m using painters tape instead of artist tape because I found it in the basement but if youre buying supplies buy artist tape because it’ll be kinder to your paper.

SPEAKING OF PAPER.

I guess anything heavyweight for watercolor/mixed media will be fine? some people like a lot of texture but if you’re painting small you might want to avoid it and pick hot press over cold press. Honestly I feel like a lot of this is going to depend on what your specific needs are.. how big do you want the paper to be.. do you want a sketchbook or would you rather carry around loose paper... etc. Maybe go to an art store and touch all their paper. I feel like its easier to understand sizes and texture when you’re seeing it physically.

When I go on a trip, I normally bring a softcover heavyweight stillman & birn sketchbook because I tend to obliterate metal spiral books in my bag LOL. Also I don’t rip any pages out of my travel sketchbooks so I don’t need perforation or anything. Also they go on sale a lot in the art store I go to haha. I havent used gouache extensively in it but it takes inkwash/maker pretty well.

On the higher end, I personally haven’t used it that much but my friends who do traditional illustration professionally swear by arches watercolor paper. It comes in lots of different sizes.

Whatever you use, if you really want it to lie flat you’re gonna want to soak and stretch it on a board but I don’t bother with that because I am lazy.

Palette

You didn’t ask about palette but I’m taking the opportunity to be a shill because I personally use a sta-wet palette and I LOVE it.

One of the biggest frustrations about gouache for me was how quickly it dries after it leaves the tube. And even if you can reawaken it with water its not quite the same? and consistency is SO important when it comes to applying gouache so I don’t want to be over-watering my paint.. ugh. Anyways, I don’t have to worry about that with the sta-wet palette and really its been a game changer for me. sta-wet is a brand name but there are a bunch of other wet palettes not by masterson that I’m sure are just as good. I mean, it’s just a box with a sponge basically, that can’t be hard to replicate.

The only thing - and I personally have not had this issue but I have friends who have - is that if you leave it wet for too long it could grow mold? or a mouldy smell? Just wash your palette with soap and don’t leave it for weeks on end and it should be fine.

If you’re not feeling a palette that’s always moist, the best palette I used in school was a simple glass palette. you can buy one I guess but it’s so easy to DIY, I think the way we did it in school is getting a piece of glass and mdf from the hardware store cut the same size and then duct taped them together on the sides so it wouldn’t be sharp.

costs like nothing.

what else...get a palette knife if you like to mix paints? and like to save paints... mixing with the brush means you lose paint in your brush in the mixing process so a knife is a good way to maximize that process. I don’t use it much but sometime if I have to mix a lot of one color I’ll pull it out of my bag.

I don’t know anything about easels, I sit on the dirty ground like a gremlin when I paint.

Ok yeah that’s all the supplies tips I have. hope some of it was helpful! always try to save money with art supplies, I think. Especially if you’re just starting out - it’s less stressful to use cheap supplies too lol. Good luck! Happy painting!

#Anonymous #traditional art #gouache #one day ill work out a proper way to tag this

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taemin-spill-the-tea · 4 years ago

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Kpop fic recommandantions (through bingo)

I decided to do the fic rec bingo. Excuses in advance for the super long post.

The most recenty read fic: A lot like love and Loey

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Where single father Chanyeol has no idea why anyone sane enough would sit outside under the falling snow, but Loey loves Baekhyun, and he thinks that's enough.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16791604

A fic that made me cry: 10080

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Chanyeol wanted a divorce. Baekhyun asked for a week.

Link: https://exobubz.livejournal.com/929.html

The longest fic: Acquired taste

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Baekhyun believed it was Henri Matisse who said that "creativity takes courage." Thomas Merton stated that "art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time." As a young painter still in learning, Baekhyun's only profound and memorable quote so far is "Fuck you, Park Chanyeol, for using every opportunity you get to ruin my fucking life."

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915615/chapters/59247361#workskin

A fic I almost didn’t read: Where dreams come true (ongoing)

Ships: Seonghwa/Hongjoong - San/Wooyoung - Yunho/Mingi - Yeosang/Jongho

Summary: Working at Disney World seems magical on the surface. Working there with people like this is not something any of them had in mind. In other words, the Happiest Place on Earth isn’t what they expected.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530529/chapters/61944745

A fic that made me check out the author’s other works: My heart is glowing fluroscent (I want you to possess it)

Ship: Woosan

Summary: Jung Wooyoung has considered himself fairly lucky, having an easy life and just going with the flow. So when he reluctantly agrees to a Master/Pet partnership with Brat Tamer Choi San to help his best friend pay off a debt, he begins to wonder if that luck has run out.Yet, despite all his preconceived notions, Wooyoung soon learns which of the two is truly in control. And as time passes he finds himself not only enjoying the role he plays, but also the man who set out to tame him.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26742952/chapters/66452752#workskin

A fic I’d like to be a movie: licenced to survive & on melochony hill

Licenced to survive:

Ship: Woosan

Summary: “I’m San,” San says, voice dropping in a force of habit, something that has latched onto him from years of living the same humdrum life and his lifelong acquaintance with introducing himself to people who truly didn't give a fuck about him or anything he did, introductions serving merely as a necessary evil.The stranger looks at him for a brief moment before he tilts the disinfectant bottle into the ball of cotton, soaking it as he leans forward and presses it against San’s stitches. San grabs his wrist.“I’m gonna need a name before you treat me, pretty boy,” San says, making sure that it doesn’t come off sounding like a request.The stranger raises his head to meet his eyes, something like sadness pooling in his eyes, smudged black and purple distracting San for the umpteenth time this evening and whispers softly, “Wooyoung.”It’s a pretty name for a pretty face, but San is presented with an even prettier smile, shy and curling at the edges of his mouth, lilac field for his hair and cherry blossom cheeks, as he repeats it under his breathe

Or, San is working in the task force as a mercenary for an intergalactic law enforcement authority, and Wooyoung's the anomaly he doesn't see coming.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825965/chapters/57250096

For “on melocholy hill” see A favorite side character

A fic I have re-read: A prize to be claimed

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Baekhyun didn’t think much of it when Chanyeol, his childhood nemesis, won a tournament held by their pack. That is, until said nemesis demanded him as a prize.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394146/chapters/44797411#workskin

A fic from my to read list: Kissed by fire

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: It is with the introduction of a mischievous, red-haired wildling that Chanyeol’s loyalty to the Night’s Watch really starts to crumble.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884300/chapters/24186225

A pwp: you make my heart (go!)

Ship: Lumark

Summary: There's a lot you can find out during never have I ever, and for Mark that includes finding out your best friend is a virgin in every sense of the word. So, what else was he supposed to do other than help Yukhei find out just how good his body can feel? But, what happens when feelings are thrown into the mix?

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16305581?view_adult=true

A favorite side character: Heechul and Junmyeon in “On melancholy hill”

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Something strange is happening in town and it's up to Baekhyun to find out what it is. It's easier said than done — especially with the new necromancer threatening to take over his job.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053624/chapters/34898414#workskin

A fic with my favorite trope: My constellation is a fragment of the sun (ongoing)

Ship: Woosan

Summary: All Jung Wooyoung wanted to do was spend his Christmas drinking hot chocolate and drawing by the fire. That all changes after the Jung family is invited to the castle for Ardendall’s Royal Christmas Ball. Being sent out as representation for the Jung pack, Wooyoung is stuck in the Palace for a month. But Wooyoung knows that the Ball is just an excuse for the Crown Prince to choose his mate. And he has no desire in becoming that person.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147851/chapters/68968428

A fic with a trope that I don’t usually read: In the eyes of the beholder

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Chanyeol’s hiding a secret that Baekhyun already knows. He can be rather stubborn about it, but watching your husband struggle with a condition like this on his own has never been easy either.

Link: https://yeolliepopday.livejournal.com/39203.html

A fic set in a different time: bluebirds in the moonlight

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: Chanyeol stood at the front for three years. Morocco, Italy, Normandy, Germany and that folded paper was still there, inside his pocket. The photo that, even if crumpled and deprived of any color, showed a smile more dazzling than any rainbow. The smile of his first love, the beautiful florist that gave Chanyeol a reason to keep on fighting for his life. “Come back to me, Chanyeol” And he did, because he hadn't confessed his love yet.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936796/chapters/44958520

A fic with a nonhuman character: It’s you

Ship: Chanbaek

Summary: In which Chanyeol is a beta in love with an omega way out of his league.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513703?view_adult=true

A pwp that made me infested in the plot: late flights & city lights

Ship: Lumark

Summary: Mark doesn’t splutter, doesn’t choke- fights against the urge to tug Yukhei down by the collar of his shirt and wipe that irritatingly attractive smirk off of his face. He holds fast against the scarlet blush tinting his cheeks and ears, ignores the heat sweeping across his neck and collarbones. Stubborn and unyielding, Mark doesn’t want to give Yukhei the satisfaction of seeing his effect.Yeah, that lasts about 0.2 seconds, because Mark is so focused on not reacting that he doesn’t realize he’s not breathing.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791538

A fic based on a book/movie: and miles to go before I sleep (ongoing)

Ship: Lumark

Summary: Mark Lee is, in theory, the perfect candidate to pilot a Jaeger. He's at the top of his class, his drop scores are second to none, and he can recite fifty ways to take down a kaiju with his eyes closed. There's only one problem: he can't Drift with anyone. All of that changes when a washed-up pilot from Hong Kong knocks on the doors of the Jeju Shatterdome.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20955737/chapters/49824203

#fanfics #fanfic #kpop #lumark #woosan #chanbaek #baekhyun #chanyeol #wooyoung #mark lee #nct lucas #san #exo #ateez #nct #wayv #SUPERM #seonghwa #hongjoong #yeosang #jongho #yunho #mingi

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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

Text

Nerdflirt

Henry Cavill x reader twoshot (1/2)

Word count: 2.768

Disclaimer: tiny, tiny hint of fluff

Summary: There’s apparently a bit more involved than just paint and innocent flirting, when you meet a stranger on Instagram with a shared hobby.

Find the second part here.

This story is based on a prompt I received from @aestheticqueenb

(Link to my Masterlist)

‘Maybe, you can like…I don’t know…find some new hobby or something?’

Your friend had said it more as an after thought during your Zoom chat, but here you were. Thinking yet again if she was perhaps right. A new hobby. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to find some diversion in these strange times. Like. You had ordered some of these picture paint books for adults since they were all the rage, but you had grown bored of them again.

Heck. You had even asked your boss if you could help him out while stuck at home. But apparently the restaurant business was really on its ass and you’d just have to wait for things to settle down and regulations to become less restricting.

This whole COVID-19 thing had initially seemed like a bit of a fad. Like some sick joke that nobody stopped at the right time. It was just a fever, right? Well, apparently…it wasn’t. You could still remember the moment all too well when you were sent home, told to wait for news. Hours passed. Days passed. Weeks passed. But there was no sign of things soon to improve.

And thus you resorted to adult colouring books and sulking away on your desk chair.

Stretching out you pushed the chair away from your desk, the tiny wheels immediately halting as you bumped against your bed. Oh yes, it was also good to mention you were slowly losing your mind because your studio apartment was SOO friggin’ small you couldn’t stretch as much as a foot without bumping into a piece of furniture.

Not a problem when you have a social life. But very much a problem when you hadn’t. Usually you worked a lot, went out with friends, enjoyed to go for a run. And home? Home was just a conveniently placed bed in the middle of London.

Now, however, it was a constricting prison that seemed to strip away your sanity piece by piece.

As had become second nature by now you opened your phone, fingers automatically refreshing the front news page. Scroll, scroll, scroll. No new news. Then your e-mail. No new e-mails. Then perhaps look for some “inspiration” - whatever you needed that for - on Pinterest? Scroll, scroll, scroll. Okay, no, this is dumb. Going back to the mainscreen your thumb hovered over the Instagram button.

You honestly didn’t like the app much. Fake people. Fake fun lives. It just wasn’t your cuppa tea. And yet you never got so far as deleting it since you did enjoy seeing baby pictures of your baby niece.

Okay, fine, maybe there were some new pictures or something. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do and so you opened the app, only to be confronted with a somewhat confusing image. What’s this? A large pair of hands painting an absolutely tiny polystyrene figurine. Why is this on your timeline? Your eyes gazed up, even more confused when you read the name “Henry Cavill” above it. Pfft. Probably some attention whoring from another bored superstar. You shook your head and scrolled on, eventually giving up again.

You groaned, feeling the abyss of utter boredom suck you in once more, your eyes wandering to the world outside. It was sunny, a spotless blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Hilarious, ain’t it? It’s nice weather out in the UK and guess what? You’re stuck inside because the whole world is in lockdown.

So…now what? You just had lunch, your apartment was pristinely clean and you already went for a run this morning. You sighed and turned your chair back so you could awaken your trusty old friend again. Your laptop. Perhaps Google something random? See what you find? The internet’s your friend, right?

Open. Google.

You bit your lip, thinking of something. Anything. But your mind was a blank.

Hmm. Oh. You know what. Maybe it’d be fun to know what kind of fake nerd Henry Cavill actually was.

You opened Instagram again and, of course, his post was back on the top of the timeline. It was almost too easy. #GamesWorkshop #ProperGeek #Custodes. Hmm, probably one of those three tags were the secret. You decided to enter “custodes”, since it sounded the least familiar and hit enter.

Before long you had dived head first into the miraculous world of Warhammer miniature strategy boardgaming and the most ludicrous, but fascinating lore. There was a medieval variant, a sci-fi variant and some ancient Rome and English civil war stuff. All including a well-thought out background story and even more figurines then you could count. Pretty cool figures too, you thought, haphazardly clicking on “order” while scrolling through one of the webshops.

Like it contained some kind of bomb, the mailman sprinted off, leaving the small package behind while you opened your door. Fuck this corona crisis. You couldn’t even..greet the fucking mailman.

Picking up the package you carefully moved it to your desk. Would they be fragile? How tiny could tiny really be? There was only one way to find out, you decided, picking up a pair of scissors and cutting open the small brown box.

Well. Okay. That’s tiny. Tiny tiny tiny. Perhaps you had been a bit too over enthusiastic about just randomly picking up a new hobby. Like..did you even need like special paint for this? Carefully you placed the kit sheets with the hundreds of tiny pieces in them on your desk and bit your lip, deciding what you’d do next. Tiny heads, guns, wings, all stuck in a meticulously thought out grid. Where to start? Perhaps look for some inspiration? Tips and tricks?

The internet is your friend.

Silly as it was you ended up scrolling through Instagram again, this time on the profile of some “SirEltharin” who posted daily updates on his miniature painting. And just like you, he had bought the Retributor Squad from the Adepta Sororitas, the all-female fighter division that were also known as “The Sisters of Battle”. Just thinking how ridiculous that sounded made you chuckle. Were you a nerd too now? Perhaps.

He just posted something new you noticed.

‘These ladies are hard to tame! Oops, painting accident..’ He posted, along with a picture of some smudged paint on one of the figurines. You chuckled, commenting without much of a second thought.

LadyGrim - ‘Well at least you started..I just can’t get myself to paint :X’ - 1 minute ago SirEltharin - ‘No need to be Grim, good Lady. What’s keeping you from starting?’ - 2 seconds ago

Hmm. He responded immediately. A smile reached the corners of your lips as you shrugged and typed again.

LadyGrim - ‘Painters limbo? No honestly it’s my first set and I’m out of my depth here.’ - 2 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘Well if large male hands can do it. Surely a Lady can do it too? ;)’ - 30 seconds ago

LadyGrim - ‘Size can be deceiving.’ - 2 seconds ago

Your eyes rested on the screen for a bit, hoping he’d respond, but eventually giving up. Your eyes turned towards the sheets with the figurine parts on the other side of your desk.

Welp, it’s not like anyone could judge you for trying, right?

You painted that whole day, finding it nerve wrecking and meditative all at the same time. You hadn’t even noticed that it was past dinner time, until your stomach really started to growl with hunger.

After cooking yourself a simple pasta dish you sat back on your desk chair, forking the pasta into your mouth while opening your phone to check on any news updates. No news. Mail. No mail. Pinterest? Skip. Instagram. Heck, why not.

*New message from SirEltharin* Hmm. A private message. You didn’t even know that you could send private messages in Instagram, but alas, perhaps you were just a failed millennial.

SirEltharin - ‘Hey :) Guess what? I totally screwed up that figurine and have to do it all over again. Started any painting yet?’ - 2 hours ago

LadyGrim - ‘Perhaps you gave me all your good luck? Just started and..maybe..it actually starts to look pretty cool?’ - 2 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘Which one did you start with?’ - 2 seconds ago

Damn, guess it wasn’t just you who was bored to bits. This guy was one fast responder.

LadyGrim - ‘The one with the book? At least, I think…. So many parts..’

SirEltharin - ‘Yea. Requires a bit of strategising hehe. Besides..holy fervour and good faith!’

LadyGrim - ‘So why did you chose the sisters? You’re a guy right?’

SirEltharin - ‘And that’s a problem? ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘No..’

SirEltharin - ‘Honestly though. They’re cool. Strong women.’

LadyGrim - ‘Who got betrayed by the man they promised to serve.’

SirEltharin - ‘Ah you read the lore? Yea..men are dicks haha ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘Can’t agree more.’

You back and forthed throughout the evening. Starting off with some Warhammer 40k related banter, but soon drifting off to talking about the Corona lockdown and the boredom that came with it. SirEltharin didn’t let off a whole lot about himself, which made your imagination run a little wild.

Perhaps it was this “milady” type of guy, that’d tip his hat at you, then grow annoyed as soon as you didn’t immediately fall in love with him. Or, maybe it was this skinny pimple-faced guy who only ever played female characters in games. Or a really, really fat guy. He did say large male hands. Large…could be fat? Or at least chubby? Ugh. What did it matter anyways. Men, you had decided, were always going to disappoint.

SirEltharin - ‘Hey, just curious by the way. Why did YOU decide to start painting?’

LadyGrim - ‘Are you asking just because I’m a girl? ;)’

SirEltharin - ‘Hardly. What do you even think of me?! ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘Okay. Don’t call me an idiot. But this movie star, Henry Cavill? He posted an image and though I absolutely think he’s one of those fake nerd celebrities who are in it for the attention, it did get me interested in the figurines..so..I just ordered and..here I am!’

He stopped responding after that. For the rest of the night. Did you say something wrong or did he just not see your message? Ah..whatever. It didn’t really matter. He was just some stranger on the internet. You started Netflix and crawled onto your bed, wasting away another evening bingewatching How I Met Your Mother.

The next morning he had responded again. Around 5 am. Damn. Nerds ARE night owls, you thought, sipping your freshly brewn cup of french pressed coffee while leaning against your tiny kitchen block.

SirEltharin - ‘Can’t really say that without knowing him, right?’ - 3 hours ago

SirEltharin - ‘Anything in particular wrong with Henry Cavill?’ - 2 hours ago

LadyGrim - ‘Woa woa. No harm meant. Sorry. Guess I just don’t trust ‘em pretty boys?’ - 3 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘How’s that so? And good morning, Lady ;)’ - 2 seconds ago

You bit your lip and let out a deep sigh. Oh this man didn’t know what hellfire could come his way, opening THAT topic.

LadyGrim - ‘Good morning ..and..I doubt you’d be interested.’

SirEltharin - ‘You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention.’

LadyGrim - ‘Fine. Let’s just keep it plain and simple. Lied to, cheated on and continuously disappointed. Guess I’ll just have to become a lesbian?’

SirEltharin - ‘Don’t let a few bad ones ruin it for the rest of us. Has it been long?’

LadyGrim - ‘Long?’

SirEltharin - ‘Apologies. I mean. Since you last dated?’

LadyGrim - ‘A year or so.’

SirEltharin - ‘And how old are you? Or am I being too bold asking such a thing?’

LadyGrim - ‘It’s fine. Thirty. Had my birthday two weeks ago. So yea..becoming a bit of an old spinster hehe.’

SirEltharin - ‘Belated happy birthday and..hardly a spinster, right? I mean. I’m 37 and haven’t found anyone yet. Heck. I guess I’m the old spinster here haha.’

LadyGrim - ‘I doubt the same rules apply for men.’

SirEltharin - ‘Trust me. We are all judged.’

Weeks passed and you and Sir kinda started to really get to know each other. You both lived in London - how practical -, were pretty enthused about sports, liked dogs (he had one, you wished you had one) and were close knit with your family. You with your sister, who already had a few kids. And he with his brothers. All with kids. Teasingly you donned each other the nicknames ‘Uncle and Aunty Spinster’.

You knew he had looked on your account. Seen some pictures of you. Even made a few comments on them and liked everything new you posted. But he, SirEltharin, remained mostly a mystery. You tried to talk yourself out of your curiosity, but couldn’t help but lay in bed fantasising about him. The only body part you had seen of him to this point were his hands, and they were actually quite pretty hands. Well manicured nails, strong fingers. It meant he probably wasn’t SUPER fat. So. That’s something.

Eventually the COVID-19 related regulations were becoming less restrictive and for the first time in months you could go back to work. The very news had made you both reluctant - you liked this new rhythm of painting and chatting with SirEltharin -, but also happy. Finally getting out of your tiny apartment, finally getting back to work. It may require some getting used to again, but this was just what you really needed.

In your enthusiasm you posted a picture on Instagram of your work outfit as it lay neatly spread out on your bed sheets. Your boss had made some quirky shirts to celebrate the reopening of the restaurant: “Brunello’s back” was written in fancy white lettering on the back of the shirt. You giggled as SirEltharin liked it within a split second.

SirEltharin - ‘Back to work hmm?’

LadyGrim - ‘Yep. Its all fun and games until the rat race starts again.’

SirEltharin - ‘Sounds Grim ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘You know me too well Sir. Anyways gotta go. Bye!’

SirEltharin - ‘See ya.’

See ya. You always thought it weird when strangers said that at the end of an online chat. Clients sometimes said it at the end of a phone reservation. That was understandable though; they were to come to the restaurant. But complete strangers? There was no such thing as “seeing you around”. However in the case of SirEltharin you were willing to let it slip. He probably didn’t think anything of it.

For a first night it was already quite hectic at Brunello’s. The room, although still far less bustling than usual, was filled. People were obviously eager to pick up their social lives again, the animated chatter of guests zooming around the room while you paced past the neatly spaced white clothed tables. Brunello’s was a rather luxurious restaurant and mostly businessmen and well-to-do families and friends came here to wine and dine. Tonight was special though, as a few celebrities were sitting in the far corner. Including a familiar face: Mr. Cavill, your eyes immediately falling on him as he seemingly was giving you a questioning look.

Perhaps he just wanted to order some drinks, you thought, halting next to the table and offering them your most kind, professional smile - ignoring the curious pair of blue eyes that tracked your every move.

‘Good evening and welcome to Brunello’s. Is there anything I can help you with?’ You spoke, the sentence fluently tipping of your tongue, your eyes wandering slowly over the guests. Most of them were unfamiliar to you. And Mr. Cavill..you tried to just not give him any attention as he was still burning his eyes into you.

‘We actually could use some advice on the wine. We’d like to start white, slightly fruity, perhaps French? Though the Italian one also sounds quite nice.’ A small blonde woman spoke, peering over her menu card.

As this was not your expertise, you called for the sommelier, stepping back to make room for him. And all the while you felt those eyes, gazing at you, almost brazenly. What was up with this Mr. Cavill? Or did you maybe have something funny on your face and did nobody dare to tell you? Shyly you excused yourself, leaving the guests in the capable hands of the sommelier, and quickly made for the women’s bathroom to check your face.

There was nothing out of sort when you looked into the mirror. Strange.

Peeking quickly on your phone, a habit when you were alone, you noticed a new message popping up on your Insta-chat.

SirEltharin - ‘I think we need to talk.’ - 30 seconds ago

Go to part 2

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #warhammer 40k #figurine #miniature #painting #henry cavill x reader #secretcelebrity #undercover #nerdflirt #instagram #retributors #adepta sororitas

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screpdoodle · 3 years ago

Text

Duality - Chapter One (The Diabolical Ways of the Deciduous Demon Outside my Window)

"KAOS!! Get down here! We're going to be late!!"

Early morning sunlight dappled through the smudged windowpane, the chirping of birds mingling with the songs of the warm autumn wind working its way through the cracks. All things given, it seemed like a perfect morning. That assumption, though, was a misplaced one. At least to the young boy in the bed. He opened one eye, took one look at his window, and pulled the blankets over his head with a groan. The light stung his eyes, making him crave for the sweet embrace of dreams once more. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, it would all just fade away-

Tap tap tap

He flinched, then peered out from beneath his covers, pulling them down just to the bridge of his nose. Tap tap tap. It was back. The warm autumn breeze brought with it that no good tree branch, the warm toned leaves swaying with every tap against the glass. The boy squinted, then laid back down, pulling the blankets tighter around his head. If he just ignored it, the tree wouldn't notice he was there. It would go away, realizing it was a futile attempt to gain his attention. Whatever the tree wanted, he wasn't curious enough to risk finding out.

Tap tap tap. Tick tick tick.

He covered his ears, he wasn't listening. He didn't have time to deal with the tree and the ticking. There wasn't enough time in the world to deal with both. And yet, here they both were. That itching at the back of his mind, and that incessant tapping against the glass.

Tap tick tick. Tap tick tick.

Every moment of silence he could have been relishing was filled with those Ancients awful noises. How long has passed? A minute? A moment? He couldn't tell. All he could focus on was that stupid tree.

Tick tap tick tap tick tap.

In one movement, the boy sat up, throwing his blankets to the ground as forcefully as he could muster, facing the source of his problems.

"For the Ancients' sake, would you shut the f-"

"Kaos!!" The boy screamed as the door was flung open, nearly causing him to fall from his loft, grabbing the pillow in self defense. "Ancients, what is taking you so long?! Mother took Mey to school already, and at this rate you're going to miss the bus! Get dressed and get downstairs!!"

The door was slammed shut just as quickly as it opened, leaving the boy alone in his room. A small room, with walls lined with papers, a soot stained carpet and a desk set beneath the window. The sun bathed everything in a warm light, leaving the still burning candle on its surface obsolete for the time being. Still in shock, clutching his pillow like a weapon, Kaos slowly gathered himself, then climbed down the ladder, still clutching the pillow in his off hand in case he needed to use it. Which he most likely wouldn't. But it never hurt to be prepared. With a huff, he eyed the tree branch one last time, its pesky attempts to grab his attention finally coming to an end. It sat there, perfectly still - aside from the dancing leaves that yearned to be carried away with the fall winds. Oh, how he wished he could join them. For good measure, Kaos threw his pillow at the window, making sure the tree knew who was boss, before venturing over to his closet. His closet was a box. Of course, he had a real closet, set into the wall across from his loft, but he had never bothered to store his clothes in there. No, that was for storing other things. The box did quite nicely for the minimal amount of outfits he owned. Most of which were piled under his loft, waiting to be washed. Kaos half the time forgot they were there, along with some of Mey's clothes that he had borrowed; and some of his brother's that he had… Liberated from languishing beneath his bed with old socks and unfinished homework from grades passed. It was a mystery how Dyskord had ever managed to graduate, Kaos thought as he fished through the unfolded clothes stored within his closet box. Finally, he settled on the same things he always wore, which were sitting to the side of the box. He stumbled back as he pulled on his black sweats, wriggled into his tunic, slipped on his canvas shoes and grabbed a miscellaneous hairbrush he was pretty sure didn't actually belong to him. Kaos pulled the comb through his hair as he scrambled down the stairs, mumbling to himself as he chucked it to the side (Mother or Dyskord would pick it up eventually), grabbed his long coat off its hook, then careened into the kitchen as he put it on. The coat was far too big for him, swallowing his wiry frame whole like some beast made of shadows. Kaos hoped he would someday grow into it, but he had owned it for years now and no such luck had befallen him. Kaos climbed up onto the kitchen counter, eyeing his prize. The cookie tin, his ceremonial breakfast whenever Mother was out of the house. He pulled the lid off, then peered inside - only a few left. Just as Kaos reached his little hand down into the metal tin, Dyskord walked through the back door, tracking mud onto the scuffed tile flooring.

"What do you think you're doing," he spoke, kicking his boots off, never once taking his eyes off Kaos.

"Oh, please. Like you'd tell Mother," Kaos rolled his eyes, sliding the cookie jar back into place, his bounty in hand.

"Maybe I will."

"Then maybe I'll have to tell her who really passed your final exams for you, brother."

The two locked death glares, the only noise being that of the leaky faucet and the occasion chirp of the birds outside. Kaos cracked a smile, Dyskord following.

"Just grab me one too, short stack. Then we've gotta go."

Kaos shoved the cookie into his mouth, then grabbed the tin once more. His face reflected back at him on the polished sides. Big eyes the color of copper, a piggish upturned nose, his cheeks puffed out like an chipsquirrel's, gathering food for the winter. Cookie crumbs mingled with the imperfections that littered his skin, freckles, blemishes, and his birthmarks - mirrored patches of darker skin that clustered around his eyes. They had gotten lighter with age, but they still bugged him sometimes. One little snaggletooth stuck out from the corner of his mouth - an issue that could have been fixed with braces. If he hasn't broken them nearly the day after he got them. He may not have been the 'peak of perfection', but Kaos didn't mind. It made him unique. It made him… special. Though, that paired with his lackluster height usually ended up with him being at the receiving end of a bullying entourage.

"You got everything you need, baby brother?"

Kaos nodded, then hopped down from the counter. "Yes, mother. I have everything."

Dyskord rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Backpack?"

"At the front door."

"Lunch?"

"Won't be there long enough to need one."

"Catalyst?"

"Harvested it last night."

"Well, aren't you prepared," Dyskord chuckled. "Specimen?"

"That’s your job, remember?" Kaos smirked. "I have it all thought out, Dyskord. Don't worry."

"Well then, what's your plan for when Mother finds out?"

"Who said she'll find out? The only way she would is if someone rats me out." Kaos took a bite from his second cookie, handing the extra to Dyskord as he pushed past into the main hall. The high ceilings and towering walls making him seem even smaller; like an ant in a dollhouse.

"If I'm this deep in, why would I rat you out and risk getting in trouble myself?"

Kaos shrugged, walking backwards so that he could watch Dyskord's movements. "I don't know, brother, but the only variable that could possibly go wrong is you. So as long as you play along, everything should be absolutely peachy~" He grinned, then shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. It tasted a little old, probably a month or two, but a stale cookie was better than no cookie. And at least Kaos knew that batch hadn't been poisoned.

Dyskord chuckled dryly, placing the cookie in the little leather satchel that hung at his hip. Kaos knew he'd probably eat it later. Dyskord could never resist a cookie. "Alright, alright, tiny genius. I'll trust you on this. But don't blame me when this plan fails too."

"It won't. Trust me."

Kaos grabbed his backpack off its hook, unzipping it just to triple check its contents. It never hurt to be certain.

"Communicator?"

"Yep."

"You got your diary~?"

Kaos whipped around, glaring. "It's not a diary! It's my journal of doom!!"

Dyskord patted Kaos on the head, ruffling his umber hair, a condescending smile on his lips. "Sure it is, baby brother."

Kaos grumbled under his breath, turning back to his backpack. He shrugged Dyskord off, trying to focus. Sure enough it was all there. Homework, lunchbox, communicator, his 'journal' - everything important was there and accounted for. As Kaos struggled to zip up his backpack once more, his gaze drifted to the portrait that hung above the door. His family, painted in exquisite detail, framed by an intricate wooden frame. Dyskord, with his old ashy blonde hair (Kaos had suggested he dye it neon green since it was a similar level of horrible against his skin tone, but Dyskord had insisted on vibrant silver.) Mey sat on Mother's lap, creasing the dress she had spent all of the previous day ironing to get it absolutely pristine, because she wouldn't sit still. Mother bore her usual scoul, contrasted by Mey's wide grin. If their expressions weren't so different, Mey might have been mistaken for a younger Mother. Father stood to the side of her, behind Dyskord, wearing a similar expression to his wife. Kaos had been surprised he hadn't been absent for that too. Looking down to where he was immortalized in paint, Kaos stood the front - where the painter had instructed him to stand; wearing a matching suit and tie like the rest of his siblings - though he at least still had his scarf. Black and grey striped knit that was as long as he was tall, coiled around his neck and draped over his shoulder. Kaos never went anywhere without his scarf, and even though he heard Hel from Father afterwards, it was worth it. As Kaos slung his backpack over his shoulder, he trailed his hand to his neck, reaching to feel the soft warmth of his scarf. Instead, his hand only met skin.

"C'mon Kaos, we gotta get going. We don't want you being late for-"

"My scarf!!" Kaos shouted. "Where's my scarf!?"

"Kaos, it's not even that cold out. You don't need your- oooor you can go get it. That's fine too, I guess." Dyskord watched as Kaos chucked his overstuffed backpack to the side, the contents spilling across the floorboards as he raced upstairs to his room. He swore, Kaos would be the death of him one of these days, but at least his life was interesting with him around. Dyskord just wished he wasn't so, well, chaotic. But he supposed that came with the name.

Kaos threw the door to his room open, his breath catching in his throat. He had been wearing it when he fell asleep, where could it have gotten off to!? Had he taken it off when he got dressed? No, it wasn't by his closet box. Was it in his loft? No, no. Maybe it was in the blanket pile he had created that morning. Or maybe it was- Kaos froze, slowly turning towards the window, the familiar tap tap tapping of the tree branch against the grimy glass greeting him.

"You," he glowered at the tree branch, carefully approaching the window. "What did you do with it!?"

The tree branch just continued its endless rapping against the window pane, mocking him, oblivious to the enemy it had made. Kaos stormed forward, climbing up onto his desk, kicking the papers that covered it onto the ground.

"Give it back now!!" He pressed his face against the glass. "Or so help me, you will meet your untimely demise!!"

He was given no response. Not that Kaos expected one. The trees were always conniving, this one especially. They seemed innocent, but beneath that bark was a dastardly deciduous demon, lulling him into a false sense of security, laying in wait. But Kaos knew. Kaos knew the truth about these creatures. And he wouldn't let them get the upper hand. Never once taking his eyes from the branch, Kaos slid open his window slowly, then peered out. There it was, as he had assumed, his scarf. In the patchy grass, between the gnarled roots of the beast. He shot the tree one last glare, muttering to himself, then stepped out onto the small ledge right outside his window. At least that was a perk of being small, he could fit into spaces others couldn't. Kaos stood up, balancing himself against the wall, holding onto one of the few bricks that jutted out from the flush surface. He had done this many a time, but every time he felt butterflies congregating within his stomach, a few fluttering into his throat. The wind in his hair, the view of the forest beyond- painted in autumnal colors of deep purples and dry oranges, the grounds below in desperate need of tending. All of it flooding his senses, paired with the impending damage he would receive at one wrong move. It was all… magnificent. But admiring the view wasn't what he was here to do, no. Kaos shook his head, reaching out to grab the closest branch, hoisting himself into it. The tree may have been a conniving, callous creature, but at least it served a purpose. That being a way for Kaos to get to the ground without completely shattering all of his fragile little bones.

"Kaos, come on!!" He heard Dyskord call from inside. "I have other stuff I need to do today, if you don't hurry up you'll have to take the school ship!!"

Kaos rolled his eyes, carefully stepping down onto the next branch. Dyskord was so impatient. He'd get down, grab his scarf, and they'd be on their way before his older brother could utter another idiotic sentence. Kaos slid onto another branch, this one bending slightly under his weight. He shot the tree a glare, as if daring it to try something, before stepping onto the next one. This one, unluckily, wasn't so forgiving. Before Kaos knew what was happening, the branch had buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground - the branches he fell past slicing at his skin. At least the damp earth was there to soften his fall. Kaos propped himself up on his arms, spitting out a chunk of dirt as he silently cursed himself out for letting down his guard. At least he has his scarf. Kaos stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothes best he could before assessing the damage. A few cuts here and there, his coat would definitely need some stitches, but at least nothing was broken. Kaos scooped his scarf up, wrapped it loosely around his neck, then froze. He heard the sound of an engine revving up, the realization hitting him all too late.

"WAIT!!" Kaos shouted, making a mad dash for the front door. "Dyskord, I'M COMING!!"

As Kaos rounded the corner, three things crossed his mind. His backpack laying on the path that lead up to the door, the idiocracy of his older brother; and the boat that belonged to the very same, the one that was usually docked at the edge of the island, now whirring off into the horizon without him.

"YOU IDIOT!!" Kaos shouted, skidding to a stop. He swore he heard his brother laughing over the sound of the motor, which was quickly fading away. "I'M TELLING MOTHER!!"

Of course he wouldn't. Telling Mother had become an empty threat within the family, no longer holding any weight after countless empty promises of "Mother'll hear about this" and "I'm telling mom" (the latter usually used by Mey) had been thrown around for years. But it was the only comeback he could dream up in the moment. He had other problems than coming up with a witty response that Dyskord couldn't even hear. He'd get him back later. After he was done with his current plan. Then he'd have all the time in the world to get back at Dyskord for being a complete ignoramus and putting a petty act of defiance over the welfare of the plan. That's what Kaos got for letting him in on it, he supposed, kicking a loose pathing tile out of frustration. His kick barely dislodged it, but it was at least something. Kaos grabbed his bag up off of the ground, finally noticing the note taped to it. Have fun taking the school ship. Of course. Kaos crumpled the note up as he swung the backpack over his shoulder, muttering to himself all the while. He looked around, starting to head in the direction the school ship usually docked. It was quite a ways away, so the sooner he left, the better chances he had of catching it. Why it didn't dock closer to his home was beyond him, and despite the complaints he had lodged with the school board and his mother, no changes had been made. Rolling fields of splotchy, yellowing grass were laid out before Kaos, broken up by the occasional stone pathway. Cracking with age and broken up like a checkerboard. The wound through the dirt haphazardly, interrupted by the occasional tree (which Kaos did his best to keep his distance from) or the start of a rickety bridge that connected the nearby islands. On his usual walks, Kaos would have stopped on the bridges, kneeling down and seeing how far down he could reach into the abyss below, waiting for something to float by that he could possibly add to his collections. Today, he had no time for that. Today, he actually had somewhere to be. Kaos counted his steps, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to watch as his home got smaller and smaller. From here, it looked normal. Simple even. But the imposing aura it cast still lingered in the air. The tall spires piercing the wispy clouds themselves, high stone walls and arched windows covered in moss and ivy. An overbearing, ancient labyrinth of a castle Kaos called home. Sometimes Kaos was convinced the place was still standing because of the grime it was caked in, which was the excuse he gave himself whenever it came to cleaning. If he did a good job, he might not have a home to go back to. It was an excuse Mother was never fond of. Kaos remembered one year he had been put on ivy duty during their yearly cleaning. He had encountered a particularly dastardly tangle of vines on the west side, one that had kept him trapped for the majority of the day. Mother had found him deep asleep in their verdant web after the sun had set, and Kaos hadn't been allowed near that part of the castle for a good while afterwards. Kaos sighed, a smile creeping its way onto his face at the memory, his home now simply a silhouette against the backdrop of the endless sky. He looked ahead, finally making out his target. The old barge that served as the school ship. Badly, at that. It was only a few islands away, where the grass was more lush and the terrain less harsh. Kaos picked up his speed, going from a light jog to a sprint, barely feeling his feet touch the ground. He was gonna make it. He could still see students boarding, he still had time, he could still make it.

"WAIT! WAIT!!" He shouted, causing a few heads to turn, but only for a brief moment.

Kaos forced himself through the crowd, nearly doubling over as he struggled to catch his breath, one hand on the strap of his backpack and the other on his scarf, just making sure it was still there. He ignored the dirty looks he was getting as the line began moving again, following the students ahead of him up the ramp. Even from his low vantage point he could tell the state of the ship. Noisy and overcrowded, with just a sprinkle of staff trying desperately to keep order. The chatter of students loud enough to make the patchwork steel hull of the ship vibrate. Kaos found his mind wandering as he and the rest of the students were herded onto the ship like animals, personal space a thing of the past. Everyone around him was at least double Kaos' height, leaving him lost in a forest of legs and torsos shuffling him forward. It would have been humiliating if he wasn't used to it. Ever since he was little, (well, littler) he had been the runt of the litter. Mother had wanted to hold him back because of it, even though she admitted he was smart enough to be a grade ahead. But here he was, stuck in a sea of people all taller than him, even at a grade lower than he should have been. At least that meant he excelled compared to everyone else - when he actually applied himself, that is. It was so hard to apply himself when everything was so easy. Kaos wanted a challenge, he needed one, he-

BANG!

Kaos stumbled back, bumping into the person behind him. He clutched his hands over his ears, the world vibrating around him. He faintly heard the person behind him mutter something as they pushed past, pulling him back to reality. What in the Ancients' names was that?! Kaos looked around, stepping off of the ramp and onto the deck of the ship, feeling the engine start to whir to life. He frowned. It must've just been a misfire of the engine. The ship was old and broken, misfires were bound to happen. But even then, Kaos couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Kaos peered over the edge of the ship, watching as the island below them slowly began drifting away. The smell of engine fuel and strong perfume filling the air. Kaos gripped the rusting side rail, then looked back to the deck of the ship. The talking had only grown louder, everyone trying to be heard over the roar of the engine and of course one another. It was an idiotic sight, people huddled into groups. Elves and Ents playing a quick game of Skystones, a group of Mabu discussing the best way to prepare beetroots for their cooking class - even the Gillmen were chatting it away, all in their own little worlds. Everyone seemed to have a group. Everyone, but Kaos. It wasn't a bother to him, though, not at all. Why would it have been? He had himself, and that was all Kaos needed. Kaos began making his way through the crowds of kids, hands in his pockets and eyes trained on the floor. He slid his backpack off once he got to his usual corner, plopping himself down. He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, the chatter around him becoming nothing but white noise. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift off, running the plan through his head once more. It would be perfect. He just needed to make it through the day.

***

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yodawgiherd · 4 years ago

Text

Red flag pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Q and A sessions are surprisingly fun to write. Rating still M, I'm not thErE yEt. ^^

A week.

One week was how long Mikasa managed before the curiosity killed the proverbial cat and her fingers tapped the name of the newest addition to her contact list. Eren picked up on the fifth ring, sounding sleepy, which she thought was strange considering that it was about two in the afternoon.

“Yeager.”, came his muffled voice, followed by a yawn.

It took her a second before Mikasa realized that she didn’t give him her number, as per their agreement, so he had no idea who’s calling.

“Hey, it’s Mikasa.”, she re-introduced herself, “Remember me?”

There was a sound on the other end, a shuffle of bedding as he sat up straight.

“Of course I do, the pretty girl with the pretty name.”

“The one and only. Listen, is that lunch offer still on the table?”

“Totally, just tell me the place and time and I’ll be there.”

“Really? I can pick anything?”

He chuckled at how excited her voice became.

“I’m not a picky eater.”

“And it’s still on you, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then…”

The sushi place was fancy, far above her poor-ass student budget. She was there twice so far, once Levi treated her when the news of Mikasa being accepted at the university arrived, and once when it was her birthday and Sasha decided to splurge for her best friend. And boy did Mikasa love both those experiences. She felt a bit guilty, abusing Eren’s blind trust like that, but hey, he offered it first, and judging from the state of his flat, he wasn’t doing half bad for himself. If it came to the worst, Mikasa was prepared to split the bill, she did have some money from her part-time job. The food was worth it.

Eren wasn’t there when she arrived, so Mikasa picked a table, getting herself comfortable. When the waitress came, she almost sent her away, to wait for Eren, but then reminded herself that she’s , most likely, not paying. Appetizer it was. When he finally arrived, she was already halfway done with the fried chicken pieces, which earned a raised eyebrow.

“Hungry?”, he asked, removing his coat and sitting down himself.

“Famished.”, she agreed, “Forgot to eat breakfast.”

She skipped breakfast willingly to save space for this feast, but that was something Eren didn’t need to know. Most likely satisfied with her little lie, he nodded before picking up the menu himself. The evening progressed with somewhat casual conversation and excellent food. Eren asked her how she’s doing lately, and Mikasa described the procrastinating bliss she’s been living in since her last exam. That paradise was coming to an end, however, as she needed to get out of the city soon and back to her hometown.

“To visit your parents?”, he asked, understandably not knowing the bitter truth that Mikasa wasn’t ready to share yet.

Instead, she shook her head.

“No, I have a part-time work at my brother’s gym.”, she pointed towards herself, “One personal trainer, right here.”

Luckily, Eren didn’t press the issue. The way he knew when to stop asking was an amazing thing, and Mikasa secretly wished that more people would be born with that gift. To break the silence that followed, and to change the course of the conversation, Mikasa decided to strike back.

“So, Eren, how about we stop beating around the bush.”

His grin was cheeky.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Please, as if you don’t know why I came here in the first place.”

He picked up one sushi roll that he was eating, with a fork like a damn savage, turning it against the light.

“The free food?”

She scowled at his amused expression.

“Because of my amazing company?”, he guessed again, getting a sigh in return.

“As if.”

“Wow, you hurt me.”

The smile present in the answer was infectious, and Mikasa had a hard time resisting it.

“You are quite the egoist, aren’t you?”

“So I’m told.”, Eren shrugged, unbothered by that accusation.

Unsure how to continue, Mikasa massaged her forehead. This guy was something else.

“Since it’s so important to you, “ Eren offered, “Why don’t you just ask?”

“Fine.”, looking back up, she met his emeralds with her own eyes, “What do you do for a living?”

“Care to guess first?”

More games? Fine, you’re on.

“Okay, sure.”, putting her chopsticks down, as she was a civilized person, Mikasa rested her chin on her intertwined hands, “Let’s go over what I know then. First, there is this strange… rope fixation you have, and you said that was caused by your job, right?”

“It’s not only ropes,”, he corrected her, “But it is related to my job, yes.”

“Second, when I called you yesterday you were still in bed, and it was around two, which means that you work late at night, right?“

“I could have been gaming all night, didn’t think about that?”

“Maybe, but maybe not. I’ll take my chances.”

“All right, then put the two together. What do you think I am?”

“A smug bastard.”

Of course he grinned at that.

“That’s true. But professionally?”

Putting on her best thinking hat, Mikasa rolled the facts around in her head.

“A policeman?”, she tried.

“Not a bad guess, handcuffs and night shifts.”, Eren took the time to have a dramatic sip before finally revealing the truth, “But you’re wrong. Try again.”

“Some sort of artist then?”

His eyes narrowed.

“I guess you could say that. But what kind do you have in mind?”

“Singer?”

“Nope.”

“Painter?”

“No.”

Mikasa tried a few more art-related jobs that would fit Eren’s profile, but he shot down all of them. At the end of her rope, she pulled out a trump card. Even looking objectively, outside of that “he was totally her type” thing, Eren was very attractive. Combine that with strange working times and….

“Are you a model?”

“Yea…..Nope.”

Damn it. Out of ideas, Mikasa put up her palms in the international gesture of surrender.

“Ok, I give up.”

“Guess we will never know then.”, Eren leaned back in his chair, smugger than ever before, “What a disappointment.”

Out of words and completely against her usually serious character, Mikasa kicked him under the table. Hard.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Spill the beans, Eren.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kick you again.”

Rubbing his shin and not sure that his bones would survive another kick like that, Eren decided that the teasing stage was over.

“Very well then.”, leaning closer, he put both his elbows on the wood, looking right into Mikasa’s eyes when he spoke.

“I’m a dom.”

The clueless look on her face was priceless.

“H-Huh?”

“Dom, master, and a hundred other ways you can call it.”

In slow motion, Eren watched as that clueless expression changed. With words falling and clicking into place, the not-understanding look was replaced by a blush that began creeping up to her cheeks. In short, it was adorable.

“Y-You mean like… like….”

“Yes.”

“Err… I…”

And Eren waited patiently, finishing his drink, while Mikasa kept trying to say a word and completely failing at it. It took her about five minutes before she finally closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and steadied herself.

“So you’re like a s-sex worker? P-Prostitute?

“No and yes.”

“Huh?!”

“Technically, you’re right. But since I don’t have sex with my clients, I don’t usually call myself sex worker.”

“Ok, I’m lost.”

“Well, it's actually quite easy. I fulfill the fantasies of the client, I take care of their needs, I make them…. Err..”, he looked around to see if no one was around – they were in public after all, “…finish, but I don’t do it myself.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“I’m saying that I can satisfy my clients needs without doing it the old-fashioned way. God bless technology.”

Mikasa was rubbing her forehead now, taking the information in.

“And your clients… what are they?”

“I deal with women exclusively if that’s what you are asking. But if you have a male friend in need of similar services, I know a great dominatrix, mistress A, that can take them, she’s a real top of the class. She was my…”, his gaze slid over Mikasa’s face, lingering over the shape of her eyes for a second, “ senpai back when I was beginning.”

She groaned. He had to use that word to tease her, abusing the weakened mental state she was in right now – she couldn’t think of a comeback. And, to salt the wound, he was grinning again.

“You can’t dump something like this at me without any explanation.”, Mikasa demanded, “How did you even end up working like this?”

“It’s…”, kind of personal, he was about to say, but then he met Mikasa’s eyes and that defense he usually held up around his secrets melted.

It was crazy, he didn’t even know the girl that well, he had no idea what she was truly like. But she was here, sitting across the table, and her grey eyes saw right through him. And he… he simply told her.

“When I was a kid, I was a bit fucked up. My dad…. He was not exactly a great role model. My mom was his second wife, he left the first after having a kid with her.”, he answered her follow-up question before she even asked, “Yes, I have a half-brother but we are not in contact. After leaving her, he married my mom and had me. I can’t say that he was a bad guy, from what little I remember, but he was hardly ever home. And one day, he completely disappeared. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, neither does mom, and the police couldn’t find him. He’s gone.”

Mikasa, who had her own tragic parents-related story, remained silent, knowing that even years later it is hard to talk about stuff like this. Eren took a small break, a sip of water, and went on.

“I had a lot of issues from that, anger mostly. I lashed out on anyone or anything that I didn’t like, punching before asking. Bloodying people and getting bloodied myself was the only way to get the anger out, I did not know any better. You can imagine that didn’t go well in school. Mom did her best to keep me in line, but it was hard for her, too hard at times. Through sheer luck and endless patience of my teachers, I managed to graduate, but the anger inside me didn’t die. Even as an adult, I was a colossal dickhead. But all that changed shortly after I turned eighteen and moved to college.”

“Why?”

“Because I met her.”

Who? and How? were on the edge of Mikasa’s tongue, but she held those questions in. Eren would tell her.

“It was one of the college parties, you know how those go. I was there mostly to get drunk and get into a fight with someone because that was about everything I cared about back then. I succeeded in that too, I punched some blonde dude in the face and he didn’t take that lightly.”

“Did you beat him up?”

To her surprise, Eren tipped his head back and laughed.

“No. The dude completely wrecked me. He was a titan, both taller and heavier than me, and I later learned that he was a boxer as well. When I woke up from the beating he so generously gave me, I saw that a blonde girl had dragged me out on the lawn and was standing there still, waiting. Naturally, as I was a real gentleman back then, I spat out the blood in my mouth, told her to fuck off and tried getting up. Do you know what she did?”

“No idea.”

“She slapped me. Hard. I called her a stupid bitch, and she slapped me again. The third time, I got about two syllables out before her palm made another imprint on my face. And after all that, she kissed me, and I realized I was never so turned on in my life.”

Mikasa honestly didn’t know what to say.

“That’s….random?”

“I was a raging asshole back then Mikasa. I know that saying it now, it looks like she was acting out of her mind, but you weren’t there.”, Eren shook his head, “Anyway, that’s how I met the future mistress A. Annie.”

“How did she even know that you won't just flip out after she slaps you?”

“She didn’t. Later she told me that it was a hunch on her part, that watching me get into a fight with that giant for no good reason tipped her off, showed her that I might have some anger issues.”

“So, after that, she showed you the ropes?”

He didn’t miss the reference, it earned a respectful nod from him.

“Yes. She was already working as a domme, on her own back then, and mostly for fun and the experience. Annie was older than me by a year, and she spent that year mostly half-assing school and perfecting her skill for her future job.”

“What happened after that party? Did you two became a couple?”

“Not really. We didn’t date, like at all, but we became good friends, and Annie would train her techniques on me.”

“So what, she like tied you up from time to time?”

He nodded.

“That and other things. We practiced on each other, but we never made it sexual. I know it sounds crazy, but you didn’t meet Annie, she’s can drip hot wax on your nipples without batting an eye. I’d say that’s part of her charm, she’s completely stoic while working.”

“And you?”

“Honestly, in the beginning, it was weird as hell. But when we kept doing it, I realized that my anger was subdued by it, that this helped me overcome it for the first time in my life. With all the discipline and focus this required I managed to be in control of my life for what felt like the first time. It was still difficult for me from time to time, I admit, but Annie was always there to put me back to my place.”

“How did she know that this was what you needed?”

“Annie also had… issues when she was younger. And this thing helped her through it, so she thought I might be the same. For the record, she was right.” Eren was having a pleasant memory trip, and Mikasa kept silent, not wanting to interrupt, “Anyway, after I realized that I prefer being the top, Annie found me a girl who liked being the bottom.”

“Finally a girlfriend?”, Mikasa tried again, but he chuckled.

“Nope, this one had a catch too. She was mostly a lesbian.”

“Mostly a lesbian?”

“Yea, she’s bi, but prefers women.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I? She was tiny and amazingly flexible because she does gymnastics. Incredible performance partner, I still work with her from time to time.”

“But why didn’t she find a female partner then? If she prefers women that is.”

“She did, sort of, Annie worked on her too sometimes, I think that was why she even agreed to do it in the first place. But with a blindfold around her eyes and tied up so she couldn’t touch us, she kind of stopped caring who’s holding the vibrator.”

Mikasa felt like this was all a big joke, but Eren was completely serious.

“You had this little triangle of fun for how long?”

“Till we graduated. After that, Annie and I found the agency and got employed there, and Krista went on to become a doctor.”

“I’ll presume that Krista was that flexible one?”

“You’d presume correctly.”

“She’s a doctor, but she still does… things? With you?”

“She performs with us sometimes if that’s what you’re talking about. Nothing else.”

“You want to tell me that you’ve been doing BDSM…. stuff to each other for years and never fucked?”, Mikasa shook her head, “I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t have to, but it’s the truth. My relationship with both Annie and Krista was strictly professional, however crazy that sounds.”

“Then how did you develop your “can’t have sex until the girl is tied up” thing.”

“I dated in college normally, not much mind you, but a few flings found their way to me. Then it was pretty simple. When I had normal sex, I didn’t find myself half as aroused as I was when Annie slapped me for the first time. So I tried getting my hobby into play.”

Hobby, that’s one way to call it.

“And how did it go?”

“Not great. The first two girls said that I’m a creep and left. But the third one agreed and…”, Eren leaned back again, folding his hands behinds his head, “best sex of my life.”

“Fine, but if you enjoy it, why don’t you do it at work then? I’m sure some of your clients would appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they would, but I have this strange need to differentiate between work and pleasure - I think I caught it from Annie. I can’t get into it when I know that the person I’m tying up paid for it.”

“Strange.”

Eren didn’t argue.

“Strange indeed.”

All right, cool info dump and all, but Mikasa was more confused than anything. He was a sex worker BUT he didn’t have sex with his clients BUT he preferred to have the toys in bed while doing it. What the hell?

“Can you like, describe what you do then? I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

Eren shrugged.

“Sure. After making the initial contact, through the agency of course…”

“You’re still at the same one?”

“Yup, much easier that way. Don’t have to deal with things.”, Eren scrunched his nose, “Like taxes.”

“Okay, so some bored lady picks you at your company’s website, and then what?”

“Then we do the first meeting, through phone, email, or in person, that’s up to the client. There, we discuss important things, like what my hard limits are.”

“Which means?”

“Things that I won’t do, for various reasons.”

Mikasa didn’t ask what those were, so Eren continued.

“With that out of the way, we talk about what my client wants, what sort of fantasy I would be fulfilling. Once I have a picture in my head, I recommend the place to meet – one of the places owned by the agency, dungeons if you want, or even the clients own place.”

“You go to people’s homes with that?”

“If they want it, yes. It fits the best for certain scenarios, and people usually feel much more comfortable there.”

“And they trust you? I mean, you could tie them up and rob the place.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I never thought of that?”, Eren scratched the back of his head, “That’s a valid thing what you said, but I have the agency to vouch for me.”

“Okay. And then?”

“Then we meet at the place we picked, have a quick recap to make sure I’ll do everything she wants, pick a safeword and we are good to go.”

“And you do what?”

“Mikasa, my range of services is very wide.”, putting one hand on the table, Eren began counting, finger by finger, “Bondage, suspension, pain stuff like caning, whipping and more. Waxplay, petplay, some electro, and…”

“Ok, ok! I heard enough!”

“I’d imagine so. From how you reacted when I put the rope around your hands, let me guess that you are very vanilla, right?”

“Huh?”

“It means like basic – that you don’t do anything strange in the bedroom.”

“No, I…”, Mikasa ran her hand over her somewhat heated forehead, “I’m very vanilla.”

“Weird.”

She fixed him with a look.

“Why is that weird?”

“It’s just…” he gestured towards her, “People with your style are usually into it.”

“My style? You mean black?”

“Dark, goth, however, you want to call it.”, he reached up, tapping his ear, at the same place where Mikasa’s cartilage was pierced, “And those things are also not completely usual.”

“I guess I am a bit strange, but nothing compared to you, sir. I never even imagined….”

“Well, the big mystery is over, the cat is out of the bag.”, he looked at her with a strange emotion in his eyes now, one that Mikasa couldn’t quite decipher. It looked like… worry?

“We can still be friends, right?”, he asked.

It was not like Eren did anything bad to her, and while his job was a bit shocking, he was still nothing but the perfect gentleman.

“Right, of course. I… I’ll need some time to digest this, I think.”

Eren watched her, tapping his fingers against the table, teeth chewing his full bottom lip. He was thinking about something, Mikasa could tell, but before she could ask, he dropped the bomb at her.

“Come to one of my shows.”

“Huh?”

“My shows. I don’t do individual clients only, I perform at clubs too. BDSM clubs that is. I’ll write the address down.”

She was shaking her head before he even finished the sentence.

“N-No, I.. .No... I’d never.”

“I’m not asking you to take part, there will be plenty of people as spectators. And don’t worry about being recognized or something, the club is members only and you can grab a mask at the entrance if you want, your identity will be safe.”

His words burned with intensity now, but his eyes did even more, and Mikasa was drowning in it.

“W-Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I can see how you look at me now. You think that I’m some sort of pervert, that I what do is unnatural, not normal. I want to show you that it can be beautiful too, that there is nothing wrong if two consenting adults have a go at something like this.”

“I.. Uhm…”

The address written on a napkin, Eren slid it over to her.

“Listen, I obviously won’t force you into anything, this is your choice. The show is next week and then again in two weeks. You said that you are leaving the city soon, right?”

She nodded, wordless.

“Is it far? Or could you theoretically come back for the evening?”

“It’s not that far.”, Mikasa replied, finding her voice again, “Like an hour and a half drive.”

“All right. Let’s put it like this, if you want, come to the second show, the one that is two weeks from now, the club will be less packed, and I will tell the bouncer to let you in. Just let him know that Eren sent you. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too, I will understand.”

She nodded, once again retreating to no-words strategy. Eren took it as a cue, standing up.

“I’ll go settle the bill.”

When he came back, he grabbed his coat, putting it on while Mikasa sat there, gears in her head turning.

“If you won’t show, I’ll know that you are not interested in that part of my life, but that doesn’t mean we can’t meet again. Right?”, he smiled at her, “If you ever want a free lunch, give me a call, okay?”

That said, Eren half-turned towards the exit, ready to go when Mikasa’s voice interrupted him.

“Eren?”

“Yea?”

“Give me your phone.”

He did so automatically, even unlocking it for her. It wasn’t like there were any more dirty secrets he had to hide from her, not after today. Mikasa worked for a while, tapping the screen before she set it back on the wood and slid it over to him. Picking the device up, Eren saw that he had a new contact added – certain Mikasa Ackerman.

“This will be easier if we have a way to get in touch with each other right?”

Now he was the one dumbly nodding.

“Right…”

“I don’t know if I will turn up for your show, but I want to meet again. I don’t want to cut and run because of what you told me today. You’re a nice guy.”

“You’re saying that because I bought you lunch.”, Eren accused her with a smile, getting some bravado back.

She winked at him.

“Perhaps.”

Still smiling, Eren pocketed his phone, feeling like he got more out of this meeting than he even dared to hope for.

“Well, I’ll see you around then, Mikasa.”

“Take care Eren.”

She watched him leave the restaurant, her own lips curved upwards. When he disappeared from view, she ran her hands through her hair, a half-amused/half-nervous giggle falling from her lips. She had never asked this many questions in her life, not even in her classes. And the answers she got were…. something else.

This guy? This guy was getting more interesting by the second.

#fanfic #snk #eremika #why yes I do prefer doing new drafts instead of finishing WIPs #how could you tell?

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nomattertheoceans · 5 years ago

Note

feysand + “you know that your book is upside-down, right?”

Sooooo this has literally zero editing because I got inspired past midnight and now it's already near half past one and I just wrote for an hour instead of sleeping and I really want to publish it tonight before I sleep and wake up and think what I wrote is awful 😂 so I hope you enjoy it 😘😘😘

Also I'm sorry but I'm on mobile rn and I do t have the "under the cut" option

September

Feyre didn't really like the college library.

Well, that wasn't true. She liked her part of the library. She liked browsing through the countless books and academic papers about paintings from the sixteenth century. She loved the little booths were you could install your computer and still have space to put down books and papers. And most of all, she loved that one booth in the far left corner, with a window with a view on the small patio in front of her.

She really liked the library, and the books, and the patio. What she didn't like was the view at the other side of the patio.

Because the library on the other side was the language section, and people there always seemed to work in group, and loudly. She couldn't even hear them, but still, it annoyed her to see them move around and laugh when she was trying to focus.

But she really liked her little booth on the far left corner, and she didn't want to give it up, so she kept working there even with the people on the other side of the patio.

October

God, that essay was going to kill her.

Sighing loudly, Feyre sat back on her chair and closed her eyes for a second. Just a second. Or maybe it had been a minute. Or more.

She didn't know how long she'd spent with her eyes closed, but when she opened them, she found a guy smirking at her from the other side of the patio.

She would have frowned, annoyed once again by what she saw there, except her brain didn't register her annoyance. Because that guy was gorgeous.

Short black hair sticking out on his head as if he'd passed his hand in it one too many times, broad shoulders and a strong built, and brown skin that contrasted with striking blue eyes. Eyes she could have lost herself in forever if she let it happen.

But he was still smirking, and it was getting on her nerves. So she crossed her arms on her chest and raised an eyebrow at him, hoping to make him look away. His smile only got bigger.

She saw him look down to grab a pen and paper, and she thought he'd moved on from her when he looked back up and splayed the paper against his window.

You know your book is upside down, right?

She stared at the words for way too long, and finally looked down to her desk, realizing the book she'd pulled up against the window was indeed upside down. She'd been studying a detail in a painting and had needed to see it that way.

She grabbed a pen and started writing a very lengthy explanation about her thought process, but stopped herself midway. Why was she justifying herself to him? She didn't know him and didn't care what he thought about her. So she grabbed another paper and wrote quickly before putting it on the window.

I do. You know libraries are meant to study, right?

She saw him laugh, and he answered almost immediately.

It's hard to study with such a captivating view in front of me.

She stared at his answer, unable to think of what to say next. Was he talking about her? She was wearing an old grey sweatshirt and her hair was held up in a bun. She wasn't even wearing makeup. Or maybe he was mocking her. 'Captivating' wasn't necessarily a compliment after all.

After a long minute of internal debate, she decided on ignoring him, and went back to her book. She really needed to finish that essay.

November

The stranger was back at the library most days, but he was alone. In the section where most people were working in groups. And she'd caught him throwing quick glances at her a few times, when he thought she wasn't looking. She should've been annoyed, but if she was being honest, she too found herself looking out the window more than usual when he was sitting there.

There hadn't been any more notes between them, but his comment about finding her captivating had stuck with her, and sometimes, she found herself mindlessly arranging her hair or changing her posture slightly when she knew he was over there.

Not today though.

Because today was the last day before her midterms, and she was late in her studies, and she couldn't have cared less if he was looking at her or not. She hadn't washed her hair in a week, and she was actually wearing a ridiculous onesie her roommate had gotten her as a goofy present and she had sworn never to wear outside of her bedroom.

Oh well.

She was lost in a commentary on female painters in France in 1748 when a movement across the patio caught her eyes.

Nice overalls

She rolled her eyes and grabbed something to write.

They're unicorn onesies

He laughed.

Way more sophisticated, you're right. I should've known better

She answered in under fifteen seconds.

Less than 24h before exam, no time to argue with you

And she went back to her book.

When she looked back up a moment later, she saw that he was gone. But he'd stuck a paper on the glass.

Good luck

December

They started talking more after that day. Well, talking was a bit of an exaggeration to describe what they were doing. Sticking papers on windows wasn't exactly what she would have called a normal conversation.

He was always the one starting it, and she felt grateful for it. Because for all that she loved writing back, she didn't think she would be able to grab the pen first.

The snow had started to fall over the weekend, and it was covering the patio between them. The night had fallen already, even though it was only 5 p.m., and the only lights were the ones from their respective sides of the library. They hadn't talked that day, he was focused on the screen of his computer, visibly absorbed in his work.

Normally, Feyre wouldn't have written anything. They didn't speak everytime, and she was okay with it. But today was special. She really wanted to talk to him today.

What are you working on?

She waited for him to see the paper for a long minute until finally he lifted his eyes to her and she saw him taking in her words.

Economy final essay due tomorrow morning. Still haven't started it

She let out a startled laugh.

Aren't you a bit late?

He smiled at her.

Not my first time winging it!

And then he wrote on a second paper, before she had time to answer.

What about you? Thought you'd already finished everything

She had. Three days earlier. And she hadn't wanted him to remember that. But of course he had, and now she had to tell him why she'd come.

Didn't feel like being alone tonight

A small frown on his forehead.

Oh?

It's my birthday today

And because he just stared at her with a small smile and a puzzled look, she took back her paper and added:

My roommate's out of town and I had nothing waiting for me at home. Hoped you'd be here

He smiled, a genuine one this time, and she felt a feeling of joy spread through her body at the sight.

Happy birthday then

And then,

Do you want me to come over to your side?

She felt her throat tighten. It had always been a silent rule between them. They stayed on their side, they didn't meet. She didn't even know his name. And now she was conflicted, because she really really wanted him to hug her. But…

Their little conversation felt like a dream, a small bubble of calm in the constant storm that was her life. And if he came over to her side, the bubble wouldn't hold. She didn't want that. Not yet.

It's fine, thanks

January

She arrived at her booth one Thursday to find a package waiting for her, with a note pinned on it. She knew the handwriting well by now.

Sorry I came over to your side, but I found this over the holidays and thought of you.

She sat down and looked over, but he wasn't there. Was it on purpose? Maybe he didn't want to see her reaction. She gingerly grabbed the box and opened it, to find a present that made her chuckle. It was a blue sweater with a unicorn drawn at the front.

She felt heat creep up her cheeks. He'd thought of her. Outside of their conversation, he was thinking of her.

Just like she was thinking of him, almost every night. Of his gorgeous smile and the way he'd pass his hand through his hair when he tried to focus, and the fact that he loved to go to the cinema and had written her reviews about his favorite movie so long that she'd struggled to read it through the glass.

She thought of him often, and now he knew that he did too, and he'd given her this amazing thoughtful present and she couldn't even say thank you.

She toyed with the idea of going to his side and leave a word. But she wasn't ready for that. So she decided she'd wear the sweater the next time she'd see him.

February

I'd like to hear your laugh

The note came without warning, one cold winter morning of February. He'd told her about some embarrassing thing that had happened in his class that morning, and she'd laughed. And then he'd written this, and now it had been a long minute and she still hadn't answered.

He looked back down and added something.

In my head it's the most beautiful sound I can imagine. I'd like to hear it for real

She felt herself blushing. Because she too had started to imagine his voice, like a low rumble, vibrating with intensity, but soft and warm at the same time. And she wanted to hear it.

So she gathered her things, got up, and without a look at him, walked away.

Rhysand

She'd walked away.

For months, he's been longing for the weird kind of conversation they'd established, loving the moments when they talked and cherishing every stolen glance in her direction.

That beautiful girl, with long, brown, messy hair, and a unicorn onesie. The girl with clear eyes that seemed to be blue, and freckles on her nose.

He'd loved their moments together, and he'd wanted more, but he felt that she didn't want more. For whatever reason he'd never dared to ask, she wanted to keep their relationship as it was.

But today she'd been so pretty in her red winter dress and he'd cheeks flushed by the cold, he hadn't resisted telling her how he truly felt.

And now she was gone.

He buried his head in his arms on the table, and let his mind wonder. God, he could kick himself for being so stupid and ruin everything. He'd known she was shy and yet he'd pushed and -

"I really don't know how you can work on this place, it's so noisy," a feminine voice interrupted his thought, and his head shot up. He looked to his left, and there she was, standing in front of him, her bag on her shoulder, her hair as messy as usual, a smile on her lips. Not believing his eyes, he got up, and found himself towering over her.

Her eyes were grey, not blue. And she had more freckles than he'd realized.

"I… I can't focus when there's no noise around." His voice came out a mere whisper and he mentally slapped himself. One chance to make a good first impression and he was ruining it.

But she was still smiling.

"I'm Feyre."

"Rhysand."

They both stayed silent for a moment, staring into each other's eyes as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Then Feyre talked again.

"So, Rhysand. Should we grab a coffee?"

Send me prompts!!!

#feysand fanfic #my tag list doesn't seem to work on mobile #I'll update it tomorrow

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ahatintimestorybook · 4 years ago

Text

Secret in the Treehouse Chap.2 Painted Flowers

Here is the next chapter and a happy new year as well (depending where you are as its still New Year's eve where I am)

Also I named the Painter, Peter before Shane-Frost revealed the Painter’s real name.

Well, Enjoy!

“Peter! Come on!” A young girl shouted to her friend. The young girl had red hair tied into a braid that was covered with leaves and twigs. She wore a light blue dress and tan overalls.

Peter, a young boy wearing a red apron over a dark blue shirt with a crescent moon on it, was starting to get tired following his best friend around. His clothes were muddy, and like the young girl, his hair had some leaves and twigs as well. “Willow, do we have to go deeper into the forest?” Peter whined. “I mean, it's just a flower!”

Willow stopped in her tracks and turned to face her friend. “Just a flower!” She growled. “Peter, this is one of the rarest flowers in Subcon! They won’t bloom again for another 100 years!” She exclaimed. Peter gulped and stepped back from his friend. Willow sighed, calming down a bit. “Sorry. I just want to find this flower for my mom.” She apologized.

Peter sighed back seeing she had calmed down. However, he didn’t want to walk deeper into the forest, knowing whatever was there, just for a flower. “Does it have to be deep into Subcon?” He asked.

“That’s what my book told me.” Willow replied. “We're not too far away, so let’s hurry!” Willow then ran off, surprising Peter, who then started to run after his friend.

“Willow, wait!” Peter shouted, trying to catch up, but she was faster. He didn’t look where he was running, and he tripped on a nearby root and fell to the ground with a thud.

Willow stopped in her tracks to see her friend had fallen and was struggling to get up. Sympathizing with Peter, Willow walked up to him and held her hand out for him. “Sorry.” She apologized. “I forgot you're not the best runner.”

Peter took his friend’s hand and stood up giving her a smile. “It’s okay. Just please slow down next time.” He requested. Willow nodded, promising to slow down a bit. The two friends were ready to continue looking for the rare flower, but they stopped at the sound of rustling in the nearby bushes. Peter whimpered and went behind the Florist’s back, shaking like a leaf.

“Stay behind me, Peter. This could be a Rough Patch!” Willow warned. She grabbed the stick she was using as her weapon and waited for whatever was coming out of the bushes.

However, it wasn’t a Rough Patch, but instead Lucas and Vanessa. Peter screamed in fear before even seeing who it actually was, and hid behind a tree. Willow slowly lowered her stick as she looked up at the duo. “P-princess Vanessa?” Willow asked.

“T-The princess?” Peter asked, popping his head out from behind the tree. He quickly came out, seeing there was no Rough Patch, but a princess. “Your majesty,” he said, giving a bow. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you two.” Lucas spoke up. He then turned to Willow and nodded, knowing she was the missing girl. “Your mother is worried for you.”

Willow glared and crossed her arms at the stranger. “How do you know my mother?” She asked.

“She told us that you and your friend,” He gestured towards Peter, “were missing, and I told her I’d find you guys.” Lucas explained. Willow raised an eyebrow, which made Lucas decide that maybe he should introduce himself. “Oh, I’m Lucas, by the way. I’m the future prince of Subcon.”

Willow chuckled. “Well then future prince,” She spat. “I’m Willow, and this is Peter.” She introduced herself and her friend, who gave a small wave. “We’re currently looking for a rare flower that blooms every 100 years, for my mom.” She explained.

“Oh!” Lucas realized. “Well, do you need any help?”

Willow’s eyes widen at Lucas’s offer. “Why would the future prince and princess of Subcon want to help us?” Willow asked.

“Because we’re the future rulers and it would be nice to help our future subjects no matter what!”

Willow thought about it for a bit, and turned towards Peter. She grabbed him and pulled him away from the royal kids. “Think they should help us?” Willow asked.

Peter thought for a second, and nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt.” He said, sheepishly. Willow groaned, but seeing it be nice company, she’d agreed to it. She was ready to speak with Lucas only to see the young prince and Vanessa in a discussion as well.

“I don’t know about this, my prince.” Vanessa doubted. Even though they were her subjects, what would her mother say when she found out she went deep into Subcon Forest?

“Come on, Nessa. I know we found them and we’re supposed to bring her back, but this girl wants to help her mom.” Lucas begged. “Could we please help them?”

Vanessa wasn’t sure what to think. Does she want to help Willow and her friend go deep into Subcon Forest, and disappoint her mother? Or does she want to be seen as a good ruler who would care to help her people in need? She looked into her prince’s eyes, which sparkled like stars. Sighing, and not caring what her mother will have to say, she gave a nod.

“Guess we could help them.” Vanessa said, uncertainty.

Lucas smiled. “Great!” He exclaimed. He took Vanessa’s hand and took her to Willow and Peter who were waiting on them. “Alright, I spoke with the princess and we would love to help you guys!”

Willow crossed her arms, but her glare faded. “I guess you could help us.” Willow sighed.

“Thanks.” Lucas replied. “So, what’s this rare flower you're looking for?”

“It’s called a Latent Pansy. A purple and yellow pansy that blooms in Subcon every 100 years!” Willow explained.

Vanessa gasped. “I’ve heard of that flower! In Subcon legends, it says that whoever picks the flower will bring luck to their family for generations to come!” She explained.

“Well I want it for my mother’s flower kart. I want luck on my side so our small little kart will be a big and fancy flower shop one day.” Willow explained.

“Well then, let’s find this flower!” Lucas exclaimed.

Willow smiled and held up the stick like it was a sword, claiming herself the leader of this mission. “Alright team! Let’s go!” She shouted. The kids then followed her deeper into Subcon Forest.

It felt like hours had passed, and the four Subcon kids still haven’t found the Latent Pansy yet. Soon the sun started to set at the horizon, bathing the forest in its glow.. Peter gulped seeing how dark the forest was getting. “S-should we head back home now?” Peter whimpered.

“Don’t worry, we should be close.” Willow reassured her friend.

“How far in Subcon do these flowers even grow?” Lucas asked.

“Deep, very deep into Subcon. So deep that I’m not even allowed to go.” Vanessa explained.

Willow turned to the princess. “Well, you are the princess of Subcon, your freedom is limited to your manor.” She replied.

Vanessa stopped in her tracks and glared at Willow. “I’m not just stuck in my manor all day! I have my freedom in Subcon and beyond too.”

“So then why can’t you go deep into Subcon Forest?”

“W-Well…” Vanessa trailed off, rubbing her arm. Before Vanessa could answer, a snap of a branch caught the kid’s attention. “What was that?!” Vanessa asked. The kids huddled close together just in case the thing that snapped the branch would attack them.

A growl came from the bushes, making Peter and Vanessa cry in fear. Then from out of the bushes a small cat-like creature with a bush for a body popped out hissing at them. Peter screamed and held onto Willow’s arm tight. The latter glared and raised her stick at the creature.

“A Rough Patch!” Willow shouted.

“A what?” Lucas asked.

“Rough Patches are cat-like creatures who are very hostile in Subcon. They attack anyone that’s near their territory.” Vanessa explained.

The Rough Patch snarled making everyone step back. However, it paused when seeing Lucas, tilting its head towards him. The young prince was confused as the Rough Patch made his way toward him with no aggressive body language, while Willow, Vanessa and Peter whimpered in fear. The cat-like creature sniffed Lucas’s shoe, before nuzzling and purring on his lake.

The Subcon residents were confused why Lucas isn’t being attacked by Rough Patch, but rather the latter being sweet and snuggly towards him. The young prince kneeled down and gave the creature a pet. “Its fur is soft.” Lucas commented.

“C-Careful!” Vanessa shouted. “Rough Patches are dangerous!”

Lucas looked down at the little critter, who just softly purred on his lap. “Doesn’t look dangerous to me.” Lucas replied, continuing to give the creature some pets. After giving the Rough Patch some love, Lucas saw something from the bushes the creature came out of. He walked over to it and saw a field of purple and yellow pansies; Latent Pansies.

“Are these Latent Pansies?” Lucas asked. Willow, Peter and Vanessa went and looked over the bushes and smiled seeing the flowers blooming all over the forest floor.

Willow smiled seeing the flowers right in front of her. “Those are the Latent Pansies!” Willow exclaimed. She went through the bushes and looked at the beautiful purple and yellow flowers blooming around them. Looking to see which flower looked perfect to pick, she picked a Latent Pansy that had an equal amount of purple and yellow on its petals, as well as a perfectly balanced size.

Vanessa picked out a few Latent Pansies as well to bring home. “Okay.” Peter spoke up. “Now can we go home? Please?” He shouted. The kids looked up and saw night had just fallen over Subcon, and before one of them could say yes, they dashed out of the flower field and headed back in the direction they came from.

“Quickly, we better make it home before my mother finds-” Vanessa was cut off when she and the kids stopped in their tracks to see their parents with a mix of worry and disappointment in their face. “Us.”

“Willow! Peter!” Willow’s mother exclaimed, hugging the two of them. “Are you two okay?” She asked.

“We’re fine!” Willow replied. Even though Willow and Peter were fine, that didn’t mean Vanessa was fine as the two kids saw how scared the princess was facing her mother.

“Vanessa!” Elizabeth shouted. “What in the name of Subcon were you doing deep into the forest!? Don’t you know how dangerous it is!?”

“I-I know mother.” Vanessa stuttered. “I didn’t mean too I was only just-“ Vanessa was cut off by her mother’s shouting.

“Disobeying orders!” Elizabeth shouted. The queen felt Autumn hold her back, in hopes of calming her down.

Lucas looked at Vanessa, seeing she was about to cry due to her mother’s actions. Determined to help his future queen, he went up to the current one. “It wasn’t Vanessa’s fault.” Elizabeth and Willow’s mother turned to the young boy talking. Vanessa gasped, wondering what her prince was going to do. “It was my idea to go there. You see, Willow and Peter were looking for Latent Pansies, and I wanted to help them. Vanessa was trying to stop me because she was not allowed to go, but I made her follow with us regardless.” He explained.

Vanessa’s eyes glistened as a stray tear fell from her face. She realized he was defending her.

“So if anyone should be in trouble, it should be me.” Lucas finished.

Elizabeth was still angry her daughter disobeyed orders, but stepped back seeing Lucas explaining everything to her. “Elizabeth,” Autumn spoke up. “They are just kids. I think tonight they should be let go with a warning.”

“Plus, they weren’t hurt, your majesty.” Willow’s mother added quickly.

The queen glanced at her friend and her subject, and nodded. “Vanessa. Let’s go home.” She spoke up not giving her daughter a single glance. Vanessa nodded and followed her mother with Lucas following close behind.

Seeing how the royal family was heading home, Willow’s mother took her daughter and Peter’s hand and took them home too. “Come on let’s get you two to bed.” She said.

“Okay mom.” Willow replied.

#ahit fanfic #Secret in the Treehouse #ahit the painter #ahit moonjumper #ahit the florist #queen vanessa #ahit the prince #ahit queen elizabeth #ahit queen vanessa's mother

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peeterparkr · 5 years ago

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clear|20|t.h.

CHAPTER 20: ECLIPSE.

pairing: surfer!tom x reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: angst, cancer mention, swearing, chemotherapy.

summary: The summer ends.

series masterlist playlist (updated!) previous chapter epliogue

what did you think?

Hello! This is the Last Chapter of Clear, thanks for everyone who’s stuck around through this mess, thank you so much for your support. Love you guys, I loved writing this and while there’s still an epilogue on its way, I am sad this ended but... I’m glad there are people who liked this story as much as I loved writing it. I listened to Harry Styles’ new album while writing this. And you should too. Or listen to the playlist.

That was not the last time Tom had ended up in the hospital. As the summer came to an end, there were more and more nights when Y/N would be in the waiting room along with his brothers and parents.

Other times Y/N would go to the beach and facetime him so they could watch the sunset together. Still, they tried to see summer differently. Like a summer chickflick. Ice cream, sunny days, and sitting on the swing outside the cottage. Y/N had begun painting her grandfather, her grandmother.

Suns and Moons.

Her grandparents' house was now painted with a beautiful story, with a sea, which began with shells, and followed with waves and riptide, and then followed with storms, and Ferris wheels, ice cream, suns, moons, surfboards and lighthouses. It was a masterpiece, no doubt. A story worth telling.

Y/N had organized a surprise, a surfing competition between them, simply because Tom had not been able to participate. Due to her grandfather's incident, they had to return back and y/n was always blaming herself for him losing his chance. It was a game between them, clearly, Tom won.

“When will you go to London?” She asked Tom, while they were in the Blue Valley, he was lying on the sand while she painted shells, of different colours.

"I need to save money, maybe in a year," Tom confessed.

Y/N fell silent. She didn't want to say much. One year.

"What?"

Tom sighed. “I thought I mentioned it.”

“But… You said…”

“Yes, I will go to London,” said Tom. "But it's expensive ..."

Y/N sighed. "And what if ... I could sell my grandfather's car, it would help you-"

"I don't want to be anyone's charity."

"It's not charity," Y/N said. "I love you and-"

"I don't want you to, Y/N," Tom said. "Really, I can wait."

"Your cancer can’t."

They had been counted, the times Y/N had used the word with c. But that was the time it hurt the most. Tom supposed she was right. But there wasn't much he could do.

"Well, maybe not a year, but ... You know, I still have to fix things."

"Well, fix them. Time does not wait, time does not forgive."

And she was right. Time simply follows. The tide was not going to go down. Tom had to make a decision. And it was still not clear what it should take.

There are no people who are meant to be. There are no soulmates, as some like to call them. Love does not come from someone who is tailor-made for someone. No, love, it's a decision. And it is choosing to continue taking it. But sometimes the decision that has to be made involves letting go.

They were both watching a sunset, letting the waves wet their legs, sitting on that surfboard that Y/N had painted. Both feared for the end. Because well, everything comes to an end.

Summer was over, his love was not, but they had to make decisions. Decisions that would probably make that wave that looked far away, terrifying for Y/N and challenging for Tom, become somewhat minimal. It was such a tiny wave compared to the decision they would have to make.

It is not easy to say goodbye. Less when two people love each other.

But they had already learned lessons, the tide had brought to the shore ways to heal them both. Heal them of diseases. Make a smile again after a dark moment. They found themselves in each other's eyes.

And it came down to something simple, to a story that Y/N would have loved to see in a romantic movie. Making it simply as simple and superficial. A surfer falling in love with a painter. A popular boy falling in love with a quiet girl. A girl who was born again, and a boy who lived again. A boy who turned all gold and a girl who turned all blue. A girl who was the moon and a boy who was the sun.

Simple. Beautiful. Colourful.

There are times when you can not stand with the different options and alternatives that life gives you. It is easy to accept that there is a risk that is actually based on non-existent probabilities.

But they had already decided. Tom had decided it, at least. They would have to break up. Tom had taken it for granted, for her, for him. Because he didn't know what the future would hold.

It was healthy. For now. Because while they had found each other in their eyes, they needed to know who they were after being reborn. Who they were after seeing that the sea had decanted the salt that was leftover. Heal wounds. They needed to be alone, no matter how much it hurt.

Besides, Tom wouldn't go to London. Not so soon, however. He had to get prepared for the chemos and had to take more therapy sessions. But they would see each other. Tom thought, at least.

It was not a pretty conversation. Not at first, at least.

"I need you to live," Tom told her. "Y/N, listen, listen."

"You promised not to get rid of me," Y/N said, raising her voice. "No ... No."

"It's temporary."

"And what do you know?" Y/N finally shouted. “You can't… You can't just say goodbye to someone you love when you still have time.”

“I am doing it for you.”

“For me?” She laughed. "Tom, you said it yourself, time ... All this."

Tom took his hands. "It's temporary, easy, easy y/n, we'll ... we'll see what happens in London."

"But, Tom what if ..."

"You're being very negative, Y/N," Tom continued.

She sighed. "That’s who I am, okay?" She laughed softly, mocking herself. "I always turn everything blue, remember?"

"But you also see the positive side, yes, I love you, but this ... This is ... For both of us you ... were reborn y/n and I still need to know who I am. I barely know it anymore, and I need to figure it out. Alone. ”

He kissed him, an innocent kiss.

"I will never stop loving you," Y/N told him.

"Until my last breath." Tom had hugged her. But she had screamed again, and it didn't end well.

They had been, for the last days, both fighting for their decision. Y/N said they had to be together. Tom begged her to find out who she was.

“It's just… Tom, no… I don't understand why it has to end like this, we should be like any movie, you know? Any love story. ”

“We are not a book, we are not a story, Y/N, you said it, ”Tom reminded her. “I need… I need to know that I will be fine.”

“You will be,” said Y/N. "And although ..."

"We both know that there is a possibility that I won’t be, everything looks blurry, Y/N, I can't commit to this," Tom explained. "I want you to ... Be happy."

"But I'm happy with you," she said.

"And I am happy with you, but I need you to get ahead, okay?" Tom asked.

"But how?" She frowned. “Please, do… Do something, so then I can hate you and even forget you.”

“What?”

“If you're going to break up with me at least make me hate you, it will be easier to know that it's over for something ugly rather than knowing we still love each other. ”

“No, because we love each other...Exactly because of that, I don't want to say goodbye with tears and reproaches, ”Tom asked. “You just have to let us go.”

“No, Tom… You can't build… It's like… It will erase a whole summer,” she explained.

"No, no," Tom said. "Do you remember everything you painted?" He asked.

“Tom, Tom, please,” she rolled her eyes, “not the time.”

“Our story will remain there, on those paintings,” I continued.

"What a stupid thing to say," she frowned, laughing.

Tom was thrown back. “What?”

“All of this summer, for nothing? And you try to come up with a wise romantic thing so I simply forget you're breaking up with me? ”

Tom closed his eyes. "Y/N."

"It is stupid," she continued. “Sorry, sorry. It's all so blurry right now. ”

“Exactly, maybe this will make things finally… clear. ”

And that had been his goodbye. So Y/N had returned to her old apartment in London, she would continue studying and painting. Tom kept surfing. Because sometimes love is about letting go. Sometimes love is simply knowing that you have to move on.

They stopped talking. She was finding herself in London, with her life back in her sights. To Tom's bad luck, Y/N had started to hang out with Marcus Jones.

Nothing important, but Tom knew that this could be good, in the future, at least. Tom knew who Marcus Jones was for Y/N. Marcus Jones had been what had kept Y/N a little distracted. Tom thought they had started dating.

He did not ask her about it, he did not talk to her.

How do you continue life after having lived a summer with such enthusiasm? The worst part about pain is that when you think it finally ends, it comes back stronger. To test your resilience, which sometimes isn't enough.

After months, Tom had gone to London. Around Christmas time. Talk about a Miracle.

Something that nobody says about chemos is how they take your life by putting your death on an extension. 5 years. 5 years that were nothing more than a promise without foundation. Chemotherapies that were just a way to delay the inevitable. They did not promise to eradicate it, and they did not promise that he would last the whole 5 years.

Tom was listening to those words. He was in London and his mother was holding his hand. The doctor was explaining the whole procedure and Tom really didn't want to pay attention. A lot of blablabla about how there could be side effects and how they didn't make promises, how this could weaken him and how he would go once a week. The cares he had to maintain and how he was going to lose a bit of his essence.

Tom knew that. Tom was perfectly sure that despite being alive, he would not have a... life.

But there was a motivation, Y/N. Y/N was in London. And at first, he had hesitated to call her, but eventually ... He called Joanne.

And the response was quick, they would see each other in a cafe.

How different everything was. The sea breeze was no longer felt, and both were in big coats and with their cheeks pink from the cold. And yet, seeing her, Tom remembered July, with the heat and the tide and the waves and the fires. Tom saw Joanne and remembered Y/N. With his sleepless nights and painting and discussions ending in kisses. Y/N was fine, he knew.

Tom ... Tom would be fine. Eventually.

He saw her and they hugged each other like old friends, as if they had gone to study elsewhere and simply gathered to know what was going to happen through life.

And they started to catch up, telling about their adventures. She would often visit the town, near Croyde, stayed at her grandfather's house and dated Haz, but Tom usually avoided seeing her, it was hard to know that he had let Y/N go, with a silly excuse. And he felt again as if it were summer, as if it were an afternoon in July with Y/N's embrace listening to Joanne’s stories.

Tom explained, how it would be, his cycles would last 6 weeks. He would be there for a while. He told her he would have breaks and told her he’d probably go surf in those breaks, although he knew he wouldn’t have the strength, but he didn’t tell her that, only the good things. He didn't tell Joanne about the side effects or the bad times that would happen, he didn't say it was basically postponing his death, nor did he tell her it wasn't safe. He told her that after 5 years, he would be cancer-free.

He asked for Y/N. Because he knew that being with her would make everything clearer.

"She's studying, she's doing a speciality... And in the afternoons she studies arts," she explained. "I thought you would call her."

"I will ..." Tom replied. "Eventually."

She looked at him.

"She still loves you, you know?" Joanne told him.

Tom cleared his throat. "And I love her."

"I never understood ... What happened."

Tom sighed. “I think we were both in murky waters, in the end, her greatest fear was true. We were swimming in riptide. ”

“She used the word storm, ”Joanne said.

Tom laughed. "She always said that I was one."

"Are you?"

Tom laughed. "I didn't plan it to be this bittersweet."

Joanne shook her head. "You don't always have a happy ending."

"We wouldn't have had it anyway," Tom said sadly.

"What about the 5 years of treatment?" Joanne asked.

Tom shrugged. "Nothing sure."

"Then?" Joanne asked. “Why the hell are you not going and looking for her? Have a fucking happy ending! Live what you have left together! ”

Tom sighed. “Yes, I suppose, yes. But what about Marcus? I know she is seeing him. ”

“ They work together, I don't know if they date, I just know that whenever I go to Croyde, she asks me about you, I can't tell her much because, well, I don't see you much, I also didn't know that you were in London. ”

“ And why doesn't she call me? ”

“I guess because you asked her not to. ”Joanne crossed her arms.

"Well, I ..." Tom sighed. “Will you tell her?”

“I don't know, Y/N has changed.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes, perfectly, she keeps painting and… She's happy,” Joanne admitted. “She brought the blue Jeep, she wants to open her gallery.”

“See? That is her happy ending, she has ... to live, take a brush and paint it all blue. ”

Joanne looked at him. "You know, I think I owe you a favour," she reminded him.

"I thought we had already settled it," Tom denied. "I mean, I owed you one and now ..."

"I don't know," Joanne chuckled. “I could tell her to come now, you know? Tell her I want to see her in this cafe ... "

"I think it's not time yet. "Tom sighed. “I wanna… Heal, you know? I want to be sure that medicine will work. ”

“ And if it doesn't? ”Joanne asked, a little more directly than Tom wanted.

Tom crossed his arms. "Well thanks for your good will and vibes."

Joanne closed her eyes. “Sorry, sorry… I just can't stand to know that… You are apart, you know? I see a whole summer and it seems that everything went to hell in a second, please, you are Y/N and Tom! You have to go find her in the rain while she is crying in a car. ”

Tom sighed. "Yes, yes, problem is, London is too big, and I can't really afford the luxury to stand out, shaking in the rain anymore."

Joanne looked at him sadly. "Sorry ... Yes, you're right."

"I owe you, though," Tom admitted. “For bringing her into my life.”

"Really?" Joanne asked. "Huh, and all because I wanted to go out with Harrison."

Tom laughed after coughing. "Yes, thanks to those blue eyes."

"And that blond hair," Joanne said.

Tom looked down. "You ... your sister ever mentioned some of my hair?"

"Why would I do it?" Joanne asked.

"I don't know ... I don't know," Tom cleared his throat. "Well, I hope you didn't like it for that."

Joanne avoided her gaze, knowingly. “Oh, no, she… she liked you for you.”

“I'm… debating,” admitted Tom. "There's these ... Cold caps," Tom bit his lip. “To minimize hair loss.”

“Right,” Joanne sighed. “And do you want to wear them?”

“Dunno, they said it can be really painful but, well, I won't be the prince charming with amazing hair but…”

“And you need it?” Joanne pushed.

"My hair?" Tom laughed. "I ... I guess?"

"For what?"

"I dunno, my happily ever after," Tom joked. “There's never been a bald prince.”

“And there never really was a prince with cancer and a princess with anxiety,” Joanne spoke, clearly. Tom wasn't sure if her wording was what I needed to hear, he had started to refer to it as' the c-word '. "And yet."

"And yet," Tom admitted. "I ..."

Joanne smiled. "You know, a lot of things happen after a conventional Happily Ever After, life is more than that," she said.

"It doesn't always work out," Tom nodded.

"It's because it's not the end," Joanne told him. "Not really."

And it wasn't. And it was impossible. And neither of them had called the other, because they still had to meet. Tom was far from doing it, but he was in London and going to the places where he would believe Y/N would be found. She was never there

How easy it was to live in the fantasy of his summer, and how difficult it was now to be in that cold London.

Real life was not like that romantic comedy they had lived in. Less now in rainy London. Tom was going to the chemos and little by little the light he had found in the summer was fading. His hair fell and his dark circles grew, his skin paled.

An effect of chemotherapy, Tom said, was to look like a zombie. Besides, he saw others around him, fading away, but with hope.

Nikki and Tom lived in an old apartment they had rented, Nikki hadn't told him to whom it belonged. His brothers also went to see him, they took turns. Sometimes everyone came. Paddy liked to spend time with Tom, alone.

Jared went to visit him one day. It was like talking with an old friend, for the first time Tom didn't see him with such contempt and Jared seemed genuinely worried.

Haz would go visit him several times too. Even Joanne appeared from time to time, but not Y/N.

Tom was returning to London and at each visit, he intended to speak to her, he never did. And he didn't understand why she didn't look for him either.

On one of his many visits to the hospital, he had a recurrence. His mother told him that several of his friends had come to visit him while he was unconscious. He would have sworn he had seen Y/N beside his bed at the hospital.

Tom was an idiot. He had to call her. Who does not speak to who is possibly the love of his life? Tom was in a crisis. Because everything was still blurry. And he didn't have any strength. Another side effect. See yourself becoming what you did not want to be.

But it was for a good thing, right?

It's stressful, isn't it? Knowing that he lived something extraordinary and that he was now someone who no longer radiated light. He had no colors. Tom did not speak. He did not sing and when he returned, he did not want to surf.

Days after relapse around summer, Lex had gone to visit him in London.

"Do you remember when we came a few years ago?" She asked.

Tom just nodded.

"I want that, Tom," Lex admitted. "That light you had, all golden, no ..."

Tom looked at her.

"I don't mean with me, I know you wouldn't be happy," said Lex. "But yes ... I do want you to be."

"Be what?"

"Happy."

And that week ... that same week was his birthday. He could go home and have a party, pretending everything was fine. Another summer pretending.

On one of those days when Tom just felt cold, even though summer had come again, because it does get harder, he was staring at the ceiling of that old apartment they lived in. It was his birthday, His mother was not there, he had gone to God knows where, he supposed to buy him a cake. His mother did that, he supposed, to forget all this. It was raining, as always. London always seemed to adorn his sad days with rain. Tom was fed up, he had become someone he didn't want to be with, and what else could he do? He was always alone with his thoughts.

He heard how they knocked on the door. Tom sighed and eagerly approached.

"Who's there?"

"Someone who's interested in some surfing puns," a warm voice called from the door.

Tom opened it quickly and saw her, with a full bag, and a shy smile. She had certain raindrops around.

"Y/N," he murmured.

"Is it ... a good time?" She asked. He let her in while she hugged the bag. "I came to ... I came ... Well, I, I know you wanted time, but ... Your mother called me and then," she smiled delicately, while she looked at him sadly.

"I ..."

"No, no, I know," she looked at him. His hair had fallen, his eyes were dark and his skin paled. "I ... brought you this," he said as Tom sat down. She handed the bag over and he looked at it, shells. “They're yours.”

“What?” He stared at her hands, full of paint. It was a weird parody of his own hands, full of bruises.

“They're the ones you gave me at the beginning of the summer, last year,” she reminded him.

"Oh, they were a gift," Tom chuckled. “They're yours…”

“No, no, look at them, see? I painted them, ”she told him as she took one out, showing him the colours.

He smiled. "Thank you." And for the first time, he had smiled in a long time, genuinely. And the colour on his cheeks had returned.

"Happy birthday," she told him, with a small smile.

And Tom was struggling not to throw himself into her arms. But he only replied with a simple, "Thanks."

She looked at him. "Hey, hey, I .." She cleared her throat. “I came here because I wanted to take you out.”

“Out.”

“I enjoy your company, I've missed you, and really, you're such a mess, you need some sun,” she said, quoting the exact words Tom had used the summer before. He smiled.

"Really, Y/N?" He asked her.

"Really, let's go have an anti-date in London, my style this time, alright?" She grinned. “I want to show you my secret place in London, and… who knows?”

“I… I can't really…” Tom coughed.

“Tom, c'mon.”

“Fine.”

And he put on a jacket. He didn't know very well how to act in front of someone he had already seen the stars with. How were they supposed to go from being someone who loved to two strangers?

But, the moment they got into the blue jeep, everything was forgotten, they talked like they did in the summer and although Tom sometimes had to take time to breathe, he was still the same. And Tom felt how she, with her words, was painting on him again, but she didn't paint a storm this time, she painted a clear blue sky. Y/N had changed, she looked free, happy.

"So, your ... secret place?" Tom asked as soon as they arrived at an old place, it was an old building, winged from an old coffee shop and a clothing store.

"Yep."

"Are you kidnapping me?" Tom asked.

"I should, honestly, that's how I'd make sure you're not leaving me this time," Y/N joked.

Tom laughed. "I ..."

"No, no, I don't want to hear it, it's a new summer now, okay?" She told him.

He walked inside and looked at him, there really wasn't much, it was a single room, white with some drawings of Y/N hanging here and there. There was a table in the centre and two chairs. The place was a bit disastrous, there were canvases, some painted, some blank, paint on the floor, easels around the place. Y/N lit some candles.

“And what’s this place?”

“My gallery,” confessed Y/N. "Well, it will be one day, it’s my studio… Gallery, my..Everything, my room is upstairs."

Tom smiled. "I see you did well."

“This old place?” She laughed. Y/N smiled sadly, shrugging. "No ... not exactly, I missed you, I still do," she confessed.

Tom approached her, cupping her cheeks “Missed you too.”

“But I understand, you know? I think it was good to clear my life, sort it out. ”She walked around the place. "Well, everything is better."

Tom looked at her. Things had cleared up for him too, he needed Y/N's light.

He approached one of the drawings. A lighthouse.

“They clear the path,” she said as she watched him look at her drawing. “For the lost ones.”

“Always romantic,” Tom chuckled.

"Me? May I remind you who climbed a bloody Ferris wheel in the carnival? ”She laughed.

Tom sighed, he wouldn't be able to pull any stunt like that anymore. Tom walked over to the chair, and sat down, to catch his breath.

“I was madly in love with you,” he reminded her.

“You're using past tense I see,” she looked down. “I still… well, I still love you, Tom.”

He didn't answer.

“That's the worst thing you've heard, isn't it? That's possibly the worst thing I could've said, ”she closed her eyes, and sat across him. “If something goes wrong here and I have to sell out the place… because it'll be yet another thing that reminds me of you—“

“What?”

“Oh, it's going to sound stupid and cliché, but… I've had to hide everything that reminded me of you, ”he said. "That's why ... I haven't gone to town, nor ... I don't know, if something goes wrong here, I'll have to sell it because it will be another reminder of our 'what if."

"Pretty stupid of us to break up," Tom murmured.

She laughed, throwing her head back. “You were the one who suggested it… No, let me rephrase that, you were the one who broke up with me.”

“I was… I am very stupid,” he admitted.

"Ah, so for that you use present tense," she looked down, whispering to herself.

Tom closed his eyes. “I didn't-”

“No, hey, it's alright,” she dedicated him a smile, “I assume it's been hard.”

And Tom didn't know why he didn't want to admit that he still loved her. He guessed it was the face she had made when she first saw him, scared, or disappointed. Or a combination of both, because he guessed she didn't expect to see him so destroyed, and he guessed that he wasn't the guy whom she had fallen in love with. And things would only get worse from there.

Tom avoided her gaze. “You assume or you know?”

“Both, I guess, I can tell,” she agreed as she looked at his hand. "You're not being your particular way of being annoying."

Tom laughed. “I'm sorry, now, I'm a different kind of annoying.”

“Very annoying, Tommy.”

He cleared his throat. "Well, and ... How are you doing with Ken?"

"Ken?"

"Marcus, sorry, he’s so perfect."

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not dating him.”

“Huh, alright.”

“Not right now, at least,” she admitted.

"Oh."

"Went out for a few dates," she continued. “Really boring, you know.”

Tom cleared his throat. "Right."

"Have you ... seen anyone?"

Tom scoffed. “I don't exactly think I'm datable right now.”

She watched him. "You never were," she teased. “You were a walking cliché only willing to break my heart,” she reminded him. "Yet."

Tom smiled. “No, but…”

“You're still a work of art, Tommy.” And she meant it. They looked into each others eyes but before he could say anything, she looked away. “So… Uh, this is an anti-date, remember? I… ordered some burgers. ”

Tom smiled, slightly.

“So, what's it gonna be this summer?” She asked him. “Another hoax? Friendship? What cliché- ”

“ Y/N. ”

She chuckled. "C'mon, I'm just trynna ..."

Tom smiled. “I know.” He looked around. “So how did you buy this place?”

She cleared her throat. "Sold the Aston Martin."

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Well, it's… kind of pawned,” she admitted. “I… sold it to Jared and he promised to sell it back, eventually.”

Tom smiled. "Oh, alright," He looked down. “So, your gallery, huh? When are you going to…”

“Open it? ”She laughed. “I would love to know, too, I only have a few… Paintings but I haven't… Really.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Well, I told you, I've had to hide everything that reminded me of you and well… The paintings I had--” She cleared her throat. “Well, they kind of all revolve around last summer.”

He stood up and scooted his chair beside her.

"Everything comes back to last summer," he admitted.

She looked at him. “You know, I'm not asking for much,” she started. “I just… I don't need you to say you love me back,” she said. “I just… Let me love you, you know?”

Tom reached out for her hand and intertwined their fingers.

"Love," He whispered.

She closed her eyes. "No, no, don't you call me love if ... If ..." She gulped. “I ... Look, I just want to love you, alright? Let me be around but if you're not going to ... To let me in, don't- ”

And he kissed her. Because he had missed her lips this whole year, and he knew that he needed her to be around. Because one love shouldn't last only a summer. A love like theirs should last a lifetime. And though he didn't have any strength left he managed to mould their lips together, creating a sunset. And it tasted just like the end of June, and he didn't want to stop.

"I love you, too," he whispered against her lips.

She sighed and smiled, resting her forehead against his. “That's the worst prelude to a kiss I've ever had.”

He laughed. “Why?”

“Really? You're asking why? Thomas! ”She rolled her eyes. “I thought you didn't — you didn't like me anymore.”

“I never liked you,” he joked. "I just loved you."

She pushed him away, jokingly. “You are such a complicated mess.”

He leaned against the table. “I've become more of a mess while we were apart.”

“I've been around,” she confessed. “I haven't exactly been… absent.” Tom knew that. “Sometimes I was with your mom, I went and talked to her in the hospital, I wanted… I wanted to know that you were fine.”

Tom kept listening to her.

"And last week..." she closed her eyes. “Sorry to do this about me, but I went to see you because… because we all believed we would lose you, and I thought… what would I do without you? I couldn't be away any longer. ”

“ I've been drowning without you, Y/N, ”Tom said. “I've been… feeling blue.”

“That's my thing, silly,” she chuckled but kissed him again. “I'm here to save you, now.”

“But now I feel calm,” he continued.

Tom hugged her.

“Soon you'll get better, Tom. You're healing. ”

Tom smiled. Although he didn't know if it was true, he believed her. And maybe it was a way to fool himself, like last summer, play pretend. He took her in his arms and walked to the centre of the room. And so without music, they started dancing. There were many reasons why Tom shouldn't have gone, but he decided to dance with her. Because they had run out of things they could say, and Tom fell again to her.

She gently began to whisper the lyrics of that song they both loved, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. They merged together, and their shadow did not let the incandescent candlelight see the street from the small window.

The blue moon and the golden sun had come together to form an eclipse. And it was beautiful, and although it was dark, they glowed.

They were the necessary antidote to make everything stop being blurry. And at that moment, Tom didn't feel it was just medicine.

And it was a decision. Because that's love, deciding to be together, in addition, Tom had made a promise that he would love her until her last breath. And he wouldn't break it. Because despite having little hope, there was a little light. It was like a lighthouse in the distance. And they would be together, because one summer is not enough. Because whenever they were together, no matter how dark, how agitated the sea was or how dense the storm was, everything became… clear.

Even if time ran out.

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