#an excuse to draw them in fancy fits

[maskofnova]

You weren't invited to this party but theyre gonna do a cool pose at you anyway until you leave the room.

[belletroxa]

i think that it's a canon event for neurodivergent art theater kids that hyperfixate in pwaa to draw something involving both legally blonde and ace attorney, and now it is MY TURN TO SHINE!

[ravenfeet222]

Just went out to buy my first suit today :)) gender feeling very affirmed

[drabblesandsnippets]

Breathe

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “Really? Here?!” | [Someone Else’s House | Public Bathroom | Mile High Club] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) During a wedding reception, Bucky and his fiancée sneak off to have some fun.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Established relationship. Fluff. Wedding talk? Vague alluding to Bucky’s trauma/past. Bucky’s a switch? Pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart). Oral (both receiving)/swallowing. Fingering.

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Bucky always looks good to her - whether he’s in jeans and a henley or nothing at all - but there’s something about seeing him dressed to the nines. The fitted tux, the styled hair, the neatly trimmed beard. She rarely gets to see him dressed up like this and she can’t keep her eyes off him, watching him from the across the room while he talks to their friends.

She’s still not entirely sure why they got roped into making an appearance at this wedding reception - none of them know the couple - but she’s not exactly questioning it at this specific moment, no matter how uncomfortable she feels in such a formal setting.

And while Bucky might feel just as out of place here as she does, it’s making her think about their own upcoming wedding. Their plans don’t include anything nearly as fancy as this black-tie event, but as she watches him readjust his cuffs, she’s starting to reconsider. 

She can’t help imagining all the things she’s going to let this man to do her on their wedding night and her inappropriate thoughts only intensify as her eyes drift from Bucky’s fingers to his mouth, watching him take a sip of his drink. Then the tip of his tongue licks the remaining drop of liquid off his lips and she’s flooded by images of their morning shower, heat immediately pooling between her thighs, making her wish it was time to go.

It’s been like this the past few weeks since Bucky proposed - even before that really, but they’ve been insatiable lately. Unable to keep their hands off each other, finding every excuse to cancel plans and stay home. It’s where they should be tonight, but they couldn’t get out of this. 

Just as a flush creeps up her chest, Bucky meets her gaze, the grin on his face making her feel like she can read her mind. With a quick glance at their friends, he takes his leave, his eyes not leaving hers again as makes his way back to their table, the look on his face not making it easy for her to think pure thoughts. 

They’ve only been apart for a couple minutes, but Bucky never needs an excuse to return to her, the magnetic pull to be as close to her as possible constantly driving him. And, as much as he wants to take her home right now, he can’t deny how much he’s enjoyed getting to show her off tonight. 

She may not feel like it, but she belongs here, the numerous eyes on her throughout the evening proving she fits right in. Her satin gown showing off her endless curves, the fabric dipping low enough to show just a hint of cleavage. 

The angle at which Bucky approaches the table gives him more than just a hint though, her seated position causing her breasts to almost spill out of her dress, immediately drawing his attention. And then she smiles that smile at him. The one that reminds him how lucky he is. 

Since the moment he met her, she’s brought nothing but sunshine and beauty to his life. Even during times like this - when he’s so out of his element, having to pretend to celebrate the nuptials of two people he doesn’t care about - she makes it all bearable.

His tux might feel too restricting, the bow tie secured around his neck making him feel like he can’t draw a deep breath, but it’s okay as long as he’s with her. As long as he can continue to look at her, feel her, breathe her in, he’s sure he can make it through the evening.

Bucky ignores the urge to reach up to pull at what essentially feels like a leash around his neck, and keeps his focus on his beautiful fiancee, once again overcome with the familiar need to be as close to her as possible. With his flirtatious smile growing, he sets his glass down on the table and offers out his hand to ask her, “May I have this dance?”

She’s never been much for dancing, but she can never resist Bucky, especially when he’s like this. Tonight’s been hard for him, but he still goes out of his way to be romantic, to try to make the evening about them, wanting her to feel like she belongs here. 

They’ve barely stepped foot on the dance floor before they’re in each others arms, both of them visibly relaxing the moment their bodies are touching. They allow themselves to get lost in the intimate moment, ignoring any responsibility they feel to socialize with the guests. They’d much rather socialize with each other anyway. 

After a tender kiss to her forehead, Bucky murmurs, “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” She didn’t have to come and he’s planning to show her how grateful he is when they get home tonight.

Her eyelashes flutter as she soaks in his affection and she gives him a warm smile, blaming the romantic atmosphere for her sappy reply of, “I’m always happy to be your plus one.”

The sound of his soft laughter makes her heart skip a beat, and her own laughter joins his when he tells her, “Your signing up for forever sweetheart, I’m going to hold you to that.”

“You should,” she grins, giving him a soft kiss, pulling away before he can deepen it. With a deliberate wiggle of her left ring finger, she continues, “There’s no getting rid of me now.”

The playfulness of Bucky’s smile fades slightly and his eyes darken, the look on his face causing her breath to quicken. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He closes the distance this time, his hand moving to the back of her neck to keep her against him as he kisses her, his tongue seeking entrance to taste her.

Despite being surrounded by hundreds of guests, most of which they don’t know, she has no desire to pull away and she grants him access, her lips parting at the first touch of his tongue He has a way of making her feel like they’re the only two people that exist, and soon she doesn’t care about anything except the feel of him against her, her skin growing warmer as Bucky’s hand slides lower, ghosting over the curve of her ass.

He’s too aware of their surroundings though, and as much as he’s enjoying showing his gorgeous fiancée off, he wants nothing more than to take her home and do unspeakable things to her. The thought has him kissing a trail along her jaw to whisper in her ear, “Surely it’s almost time to go.”

With her hands holding onto his shoulders, she gives him a reluctant shake of her head and lets out a slow breath, “We still have an hour.” They can’t leave until the newlyweds do - Bucky and a few of the other Avengers having agreed to be here to send the couple off in flourish with the other guests.

It’s like a bucket of water is thrown on him, his happy thoughts of their future fading into the frustrating memory that they’re here on business. That somehow the new couple’s donation to the city gained them a right to him.

He didn’t have to do this, but he had no reason to say no, and everyone else had already agreed, given how generous the couple will continue to be to numerous charities. All it’s costing Bucky is his time. And a little bit of his sanity.

The suffocating feeling starts to return and his right hand moves off her hip to fidget with his bow tie, a soft grimace appearing on his face as if it’s physically hurting him. There’s a reason he avoids wearing ties, and the fact that it wasn’t optional tonight makes it even worse.

“Baby,” she says softly, interrupting his thoughts with a gentle touch of her hand to stop him from making the tie any more crooked than it already is. He meets her eyes and just a simple look communicates so much, a reminder of her how hard tonight has been for him. She whispers her own reminder to him, gently telling him, “breathe,” as she adjusts the bow.

Bucky knows she means well, and admittedly, just her presence makes it easier for him to simply exist, but he’s not sure he’s going to make it another hour. “Kinda hard to do that with this damn thing around my neck,” he tells her with a slight shake of his head, but his tone remains gentle, a hint of vulnerability seeping out.

There’s no point in suggesting they cut out early - Bucky’s a man of his word and will stay until the end - so instead, with a slight tilt of her head, she offers, “Why don’t we take a walk?” They can kill some time before he needs to join everyone else for their last interaction of the night.  “I’m sure you already know the layout of this place.” 

Bucky laughs softly, appreciating her attempt to keep things light, and nods his head. “Course I do. You think I’m gonna take my woman somewhere without knowing all the exits and places to hide?” There’s not a single part of this manor that’s not etched into his mind. 

With just a bit of encouragement from her to use that to his advantage, he takes her hand in his and leads her away from the dancefloor, ignoring the curious looks from their friends. Bucky could be leading her anywhere, and she’d blindly follow, her trust in him unyielding. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel deserving of it, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he does. 

It doesn’t take him long to find their destination, Bucky leading her down a deserted hallway, passing just a couple of doors before he locates the one he’s looking for. As expected, the room is unlocked and the moment they’re in the unused dressing suite, his hand immediately reaches for his bow tie, not even giving her a chance to offer to help him.

After closing and locking the door behind them, she turns around to find him pulling at the offending silk around his collar, his growl of frustration meeting her ears as he inevitably makes the knot tighter. With a gentle touch of her hand, she stills his movements, and softly tells him, “Let me.”

He gives her an appreciative smile and uses the opportunity to touch her again, his hands seeking out her warmth through her dress. He feels compelled to minimize this, or offer up an explanation, but words aren’t needed here. She understands his aversion to ties - his aversion to anything that feels like a restraint. 

Well, other than the occasional moments Bucky allows her to be in control of his body. He never thought it’d be something he’d enjoy, but he’s been seeking out more of those moments with her lately. Damn, he needs to get her home.

With just a gentle pull of the ends of his bow tie, the first knot is released and Bucky gives her a smile that never fails to make her weak in the knees. The corner of her mouth ticks up into a grin of her own, her gaze drifting from his eyes, to his mouth, then back down to the bow-tie to finish helping him.

After hooking her finger underneath the remaining knot a quick tug leaves Bucky feeling like he can finally draw a deep breath again. He still can’t help but reach up to undo the top two buttons of his shirt, not missing how the quick work of his fingers makes her thoughts obviously stray to the same place his keeps drifting to.

He can’t help but lean close, a knowing grin on his face, as he asks, “Whatcha thinkin’ about, doll?” 

Even with her skin flushing, she has no problem admitting exactly what’s going through her mind right now. Her body presses closer to his, her fingers holding onto the lapels of his tux, and she tells him, “How good your fingers felt inside me this morning.”

Her admission is expected, but it still makes him groan and he pulls her into a kiss, his hand moving to her throat, his possessive touch never failing to make her heart flutter. The feel of her pulse against his fingers has him deepening the kiss, the taste of her not helping to lessen Bucky’s desire for her, nor is it helping him catch his breath.

His need for her outweighs any silly need for air in his lungs though, and for a moment, he refuses to pull away, even as he has to resist the urge to take this further. To undress her and touch her everywhere, to listen to her moan for him. Despite the thought of wanting her naked here, in this ridiculously expensive, lavish room, he tells himself they shouldn’t.

She’s having similar thoughts, but she definitely thinks they should. In fact, she thinks it’s a great way to spend the next few minutes. She wants nothing more than to help Bucky get his mind off of everything that’s been bothering him tonight.

The breathless moan she makes when she pulls away has him immediately reconsidering, but his old-fashioned sensibilities are telling him he can’t let her do this. That he should wait until they’re in the safety of their own home. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice giving away how much it pains him to remind her, “the party.” 

“We have time,” she whispers back, her lashes fluttering at the tender caress of his thumb across her throat. “I just want to make you feel good.” 

Her warm breath against his lips, the promise of more, makes him dizzy with need, but he’s still struggling to shed this last bit of hesitation. He’s not worried about anyone interrupting them, he just needs to be sure she’s truly okay with this. Because as adventurous as their sex life is, this is still a first for them.

She can sense his hesitation, and she doesn’t want to push him if this isn’t something he wants, but she can practically hear the thoughts running through his mind, and she knows how to quiet them. With a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, she asks him, “It’s hot to imagine, isn’t it? Me on my knees for you right here, with hundreds of people just down the hall.”

Bucky’s breath catches at her words, his body ablaze with desire, but he quickly lets out a laugh as she reminds him again to breathe. He loves these moments with her, how intense and passionate they can get while never losing their ability to have fun with each other. It has all his reservations quickly leaving him, his body welcoming her hand moving between them to seek out his erection.

Since doing his best to shed his past of the Winter Soldier, Bucky’s become more comfortable with letting her take charge, and right now the need for her to take charge is overwhelming. All he can think about as she quickly unbuttons his pants is how she’s never steered him wrong, and with just a few steps backwards, she’s guiding him to sit on one of the oversized armchairs.

A slight lift of his hips has her working his pants down far enough to pull his cock free and she eagerly wraps her hand around him, settling between his spread thighs ready to worship him. As much she wants to take her time, this moment doesn’t allow for it, and she doesn’t want to give him a second to rethink his decision to allow her to take care of him. 

There’s no going back now. Bucky can’t imagine being anywhere else, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s so breathtaking. Even when she brings her fingers to her mouth to gather saliva, all he can think about is how much she belongs here, surrounded by luxury and elegance. The sudden promising image of her on their wedding day has his cock twitching in her hand and it takes everything in him to keep his hands where they are, gripping the arms of the chair.

He wants to touch her, run his fingers through her hair, but she spent so long getting ready, just to keep him company tonight, and he refuses to risk messing up her hair or makeup. He continues watching her, letting her set the pace as she finally takes him into her mouth, the sudden wet heat surrounding him causing him to let out a breathless grunt of pleasure. “Fuck. I love you.”

She hums happily, glancing up to meet his gaze, the look on his face encouraging her to already take him deeper. She loves sucking his cock, the way he moans for her, the taste of him, the feel of him sliding into her throat. She’ll never get enough of it, and it’s not long before she speeds up her pace, desperate to feel him lose control.

Bucky’s lost in the pleasure, his hips occasionally lifting to meet her mouth, the knowledge of how much this is turning her on making it that much harder to focus. “God,” he breathes, his hands gripping the armchair harder, fingers digging into the upholstery. “Doll… Feel so good… Please…”

He can feel the vibrations of her moans each time his cock slides along her tongue and down her throat, and now he can smell her. It makes him want to taste her, to fuck her, to make her come with him. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her, the entire length of him is engulfed, her nose brushing against the soft curls at the base of his cock.

“Shit,” he gasps, his thighs tensing and his hand shoots out to grip her shoulder, the obscene noises of her throat gagging around his cock causing his balls to tighten. It’s more than enough to make him come, but he’s not ready yet. He wants more from her, and with a needy moan, he begs her to touch herself.

Without hesitation, her hand slides under the satin bunched around her knees, and she spreads her thighs wider as she slips the damp fabric of her panties aside, desperate to please him. The first pass of her fingers over her slick pussy makes her moan against him and both their hips start to move at the same time, Bucky fucking her mouth as she thrusts against her own hand.

He nearly loses it when she meets his gaze again, her lashes wet with tears, her mouth slick with saliva. He manages to hold back though, needing to watch her as she plays with herself, seeing the exact moment she fills herself with her fingers.

Her back arches and she nearly gags around his cock again, but she grips his cock with her left hand, stroking him in time with her mouth as she fucks herself, the heel of her hand pressed against her clit. She’s not even trying to make herself come, more focused on his pleasure, but she can feel the pressure building, her wetness coating her fingers.

Bucky’s senses are consumed by her, but it’s not enough, he wants to drown in her, to know nothing but the feel and smell and taste of her. “Please,” he says, his hand sliding along her shoulder, fingers caressing her skin. “Need… fuck… give me your fingers. Need to taste you.” 

She almost comes just from that alone, the walls of her pussy gripping her fingers, her wetness soaking her palm, but she’s eager to give him what he wants. The instant her hand moves from her underneath her dress, he’s grabbing her wrist, guiding her fingers to his hungry mouth.

With a loud groan, Bucky closes his lips close around her slick digits, the taste of her exploding on his tongue, causing his balls to tighten and pleasure to shoot down his spine. The slight tightening of his grip on her shoulder is the only warning he can give her as the tension builds to a breaking point.

He gasps and moans around her fingers, his tongue licking up every drop of her, the first wave hitting him with such intensity that his hips lift involuntarily. He watches her take all of him, her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking him as he comes down her throat, the force of his orgasm nearly causing him to collapse.

She swallows every drop, her body buzzing with pleasure as she sucks him dry, not a care in the world that she didn’t get to come with him. She refuses to let him go, prolonging his pleasure, until he can’t take anymore and his body finally starts to relax,  her fingers slipping from his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath before he’s pulling her up, careful not to mess up her dress as he meets her in a kiss, the combined taste of them on their tongues making them both moan. There’s not a chance he’s letting her leave this with room without getting to taste more of her.

He casually pulls his pants back over his hips, happily listening to her explain that this was all about him. And, the moment she’s finished insisting she only wanted to help him relax, he’s just as happy to reject her premise, telling her, “Making you come on my mouth will definitely relax me.”

The laugh she gives him tells him everything he needs to know and it’s his turn to take the lead, guiding her to the armchair he was just occupying. Before he has her sit, he reaches under the slit in her dress to take hold of her panties, not wasting any time to slide them down her legs, kneeling in front of her in the process.

She’s not sure how much time they have left, but she can’t imagine it’s going to take her very long. Not with the taste of him still in her mouth, and the way he’s looking up at her right now. With minimal encouragement, she settles back in the chair, careful not to mess up her hair, grinning as Bucky takes the same amount of care with her dress.

After lifting the soft material to her waist, and guiding her legs back, he takes a moment to appreciate the view of her on display, ready for the taking. Later tonight, when he’s fucking her in their bed, he plans to tell her again and again how pretty she looked tonight, but the words won’t come right now. His mouth only wants to be doing one thing, and it’s not talking.

With one last glance up at her, her hands already gripping the arms of the chair in preparation, he closes the distance, the smell of her immediately overwhelming his senses. She barely hears his soft groan of pleasure, but it’s hard to miss the way he deeply inhales her scent, his hands immediately coming up to keep her spread open for him.

At Bucky’s instructions, she forces herself to stay still, his playful reminder for her to breathe the only reason she’s taking any air into her lungs at all. She watches as he takes his time, the flat of his tongue licking her from her dripping entrance to her swollen clit, the contact making her legs shake and her eyes roll back.

She’s so sensitive, just a few swipes of his tongue building her towards the edge, but he refuses to rush this, taking his time to the savor the taste of her, fucking her slowly with his tongue. And whenever she starts to move or forgets to stop breathing, he’s right there reminding her what he needs her to do. “Relax. Breathe.” 

He’s not going to let her get flushed and sweaty, not when he knows how much harder it’ll make the rest of the evening for her. That’s why he keeps her in place, the cool metal of his vibranium thumb pressed against her clit making her slick walls pulsate around his tongue, the delicious taste of her making him hard yet again.

She keeps her head lifted, even when her eyes flutter close, her body on fire as she takes slow, deep breaths. It’s becoming not enough and too much all at once, the familiar tingle signaling how close she is, but without being able to chase her pleasure, she can’t help but beg for more.

Bucky’s more than happy to oblige and licks back up to her clit, greedily closing his lips over it as he slips two fingers inside of her, his vibranium arm quick to hold her place. She reaches out, almost grabbing his head, but thinks better of it at the last second, not wanting to mess up his hair, her hands instead gipping his arm, her fingers soon interlocking with his as she takes in lungfuls of air.

It only takes a few strokes of his fingers for her to fall, the deep breathing making the orgasm even more intense, and with his lips suctioned around her clit, his tongue swirling around the swollen bud, her hand flies up to cover her own mouth, barely muffling her loud cries of pleasure as she comes for him.

Bucky’s fingers and mouth follow her body as each wave of pleasure washes over her, her thighs threatening to close around his head, but he welcomes the feeling, relishing the way she comes apart for him, her arousal soaking his hand and beard. 

He doesn’t stop until she grows too sensitive, easing his fingers out of her before giving her one last lick, able to feel the pulse of her aftershocks on his tongue. Careful not to touch her dress with his arousal-slicked fingers, he helps her sit up and kisses her softly, her body still trembling as she slowly comes back down.

Once it’s clear she can finally breathe again, and her heart’s not about to burst out of her chest, Bucky gives her a cheeky grin, telling her, “Now I’m ready to get back to the party.” 

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Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[canisalbus]

hihi!! i'm sure this has been asked by, but what era/place is vascochete's story inspired by? they have wonderfully exquisite fits >:)) <3

I'm hesistant to give any precise years, but the majority of their story should fit somewhere between 1560 and 1610. So late Renaissance, shifting into early Baroque. They're Italian.

They first meet in their late teens while studying at the same school in Venice, graduate and separate for several years, then reconnect again in their early thirties by random chance, and stay together for roughly ten years (most of my art of them takes place in this era), until Machete gets murdered in his early 40's. Vasco dies of old age in his 70's. (Or, if you prefer to believe in the possibility of an alternate happier ending that gets brought up every now and then, they fake their deaths, manage to escape somewhere safer and grow old together).

I'm constantly taking bigger or smaller artistic liberties with historical accuracy though, so please don't treat what I do as a good and true representation of anything. For example, a lot of Vasco's (and Ludovica's, to some degree) clothing style is more inspired by 1530-1560's fashion which would already be outdated at their time. It's just a personal preference, I can't really excuse it other than that it looks nice to me. I habitually simplify and customize their clothes, they're far from being faithful reproductions. Machete's formal attires are largely based on a mishmash of the cassocks catholic cardinals have been wearing over the past few centuries. They're in fact very similar to the ones worn today (minus the cunty heels I suppose). His all-black void outfit doesn't really fit anywhere, it's just a strong visual that's quick and fun to draw.

Also I'm still desperate to give them that fancy clawfoot tub I've mentioned before, even if it's blatantly too recent of a creation. Tubs of that style weren't invented until 1750's or so and the earliest ones with that classic white porcelain enamel surface are from 1880's.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Tempest

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader (third person, no use of y/n) Warnings: Very brief mention of drug use, heavy petting. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Michael provides shelter when they get caught in a downpour, and reveals some uncomfortable truths.

Author's note: Happiest of birthdays to @dreamymoomin // @in-a-mountain-pool - hope you enjoy this little gift! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

It’s mid June in Oxford, a time when the air hangs thick and humid, the rain showers and storms as frequent as the blazing sunshine and cloudless skies. It’s an odd time of year, the feeling of transition as apparent in the weather as it is in the nearing finality of the end of term.

Exams have descended upon the students of every course, and while everyone studies hard, the need to let off steam is as burgeoning as the pressure in the atmosphere that promises thunder and lightning. The parties get wilder with every weekend that passes, a celebration of the turning in of coursework, completion of written assessments and an undeniable sense of finality; first year is drawing to its close.

She steps out of the wine shop on Turl Street, the nicest bottle she could find for under seven pounds wrapped delicately in navy blue tissue paper. Her friends in this city are of a different breed to what she’s used to back home; turning up to a party with a litre bottle of cider or a four pack of WKD Blue is social suicide. There is an unspoken, but incredibly obvious air of refinement, and if your face doesn’t fit then you’re destined for an incredibly lonely three years.

So, she has learned to play along. Turn up with fancy wine, pretend she’s one of them, until Felix and Farleigh show up with a wrap of cocaine and a bottle of Jägermeister, and things inevitably degenerate. They always degenerate. She makes her excuses and leaves whenever they arrive, she knows better now, having attempted to keep up in her first week, and then waking up the following day with an impending sense of dread and a general feeling of sickness that had continued to outstay its welcome after two days.

The social protocols are something she has perfected to a fine art; turn up, bring a bottle, ensure people see you, talk just enough to ensure you’re invited back next time, and then leave before things get too messy. It’s lonely, exhausting, and utterly unfulfilling, but it’s better than the alternative of being ostracised from her course mates.

As her feet land upon the pavement from the shop doorway, the sky blackens. Thick, grey clouds roll overhead and she looks up just in time to feet the first raindrop splash upon her cheek. Shit.

The sudden downpour makes her gasp, and though Trinity College is only a five minute walk away, she knows she’ll be drenched by the time she makes it back, so she runs in the direction of the Brasenose, seeking shelter beneath the covered entryway as she waits for the rain to pass.

She shivers, hair sticking to her neck, cursing under her breath as she watches the tissue paper that had been covering her wine bottle disintegrate in her hands. She shuffles to the side as she spots someone in her peripheral vision step beneath the entryway, giving them space as they lower the jacket they had been holding over their head.

“You’re not staying at this college.”

The brusque statement isn’t a question, it’s almost accusatory, and she snaps her head up, looking into the face of a person she recognises, but doesn’t know the name of.

“No…sorry,” she utters, awkwardly turning her bottle in her hands as more paper sloughs off of it. “Just waiting for the rain to pass.”

The rectangular glasses, sandy coloured hair and angular features are unforgettable. She had seen this guy hanging around with Oliver Quick towards the start of term and in the lead up to Christmas. When they’d all come back from break, she’d stopped seeing them together. Considering that Oliver now hung around Felix Catton like a shadow, it wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. She felt sorry for him.

“You could be standing here for a while,” he tells her.

She watches as a droplet of rain drips from the cleft of his nose, before her eyes flicker up to his. “Better than getting soaked on the walk back to Trinity.”

He hums under his breath, regarding her warily. “You could make it back in under five hundred steps if you walked quickly.”

“Or you could invite me in until the rain passes,” she replies hopefully, her eyes meeting his.

She watches him carefully as he blinks once, twice, three times, his mouth twisting in a mixture of confusion and apprehension as he considers her proposition. She is certain he’s going to refuse, until he utters a clipped “fine”, before turning to open the door.

Following him in and up the staircase, she wonders why she had been so bold. There is no denying she is curious about him, the maths genius that everyone says had shouted “fucking ask me a sum then!” during the Fresher’s dinner, but she would never ordinarily ask a complete stranger to allow her into their room. He’s not even leading her to the common area.

As the door to his room clicks closed behind her, she takes in her surroundings. It could not be more different to the rooms of other boys she has visited during her time at Oxford. It’s clean, tidy to the point of being orderly, everything has its place. The bedspread is pulled taut against the mattress, pens and pencils are lined up perfectly straight next to the neat pile of notebooks on the desk.

She feels her skin heat up when she sees him standing there staring at her. She hasn’t even introduced herself.

“Sorry,” she says, giving her name with an embarrassed smile, “probably should have told you that before inviting myself up. And you are?”

“Michael,” he says, “Michael Gavey.”

He reaches for her hand to shake it, but withdraws upon seeing the soggy blue tissue paper it’s coated in, and she silently prays for the ground to swallow her up as fresh humiliation burns hotly through her.

“Here,” he says, passing her a towel that had been carefully folded over the back of a chair, “dry yourself off.”

She gives a quiet thanks, setting her bottle down on the bedside table, before toweling her face, hair and hands. It smells faintly of Head and Shoulders shampoo, and it’s oddly comforting.

Passing the towel back, she busies herself with opening the wine as Michael works to dry himself. Using the end of a fork that has been left upon the bedside table, she pushes the cork through into the bottle.

“What are you doing?”

She looks up, watching as he wipes at the lenses of his glasses with a cleaning cloth. He’s actually quite beautiful without them, less severe looking, his eyes are strikingly blue. Forcing herself to avert her gaze, she replies: “well, I can’t see a corkscrew.”

“No, I mean, why are you opening it?”

She gives an easy shrug. “Something to do while we wait for the rain to stop.”

Taking a swig of the cheap chardonnay, she winces slightly and holds it out to him. He hesitates, eyes shifting between the bottle and her, before he tentatively reaches out to take it from her. His own face contorts in disgust as he drinks, causing her to laugh.

“Only the finest for five pounds fifty!”

“Christ,” he winces, passing it back to her. “So, what are you reading?”

“History of art,” she replies, slugging from the wine bottle once more.

“Fucking hell,” he scoffs derisively, mouth turning up into a sneer.

“Oh fuck off,” she shoots back playfully, perching herself on the edge of his bed. “We can’t all be maths geniuses.”

He eyes her curiously. “How do you know I’m reading maths?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Recognition flickers in his eyes for a moment and she sees a tinge of pink flush his cheek, as he averts his gaze in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts hurriedly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s impressive, really, it is.”

“I don’t need one of Felix Catton’s vapid cunts to validate me,” he retorts, his tone suddenly icy.

Her brows arch, eyes widening as the comment hits her like a slap to the face. “I’m not…I’m not making fun of you,” she says quietly, “and Felix isn’t my friend, not that that’s any of your business.”

He narrows his eyes at her, putting his glasses back on. “Well, go on then.”

“What?”

“Ask me a sum. You’ve been dying to since you first saw me.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t going–”

“Just do it,” he interrupts with a sigh.

She chews her lip hesitantly, placing the wine bottle on the bedside table, before leaning back on her palms against the bed as she sits on its edge. “Alright. Two hundred and eighty four divided by sixteen?”

“Seventeen and three quarters,” he replies instantaneously. 

It shocks her, he doesn’t really even have to take time to think about it.

“I’ve got no way of verifying if that’s correct,” she says, chuckling nervously.

“Hmm, why don’t we even the playing field then?” He says, coming to sit beside her.

She feels her breath hitch as the mattress dips beside her, his closeness making the humidity of the air seem hotter still.

“What do you mean?”

“You ask me a maths question, I’ll ask you a question, and it’s up to us if we believe each other’s answer.”

“Art history questions?”

“What do you think?” He shoots her a withering look.

“What sort of questions then?”

“Just ones about you. You’re in my room, after all, makes sense for me to get to know you.”

She swallows thickly, nodding. “Okay, that seems fair.”

“So, why aren’t you friends with Felix Catton?”

“I don’t like him,” she says honestly.

“Why not?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Just answer it.”

She wets her lips, considering her answer. It’s not something she’s ever really even admitted to herself before, let alone said aloud to another person. “I–I don’t like how he makes me feel…about myself.”

“Your turn.”

She turns her face towards him, noticing how close they’re sitting together. The smell of Head and Shoulders shampoo is more fragrant on him than it had been on the towel. “Eighty eight times ninety one?”

His skin breaks out into gooseflesh at the feeling of her breath upon it, and she smiles to herself as she watches him shift upon the bed, his answer slower than the first time. “Eight thousand and eight.”

He looks at her, his face so close to hers their noses almost touch. “Why do you hang out with Felix’s friends if you don’t like him?”

Exhaling shakily, she dips her face into the crook of his neck, feeling him tense beneath her touch, the proximity causing her own heartbeat to quicken. “Because I don’t want to be lonely,” she whispers. She ghosts her lips tentatively against the flesh of his neck, delighting in the way he shivers. “Six hundred times three hundred and twenty one?”

When he breathes out, it’s audible, the faintest hint of a whimper carrying alongside the expulsion of air. “One hundred and ninety two thousand, six hundred,” his voice is strained as he replies, an indication that he’s struggling.

He reaches across, long slender fingers gripping her thigh, out of desire to touch her or simply to ground himself, she is unsure, but she takes the initiative, slinging her leg over his lap. She can feel the rapid hardening of him through the fly of his cargo shorts.

“Why did you want to come up today?” He whispers, turning his head, nuzzling into her still damp hair.

“To get out of the rain,” she utters, gripping the front of his t-shirt as though it’s a lifeline.

“Liar, the rain’s stopped now.”

The darkness of his tone causes her core to squeeze involuntarily, excitement making her tummy flutter. “I was curious about you, you seem lonely too.”

“Do you want to stay?”

“That’s two questions,” she chides, pulling back, resting her forehead against his.

“Answer me,” he insists, his grip on her thigh tightening.

As she looks at him, his pupils dilated, full lips parted, she knows she has no intention of going to the party later. From the moment she met Michael, her plans had changed without her ever being aware of it.

“Yes, I want to stay.”

He leans in, lips pressing feverishly against hers, and as she kisses back, savouring the taste of cheap white wine upon his mouth, it feels as though the pressure has finally lifted. She hopes it rains forever.

[familyvideostevie]

takin' a breath

for @strangerfreaks <3 simply put, you love being in love with sirius black. you just never realized other people noticed all that much. | fluff, established relationship, the general idea that love is lovely, 1.8k

No matter how many times you check your watch, the hands don't tick backwards. You're going to be late.

Nothing to be done about it, you suppose. Sirius is always late, anyway, though he'd texted you he was on the train so he might arrive at the bar before you. Your own train slows and the speaker reads out your station in a clipped tone. You step on to the platform and the strangest thing happens -- the air changes, somehow. Like someone is looking at you. In the moment before you turn around you hear your name in a voice you know very well and when you do turn, there he is.

"Were we on the same train?" Sirius asks as people stream past you towards the exit. "I don't think this has ever happened to me before."

"Different cars," you say.

"Fancy that." He holds out his arm once he reaches you and you hook yours through it and head towards the escalators. "You look lovely," he says. "Are we late?"

"Well, you're always late," you remind him. He rolls his eyes. "I meant to be there ten minutes ago." Sirius smooths down the collar of your coat and you allow yourself to admire him.

You never get tired of his face -- he's handsome in an edgy way, a way that makes you look away at first and then draws you back in. You're very familiar with how he looks by now. The slope of his nose, the intense line of his eyebrows and the length of his lashes. His eyes are dark, deep, mysterious. The rings in his nose and his ears stand out, gold against his otherwise dark features, and his hair begs for you to run your fingers through it.

He tolerates your staring. You know he likes it but you're kind enough not to call him out. "Remus texted me that they're all going to be at least a half hour. Bus is stuck in traffic."

You step off the escalator and emerge onto the street, the chill of the fall evening wrapping around you both. You press a bit closer to him. "Guess it's just us for now."

He hums. "How was your day?"

"Nothing of note. You?"

Sirius turns into you a little bit to speak as a truck passes. He smells like tobacco and the spicy cologne you bought him for his birthday. "By lunch I was ready to get out of there."

"You always are."

He's always on the go, your boyfriend, always looking for the next thing. Everyone who knew him before you met tells you the same thing -- he's wild, spontaneous, full of energy, but with you, he seems to become a centered version of himself. Not like you've changed him, not quite, but like he feels it's okay to slow down because you're around. He takes a breath, lets the somewhat permanent scowl settle into something calmer. You feel it too, like being near him is the most natural thing in the world. Puzzle pieces that fit, magnets that snap together, every cliche in the book fits.

The night is quiet, for the most part, so when you finally get to the bar and go inside the noise is a bit jarring. There's music and chatter, the clink of glasses and chairs scraping on the floor as they're pulled to new tables. You head for the bar and unwind your arm from Sirius's. He makes grabby hands so you undo your coat and turn around, shaking it off and into his arms.

"Do you want me to do drinks or find a table?" he asks, breath hot on your cheek as he leans in to ask.

"I'll do drinks," you say. "You got them last time. Do you want the usual?" He nods, squeezes your elbow and heads off to find a table with a wink.

You wait patiently and wonder what you're going to order. Sirius always gets a pint of whatever dark beer they have on tap and you'll take a sip even though you never like it that much. Maybe it's a wine night? Bit weird to get a glass of wine in a bar like this and surely James will tease you for it when he gets here, but it's a bit cold out and it sounds warming --

"Excuse me?" You look around to see if someone's just addressed you and find a girl about your age at your side. Her eyes are bright and her face flushed and she's holding a pint. Clearly she's a bit further along in her night than you are.

"You alright?" you ask her. She nods frantically.

"Was that your boyfriend?" she asks, the words tumbling out of her like she has to ask you or she'll combust.

"Uh, yes," you say. Bit weird, but alright.

"He's so handsome," she says. Her tone is the one that girls use in the bathroom at the club when they compliment each other, like she's so happy for you and wants to share in your good fortune.

You smile. "He is," you agree.

"And the way he looks at you!" She sighs like she's reading from a romance novel. What is she on about? He was beside you for mere minutes.

"He's got a bit of a stare."

The girl shakes her head, a few pieces of her bangs falling in her face. "No, I mean yes, but you guys were just standing here and I looked over and it was like he was..." She waves her hand in the air, her beer sloshing dangerously close to the edges of her glass. "He was orbiting around you, or something. The air was crackling, I swear."

You really should ask what she's having so you can get a glass too, whatever will make you feel her enthusiasm.

She puts her hand on your arm. "It's just so nice," she says. "To see love like that."

Her words take you by surprise. No one has ever articulated your relationship like that, so matter of fact. "Thank you," you tell her genuinely.

She beams at you and then seems to catch sight of her friends, giving your arm a squeeze before darting off into the crowd.

"Alright then," you mutter. "Wow." The bartender finally takes your order and you mull over this kind girl's words as you wait. You've always thought that you and Sirius were well suited. Both of you are quite private, guarded in front of people you don't know but endlessly loyal to those you do. He has always made you feel like a priority even when you've fought. Very early on you realized that he was an all-in kind of guy -- he laid his feelings out and promised you that if you felt the same he'd give you everything he could. And he has, even though you don't need much. His hand on your back, his voice in your ear when you wake, his smile across the room. Just being next to him has always been enough. You've just never known how to articulate it, how this kind of love is everything you've wanted for yourself.

You manage not to spill your drinks as you try to find Sirius. He's gotten a table in the corner that will easily fit your friends once they arrive, but for now you slide into the seat next to him.

He beams at you, a toothy grin that makes him look younger, and puts his hand on your knee under the table. "Thank you, darling," he says.

You lean into his side. "Good table." He takes a sip of his beer and nods his agreement. "A girl at the bar said the strangest thing to me," you blurt out. You don't know how you're going to explain this to him but you want to tell him. You always want to tell him everything.

"Oh?" He's got a bit of a foam mustache but he wipes it before you can.

"She said I had a handsome boyfriend."

Sirius scoffs. "You do." You roll your eyes.

"But she also said that --" you use air quotes -- "it was nice to see a love like ours."

His face goes very soft, almost like the way he looks first thing in the morning when you wake to find him watching you. "Very poetic," he murmurs.

"I don't totally know what she means," you admit. "But it was a nice thing to say. I think she might have been a bit drunk."

"Oh, I know what she means," he says. You raise your eyebrows, telling him to go on. Sirius blinks a few times, scratches the back of his neck. You know him well enough to know that he's nervous, which is a bit rare. He leads with confidence, oozes with it, but he's told you many times one of the things that he never gets tired of is how you can crack that exterior.

"It's like when we're in the same room and everything shifts," he says. "Like tonight. I stepped off the train and knew you were near, you know?"

Oh. "I --yeah," you say softly. You do know. It's like you and Sirius orbit each other, like being near him changes the makeup of the air in a room. Your heart beats in time with his and your very atoms settle when he's near. If you were good with words, if you were a little better at expressing yourself, you'd say that you two are made of the same stuff. Your life before him was great, sure, and by no means were you waiting for him for it to start. But now that he's here, next to you, it's like everything has snapped into focus. It just makes sense.

"I can't believe she noticed, though," he says. His tone is more teasing than sincere now, so you let your own musings fade for now. "I mean, I've barely even touched you! I took your coat! We could have been on a first date!"

"You never touch me that much," you remind him. It's not a scold, it's just how it is. You've never needed to touch him that much. Just his gaze feels like his hands are on you, sometimes. You can always tell when he's looking at you from across the room. Remus once said he was convinced you two could communicate telepathically. You find yourself looking at a doorway moments before Sirius walks through it. He digs out a tissue before you've even felt the tickle in your nose. You can sense each other's distress over the breeze like a bloodhound. It's a bit weird, actually. But you don't know how else to be.

"I can fix that." He winks and slings his arm around your shoulders.

"Don't be annoying." He smacks a kiss to your temple but releases you. You stay close to him, pressed together from shoulder knee. Sirius presses his lips to the shell of your ear and you shiver.

"I love our love, too," he says. What a sap.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[ruija]

Well I really love your art, may I ask how do u color? I struggle with coloring turtles and I wasn't to know how do u do that?

Hi anon! That's a very broad question, so you've given me a great excuse to ramble anything I want about my coloring, eehehehee~! This will be in two parts and I'll start with talking about my simpler coloring style.

As in, when I color characters on a white background, with a limited or light palette.

The driving force behind this style is me being lazy. My time, energy, and attention span are pretty limited, so if I want to finish anything, I gotta do it fast. And with fanart, I'm usually just doing it for fun and relaxation, so there's no need to push myself to polish it too much.

Despite that, I rarely post just black and white sketches or line arts. I always try to add at least a little bit of toning or shading, because that makes the image easier to read. The characters and their shapes pop out and catch the eye of the viewer better.

However, in this particular example, just the couple toning colors don't quite do the job. The way Don and Leo are entangled makes the center area of this illustration very busy and hard to read.

As a comparison; this pic has only one tone + mask colors, and it works. This is because all the characters are standing separately and their poses are very stationary and simple.

So for the Don + Leo pic, adding some shadows helps in bringing out shapes and depths. Also in general, if you don't feel like drawing BGs, it's good to at least add a shadow below the characters. It grounds them and makes them feel like they exist within a space.

Sometimes if the posing looks too complex and busy, it might just be best to color in the characters fully.

However, even if I do full flat colors, I tend to use a lighter palette. Putting characters in their neutral/default color on a white BG can look a bit jarring as if they're floating in a void. It feels less immersive and like the picture is unfinished.

Using lighter colors makes the image more cohesive, and fits the characters into the white environment a bit more naturally.

If I'm too lazy to draw a BG, I prefer using stylized and limited colors. It feels deliberate and that the whiteness is just part of the palette, whereas the character-accurate colors on white don't match as well, even if they're more pastel.

That being said, there's nothing wrong with just slapping the flat-colored characters on a white background. As you know, I do it too. I'm just exposing my 'fancy coloring style' for what it is; me being lazy, hah!

Limited and monochromatic palettes are a nice shortcut even when you do actual backgrounds. It's faster and you don't have to worry about clashing colors. And you can still convey atmosphere and mood.

Also, on the topic of conserving your time and efforts; I think it's very common among younger/less experienced artists to think that the amount of time you spend on your art piece = how good and well received that piece will be.

Which has some merit to it of course, but it can lead to putting too much effort into areas where it's not necessary. E.g. filling the piece with tons of details and clutter that don't serve an actual purpose, but rather make the image hard to read. Or doing really complicated shading for a meme/comic, where simplicity would deliver the joke better.

So whenever I'm drawing something I intend to publish, whether it's a quick doodle or a more polished piece, I try to follow these two principles: Make it easily readable and do the bare minimum that needs to be done to convey what I want to convey.

Putting time into practice is important, but if you draw for work, it's also crucial that you know how to prioritize and use your time efficiently!

Anyway, thanks for reading! In the next part I'll go into how I do my fully colored pieces, so stay tuned for that!

[rogueddie]

Steve isn't sure what he was expecting a dragon hybrid to look like. Monstrous probably. The last word he expected to think is 'pretty'.

But he is. His long hair that looks so soft, his big doe-eyes, full lips, soft jaw... even the way he tilts his head, looking so curious. The little smirk, the amusement, the glint in his eyes.

And the dragon parts don't make him look anymore monstrous either. They probably should. Massive wings that, even folded behind him, take up so much space with how massive they are. The dark leathery skin and scales climbing around his bare torso, a line of them going down his arm, to his claws.

"Oh, hel-lo," he uses his wings to lift him from where he's sat on the floor, the movement dangerously smooth. "Who do I need to thank for you?"

"What? Oh, uh, no, that, um," Steve stammers, face flushing. He grabs the handle of his sword, feeling a little uncertain. He misses the way the dragons eyes linger on his sword. "I'm not... I'm here as a knight of the Kingdom, to... uh, facilitate, your leave?"

The dragon steps closer, slowly and carefully. "Is that your fancy way of saying that you're here to kill me?"

"I'm not a murderer," Steve draws himself up. "I'm not gonna hurt you unless you force me. Making sure you leave is technically following my orders."

"Technically," the dragon repeats. He hovers, hesitating, before leaning into Steves personal space. "What if I don't want to leave?"

"Why wouldn't you? The people here are assholes to you. There's plenty of towns who'd love a dragon."

"What about my treasure? I'd have to start a new hoard and..." He sighs, looking around at the ruined little castle he's nesting in, full of trinkets and gold and instruments. "This took so long."

"Couldn't you take it with you? Or, uh, I could have it moved?"

"No," the dragon growls, baring his teeth for a moment. He clears his throat after a moment, looks a little embarrassed. "Sorry. I just... I don't like people touching my things."

"Right, no, obviously. Sorry."

The dragons grin only grows as the quiet stretches out, Steve struggling to find something to say.

"I'm Eddie, by the way."

"Huh?"

"Eddie. Kind of. It's the closest way of saying it with the human tongue."

"Oh. Uh, hi? I'm Steve." Steve smiles a little, gives him a little wave.

He's adorable, Eddie shakes his wings a little. Bites his lip to try and stop himself blurting something embarrassing out, but can't stop himself asking, "you wanna stay a little while?"

"Oh, no, I should-"

"Tell the people that you spoke to me for five minutes and it did nothing? Nah, come on. We can chat or something. Think of some excuse on how you so nearly defeated the beast, if only the wily thing hadn't slipped away or whatever."

Steve follows him after a moment, looking over the little room Eddie leads them into. It's covered in softer things, blankets and stuffed furniture.

"Here," Eddie gestures to the big centerpiece loveseat. He perches on a little table, the space already cleared perfectly from other times he's clearly sat there.

Steve unclips his sword before falling back onto the seat. He shifts around to get comfortable, sprawling out. The sight has possessiveness burning through Eddie, Steve fitting perfectly among his treasures.

He stiffens when he looks to Eddie, who watches him with sharp eyes, leaning forward. Something about him looks suddenly dangerous.

"Uh, Eddie? Is this alright?"

"Yeah," Eddies voice is low, hushed. "Yeah, that's perfect."

"You sure? You're looking at me like you want to eat me."

Eddie immediately shakes his head. "No. No, it... I don't want to hurt you. It's..." Eddie looks him over again. "Fuck. Sorry, it's... I want to keep you."

Steve flushes bright red, tries to laugh it off. "What, you'd consider someone like me treasure?"

"You'd be the prettiest," Eddie tries for teasing. But his voice is strained, eyes still just as dangerous and sharp.

"How would that work? Like, keeping me?"

"Don't," Eddies voice cracks. "This... Bad idea. You- you should go."

Steve shifts so he's sat on the edge of the chair, hesitates. "When should I come back? It's... I don't know if any excuse I have will be good enough. They're probably gonna send me back anyway."

Eddie closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "Steve."

"Right, sorry, I'm leaving."

He grabs his sword before walking quickly out. He doesn't look back until he's outside, immediately spotting Eddie in the window. He tries to wave, but Eddie ducks out of sight.

Logically, Steve knows he should take the warning and run. Come up with some bullshit tale that'll keep the people from bothering Eddie, or something that'll get them to send someone else.

He knows, he understands, that going back would be a bad idea. A really bad idea. Dragons infamously keep people as treasure and finding a dragon that would let someone they see as treasure walk away is unheard of. Steve knows that Eddie wouldn't be able to let him go a second time, not with how obviously he was waring with his instincts.

"Is the dragon dead?" Is the question he's asked as soon as he arrives back.

Steve is already shaking his head, answers without thinking. "Not a killer. I'm going to try to talk to him again tomorrow."

edit: not a part 2 but for those asking for more, I'm slowly making it a full fic on ao3

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Costume

I had a a few ideas for drabbles :3 And I settled on this one for now :3

Mostly because I have one mental image in my head that is just too cute to pass up and I wanted to add more cuteness to this AU so here we GO! @spotaus You ready my friend?

First drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Als I am really considering making a masterpost for these drabbles and any related asks/answers and drawings people make... Just a thought.

*------------------*

Cross watches as Nightmare looks at the different options of costumes. They are in the bigger city nearby to actually give him some options.

It had been thanks to Crop that they even knew about this happening. Kinda like a halloween get together but it mostly celebrates the start of the colder seasons and the time of rest the land needs.

But with everyone in costume because Halloween happens around the same time.

But it gave them the excuse to take Nightmare out on a tiny trip and let him pick out soemthing he would like to wear. Killer says he is making progress on that front but Cross doubts it as Nightmare still just only wears the stuff they picked out for him or Dust's old things.

Even if Nightmare looks adorable in the for him much too big hoody.

Cross smiles down at Nightmare "And? Any ideas for what you want to be dressed as?"

Nightmare shoots him a look and shrugs "Why get dressed? I am a skeleton... That is spooky enough right?"

Cross feels part of his soul melt but tries to keep it in. Nightmare hadn't fully noticed that his way of speaking is starting to slip more and more into more childlike talking and words. Even if he still tries to speak in his fancy way. It is just too cute.

Cross sees it as them doing a good job at this whole parent thing.

Cross grins "True... But Horror already decided to go as a lumberjack and Killer is going as Jason from friday the 13th." Cross himself hadn't decided yet and Cross knows that Dust is planning on just matching whatever Nightmare wants to get dressed as.

Nightmare frowns and stares at all the options. He points towards a costume and Cross checks it.

It is the cheapest thing there is.

Cross saw this coming but he knows how to deal with that! Cross grins "Oh? A little devil? We can do that. Come. We can look at more costumes for that."

Nightmare looks a lot more unsure as he rubs his arm "This is fine... stuff is expensive."

Cross crouches down and leans on his hand "Hey... it is fine... Dust got a budget together and everything. Let me worry about money okay?"

Nightmare frowns but looks considered at some of the more detailed options instead of the cheap stuff. Much better. Nightmare slowly starts to gravitate towards the vampire stuff and Cross starts to think this may be a success when-

a soft sizzle.

Oh are you kidding him!?

"You seriously gonna let him get that stuff?"

Nightmare blinks and grins brightly at the sound of Error and searches for him before spotting him near the ceiling.

Cross glares and hisses "Error." he glances around nervously.

Error snorts "Calm down. I know how to time stuff. People hardly ever notice I am in universes. Seriously though. yOu are going to let him grab this shi-stuff." Error quickly changes his sentence when Cross glares at him.

Cross crosses his arms "Well we want to have stuff to get dressed in for the party. We are trying to fit in."

Nightmare looks up at Cross and smiles a tiny bit "Error can look with us?"

Cross really wants to say no. Not like Killer. Killer hates the fact that Nightmare has a crush on the other. Cross just doesn't want to deal witht he headache that is Error himself.

Now that Cross knows what he knows he realised that Nightmare always had a crush on Error. No one ever noticed because... well... Nightmare went about those feelings as any six year old did. hanging out, trying to invite the other to play with them. bringing small tokens and things. trying to be included.

Error snorts "Nah. Don't want to be stuck in this store of bad quality." and he nudges one of the costumes offered.

Cross sighs annoyed "So why appear?"

Error looks smug "I saw you were going to let Nightmare grab bad quality stuff. of course i step in."

That is another thing Cross doesn't like. Knowing that Error just, glances in whenever he feels like it. Cross glares and hisses "Stop having a window on us open. One it is weird and two if anyone sees it!"

Error waves it off "I just check for a few seconds when i know it is clear. Calm down." he shoots Ngihtmare a look "Seriously though. You are a god. don't gods deserve like the best things?"

Nightmare shrugs and mutters "Jsut got stuff because they wanted it..."

Cross also finds it rich coming from Error as Error still wears some upgraded hobo-jacket that looks like it is barely holding it together.

Error blinks before huffing "Yeah no. I am getting you a costume of actual quality." he looks areound "vampire?"

Nightmare suddenly looks a lot less comfortable with the attention adn returns to Cross's side to hide partly. Nightmare never likes it when others start offering stuff to him. Cross leans downa dn picks up their small charge.

Cross nudges their skulls together and mutters "It is okay. You had an idea of what you like?"

Nightmare just pushes clsoer "it is dumb. easy stuff is fine."

Cross nudges him again "It isn't dumb. What do you want?"

Nightmare remains quiet for a long time and Cross waits patiently. Just let him feel it out first. Let him decide for himself. Error looks a lot less patient as he just stands there, obviously wnating to tap his foot but refrains from it.

Nightmare eventually mutters "liked... vampire becuase it is a bat..."

Cross blinks and grins "You want to be a tiny bat?"

Ngihtmar eshrugs again and tries to hide further. Clearly done with being verbal.

Cross nods and nzuzles the skull "I am sure we can figure out a tiny bat costume." MAybe they can get a cape? get some wings attached? Cross is srue they can figure it out-

Error nods "A bat. That is easy." he looks thoughtful before nodding and with a sizzle he is gone.

Cross sighs loudly but Ngihtmare giggles and gives a happy mutter "He likes me."

Cross sighs loudly "You are very clearly he favourite. Which isn't a good thing bud, you don't want to be a god's favourite." at least that is the lesson Cross got out of stories.

Nightmare hums as he nuzzles his skull against Cross's "You guys were always my favourites..."

Cross hugs Ngihtmare close as he walks towards the exit of the store "You are so sweet. and you always cared so much about us." Ngihtmare mutters about not being sweet but relaxes with the affection.

Cross gets a ride back from Ellie and returns home to the others. He is only done for a few minutes with retelling everything as they make sure Nightmare eats his snack when they hear more sizzling.

A moment later a small package drops on their dining table.

Nightmare blinks nad opens it only to gasp.

Because that is a bright purple hoody with bat wings sewed in the back and a hood with little bat ears and a grumpy bat face on the hood.

It is adorable and Nightmare looks adorable in it and Cross has to admit it was a perfect pic. a very comfortable and cute costume for the coming outing.

Killer grumbles as he stabs his fork into his own food. He glares at his plate "Gonna have to figure out how to scare a god."

Yeah... Cross is hoenstly a little curious as to how Kilelr plans to do that. For now their babybones is happy in his new hoody and they have a very powerful ally who wants Nightmare happy like them.

*------------------*

Was this whole drabble an excuse to get Nightmare a hoody with little bat wings and bat ears? Yes. Yes it was. And he HAS one now!! :D <3

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[rius-cave]

Ok but fr, I understand the radioapple hype to a degree but I can’t look at them without screaming in my head that Alastor is aroace. We already have one cringe fail guy (vox) pining after Alastor and while it would be hilarious for him to have a harem of demons pining after him without his knowledge (I diagnose him aroace oblivious) - there is something that speaks to me about Adamapple in a way that makes me go feral.

The enemies to lovers is strong in this one. The themes of redemption, forgotten grudges being recontextualized with growth. Also the size difference 👁️👄👁️ (ADAM HOLDING HIM WITH HIS WING??? EXCUSE ME???)

I understand in theory why radioapple is so popular, they did act p gay in dad beat dad :/ but it just doesn't tickle my fancy that much! Dunno why! I think I can only think of "why does Alastor antagonize Lucifer so much? Why does he want to seem like a father figure to Charlie? WHATS HIS FUCKING DEAL??? ALASTOR TELL ME YOUR SECRETS" and I have room for nothing else lol.

That being said I don't have a problem with any ships at all! This is a judgement free zone! Everyone can ship anything they like. I don't care that Alastor is aroace bc characters are straight all the time and I never care about that either! Sure, it's important to not go overboard and disrespect their actual identity, but fanon is about having fun and it's not like there aren't aroace people that didn't change labels later. You could make Alastor realize he's actually demisexual or whatever. Knock yourself out. I myself quite like some vox x alastor, just because it's a similar flavor to adamsapple lmfao.

My favorite trope ever in fiction is definitely, 100000%, enemies to lovers. UGH I EAT THAT SHIT RIGHT UP. All my biggest ships are that. Though for adamsapple I also enjoy some enemies to enemies with benefits lol.

I have a love/hate relationship with their size difference because yessssssss cuteeeeeee. But also it's a bitch to draw and fit them in the same panel lol

[aislynn-wiley1999]

Wandering Eyes

Summary: Aislynn goes to the Yule Ball with Sebastian, but her eyes keep wandering to another boy across the room.

Chapter 19 of my Fic “Three Headed Serpent” which can be found here on AO3 :)

Content: Alcohol, mention of sex, forced kissing, angst, jealousy.

Word Count: 2.2k

Imelda is fretting by her bed, occasionally holding pieces of jewelry up to me for an opinion as she tries to match things to her dress. I occasionally nod, not really paying attention to her vain worries as she hastily plans her outfit for the Yule Ball. I organized my attire last week, not wanting the very thing Imelda is going through to consume me at the last moment.

“You’re acting as if the ball is your funeral, Aislynn,” Imelda states, still rummaging through her jewelry case. A sour look goes across my face at her words. I was trying to be excited, I really was, but I could not convince myself of the emotion. Things should be better this year than last year. I have a date, a dress that I did not throw together at the last second, and two idiot boys will not have a jealous filled spat in the hallway because of me. So why was I not excited?

“I just think I’m regretting not having experienced more of these events,” I tell Imelda, pressing a smile to my face to mask my apathetic feelings. She shrugs, buying my excuse. “They are only really fun when you’re older. My first few balls were awkward and full of puffy dresses and boys who were too scared to ask for a dance. Thank Merlin, someone decent has asked me this year.”

Imelda had been asked a week or two ago by another boy in Slytherin, someone I really only knew in passing, named Luther. I hadn’t even known that she fancied him, but Imelda had been trying out many different boys since the start of the term. Always searching for one more interesting, more handsome than the last. Luther, who was tall with jet black hair, seemed to at least fall into the latter category.

“Luther is certainly handsome,” I say, trying to get her to talk about him so that I don’t have to comment on her jewelry anymore. Imelda beams, clearly pleased with the boy she has snatched up as a date for tonight.

“Isn’t he? I finally got a good one,” she says, holding a pair of earrings up to her ears. “What do you think of these?”

Looking at the earrings in depth, I smile and nod. They were pretty, everything she had shown me was pretty. “Are you going to get ready soon?” I ask, wanting an excuse to start getting my hair ready.

“I think I need to, it’s almost four o’clock, we have to be ready in a few hours,” she says. “Can you help me with my hair?”

I grin. “Of course, only if you help me with mine.”

Imelda throws her head back in a laugh. “Deal. Not like you have much hair to work with, anyways.”

—-----------------------------------------------

In the small mirror in our room, Imelda admires her final form before we depart to the hall. She looks lovely, dressed in a purple gown with enough gold jewelry to draw anyone’s eyes towards her. I plaited her hair, coiling it at the nape of her neck, and she has rouge on her face so that she constantly looks like she’s blushing.

“God, I look pretty,” she says, clearly pleased with the end goal. “You want a go with the mirror?”

Stepping aside, she allows me to gaze at myself in the small looking glass. I barely recognize myself, the girl in the mirror is such a stark contrast to my normal sullen self. The dress, dark blue with black lace, is more beautiful than I could have imagined. My hair, which has grown over time, sits a bit past my shoulders. Imelda masterfully pulled back the scrawny pieces in the front, twisting them and pinning them away from my face. I allowed her to apply the tiniest bit of rouge to my face, causing me to glow pink.

The real star is the jewelry I wear. Silver earrings, dangling with a pearl at my lobe. And my necklace. The very necklace Sebastian gave me, over a year ago. It was the one silver necklace I had, and it seemed fitting to allow him to see me in it. Looking at it, sitting against my chest, all I could notice was the small phrase carved in braille. What it meant to me, and how it could only be interpreted by one.

Pushing the thought away, I smile at myself in the mirror. Imelda is behind me, grinning, clearly pleased with her work. “You look absolutely ravishing. Sebastian will probably eat you alive.”

I have to force myself to not drop the smile on my face. I was not upset about going with Sebastian, but I knew to him it meant something different than it did to me. It meant lust, sex, courting, my lips on his. And I didn’t want that, any of it, anymore.

Imelda makes a comment regarding the time, and she pulls me away from the mirror. “We must go now, it started fifteen minutes ago, and I don’t want Luther to wait on me!” I let her drag me out of the room and through the common room towards the hall, where our dates planned to meet us.

I spot Sebastian before he spots me, and I can’t help but still admire how much effort he is willing to put into himself for fancier events. Dressed in all black, his hair less messy than usual, he looks handsome. He is handsome. And when he turns and spots me, it all almost seems like it’s going to be okay.

He looks as though he has been petrified, his body still as his eyes take me in. Mouth agape, he starts to walk towards where Imelda and I are, his pace hurried. Once he is a few feet from us he stops, and just admires me. Admires my dress, my hair, my shining face, the shy smile I give him. And even though Sebastian is just my friend, and I want nothing more from him, I eagerly take his hand when he offers it to me.

Waving quickly at Imelda, I let Sebastian pull me into the hall. “You look beautiful, Aislynn,” he tells me, his voice deep and hushed. “Want to get a drink?”

I nod and allow him to steer me towards the tables full of food and drinks. He pours us two glasses of some red liquid, and then quickly pops out a flask and pours something stronger into them. I drink, the flavor of the alcohol being masked by something pleasant and sweet. My eyes scan the room, pausing on Poppy and Garreth, and I smile. Despite not wanting to pursue each other romantically, the two still enjoy each other’s company and came together as friends for the night. I keep my eyes moving, trying to see who all is here, before pausing again when I see a patch on blonde hair.

Ominous is seated, alone, at a table in the corner. I try not to stare at him for too long, but I can’t help it. Since our last meeting on my birthday, I have longed to talk to him again. Aout anything or about nothing, but just to hear his voice. It was driving me mad, and I don’t even know why.

I am drawn away from Ominis when Sebastian plucks my cup from my hand and hauls me out to the dance floor. I let him grip my waist, placing my hands on his shoulders, and allow him to pull me close to him. The music is slow, but loud enough that people cannot hear what he is saying to me.

“I feel as though I have never seen another woman when I look at you. You are the prized possession to have at this ball,” he says, his voice ragged in my ear. “What I would not do to be alone with you at this moment.”

I don’t even know what to say in response to these things. His bold, unashamed comments only make me blush in embarrassment. I don’t want him to say these things to me, especially not while Ominis is in my direct line of sight. I gaze at him from across the room, before mumbling a quick thank you to Sebastian. My eyes can’t seem to leave the boy across the room, the one who can’t meet my stare.

The song ends and I start to pull myself away from Sebastian, my eyes still on Ominis. When Sebastian sees my face, he starts to follow my eyes to where they are directed. I look away, not wanting to be caught staring at his friend, but I am too late. He sees exactly who I am fixated on, and his expression sours.

“Am I not suitable company for you?” he says, his tone showing that he is hurt. I shake my head quickly, a fake smile on my lips. “Sorry,” I tell him, “I think I just zoned out for a bit. You look wonderful tonight.”

That last bit seems to do the trick, his smug grin emerging and the upset look fading on his face. Music starts again, another song to sway to, and he pulls me close again. I allow him to lead me all across the dance floor, my dress swirling each time we turn.

“Aislynn,” he says, his voice a whisper again. I pull my head back slightly to look at him, waiting for his response. But instead of saying anything, Sebastian seizes the opportunity to crash his lips onto mine.

Jerking my head away with a gasp, I stare at him wide eyed. “What are you doing?” I say, glancing around at the few heads that have turned towards us. “It’s fine,” Sebastian says, “I don’t care if they see us.” As he moves his head closer again, I force myself to break away from his embrace.

“I care!” I all but yelled. “I don’t want people to see, I don’t want to do that!”

The last statement almost seems to slap him across the face, but I don’t care. I stand there, a good foot or two in between us, and glare at him. I turn my head to where Ominis had been sitting, but find him gone. Looking around, I don’t see him anywhere.

Turning my attention back to the boy in front of me, I give him one final look of anger before leaving him during the middle of the song. Picking up my skirts, I stomp out of the room and into the hallway. I head towards the one place I think that Ominis could be, the one place we got to for solitude and relaxation.

The door to the Undercroft opens with a creak, potentially alerting anyone inside that someone is there. I step into the room, and sure enough he is there waiting to be found.

Ominous is seated at the piano, no noise coming out of it. He doesn’t turn his head or even lift it when I walk in, despite the sound of my heeled shoes giving me away. I stand, watching him stay still, and open my mouth to speak.

But he beats me to it. “You need not check up on me. It’s not fair to Sebastian that you left him to see me.”

“I do not want to be with Sebastian right now,” I say, the words feeling truthful and coming out confidently. At this statement, Ominous lifts his head and angles it towards me. “He is your date tonight, is he not?”

There is this feeling inside me, drawn out by the question he asks me, and things seem to build up inside and erupt like a dam in my mind. “You should have asked me,” I all but blurted out.

Now his head is facing mine entirely, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. “We were not speaking until a few weeks ago, and he had asked you by…”

“Last year, then. You should have asked me last year. Why didn’t you?” I press into him, all but demanding he answer my question. Ominis sighed, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “He was going to.”

“But he didn’t.”

I watch as Ominis opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. He can’t seem to come up with a suitable response for a moment. “I know that you two are in love, and that is why I have distanced myself.”

It takes everything in my power not to laugh at his statement. “In love?” I scoff. “I am not in love with Sebastian, I can assure you.”

Ominis’ eyebrows knit themselves in confusion. “I don’t… he- he wrote to me, and…” The words seem to stumble out, not making any real sense to me. “I don’t even know what to believe anymore, from either of you.”

“If Sebastian has told you otherwise, it’s a lie.” The words sounded harsh coming out of my mouth, but they needed to be said. “I am not in love with him.”

“I- I have put my feelings aside for a long time, Aislynn. You need not spare them now,” he says, choking out the words. He almost seems like he is trying to convince himself that what I say is false, that I am the one who is lying to him. “Sebastian loves you.”

“What do I care about that if I don’t love him?” I scoff, my words cold. I watch as Ominis tries to compose himself, his mind clearly racing from the conversation. He is running a hand through his hair, making it lose its normally perfect shape.

“But he loves you… don’t you get it?” he finally breathes out, expression crazed as he pants. I shake my head, picking my skirt up. His denial, his belief that he must sacrifice for Sebastian, it’s too much for me.

“Believe what you want. But I am down here with you right now, and he is alone upstairs,” I say, my voice low and calculated. I don’t give him a chance to respond as I hoist my skirt up and march out of the room, not allowing myself a moment of regret until I am halfway down the hallway on my way back to my dorm.

[setsugekka]

『paradise lost』 ; 05.5

❝ the pros and cons of breathing ❞

↳ a couple of years into art school, hongjoong doesn’t understand a lot of things; how to get paint out of his clothes, how people are so willing to talk about the way they feel, how they understand the way they feel on any one thing at all, really.

then he meets psych student wooyoung, and one thing wooyoung is going to do, is talk.

 ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯ 

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x jung wooyoung

『 genre 』 : romance, best friends, sexuality exploration/discovery, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 12k

『 warnings 』 : college-typical experience type stuff like parties, drinking, boys kissing boys. gay sex!! anal, oral, etc. first times, a lot of consent and safety talk and talking through things in general.

╰┈➤ a/n: hi. i know a lot of yall don’t read mxm content so i’m going to add a 🍬🍬🍬 line for easy smut scene searching if you want to read this for paradise lost continuity purposes but not really partake in the smut. I DO THINK YOU SHOULD AT LEAST SCAN THE SMUT because there’s a lot of talking and character development that takes place within and because of it, but...i can’t make you so here you go lol.

Halfway into Hongjoong's second year of college, he realizes that he's spent an absolutely unfathomable amount of time in the living rooms of people he's never met before.

And tonight is no different.

Shipped off to a fancy art college much to the vocal-but-not-disallowing disapproval of his parents, he gives it a moment of thought — how precisely where he was right now, in this moment, was almost surely the exact reason in which they did not want him to be there to begin with. A four hour drive one way for them to come and check up on him, and not something they were able to do often with the adult world still spinning all the same back home as if he had never left at all.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. No sudden check-ups only to find a hungover son with paint splatter in the carpet that they would ultimately be the ones paying the cost to remove.

Unfortunately, the paint thing had already happened — Hongjoong simply thinking the scenario over again from experience.

With his red solo cup in hand, half-empty and tapping the ring on his ring finger over the plastic idly as he thinks, the boy with the simple, brown hair — pulled back and off of his forehead — ultimately comes to the conclusion that he is bored. Maybe the party scene had lost its luster already.

Fitted, gray-wash jeans and a plain, black t-shirt, Hongjoong mulls over whether it's time to leave. Eyes darting around him in an attempt to locate any device that will inform him of the time of night without digging out his own phone from his pocket, his vision lands on the stove across the way — nearly obstructed by the kitchen island — but not just.

9:36pm.

He frowns briefly, looking down into his cup to consider refilling and remaining at the dull, lifeless excuse for a party before looking up and scanning the room again. Music low enough to comfortably converse over, the murmur of just that filling his ears without intent to eavesdrop — it being a side effect of alertness all the same, however — his attention draws to two people just to his right in the slightly more darkened hallway, making out heavily, and quite surely only moments away from making their way to one of the empty bedrooms upstairs via the staircase only just next to them.

He frowns again.

“Why the long face?”

The voice is unfamiliar, drawing his attention up and to the opposite side of him immediately (as well as just about frightening him out of his skin) — there resides someone he's sure he's never seen before, but makes every effort to cycle through the rolodex of names and faces he's encountered over the last however many months of college as to not be rude.

Because who would just walk up to him out of the blue like this?

Hongjoong's eyes — still wide and staring intently at whoever it is to his left — medium-length, lavender purple hair and tanned skin; fitted jeans, but designer, as well as a nicely fitting sweater with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms — also designer.

Hongjoong pays enough attention to fashion to knows money when he sees it. He also pays enough attention around campus to know that despite the appearance in hair, this man does not go to his school.

He would remember.

“Sorry, have we met?”

“No, well—“ the stranger starts then pauses, tossing his head to the side and looking up towards the ceiling. “—depends how pedantic you want to be, I suppose. No, not before, but we have now,” he smiles, turning his attention back down to Hongjoong. “I'm Wooyoung.”

“Okay...” Hongjoong replies, too quickly to realize how absolutely awkward that response is to the scenario in question. “Of course, uh, I'm Hongjoong.”

“You know anyone here?” Wooyoung asks just as quickly, without missing a beat, and Hongjoong shakes his head slowly in response. “Yeah, I can kinda tell. Little awkward, yeah?”

“Not usually,” he says with a chuckle. “I don't typically talk to random people at random parties, though.”

“What year are you?” The boy with the lavender hair then switches the topic just as abruptly as he had shown up.

Hongjoong feels like he's experiencing whiplash in just a minute of conversation.

“Going on my third.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung answers playfully. “Older than me. First year.”

Finally it clicks for Hongjoong, why he's never seen Wooyoung around on campus — with him being first year, not much time to have seen him around. He nods as he explains as much, only for Wooyoung to protest all the same.

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “We don't go to the same school.”

But the older boy squints at him, as if the entire conversation growing entirely absurd to him in real time. “How could you possibly know that?”

And as Wooyoung looks him up and down, Hongjoong finds himself to feel completely and totally seen in a way he thinks perhaps he's never experienced before. Was he being...checked out?

“Trust me,” he says, fingers pulling through lavender strands before bringing his cup up and to his lips. “I can tell just by looking at you that you do not go to the same school that I do.”

And logically, Hongjoong knows that where they are presently — a house among numerous other houses all sectioned for student housing — is smack dab right in between two different college campuses; one, being the art school that he goes to, and the other being the fancy-schmancy private school that presumably, now, this guy goes to.

He knows it's not meant to come off any kind of way — any kind of pretentious way, but it still sort of does. Hongjoong realizes that he's also not sure why he's sure it's not meant to come off that way...because he doesn't actually know this guy at all.

Vibes, he supposes.

“That obvious, huh?” Hongjoong chuckles into the rim of his own cup, eyes wandering back into the openness of the party for ample people-watching with his new acquaintance.

“To be fair, you have paint on your jeans,” Wooyoung says, looking down at the spot that he's referring to, just before bringing his gaze back up at towards Hongjoong's head. “And in your hair, I think.”

“Fuck, really?”

“Lighting's bad, hard to tell, but your response tells me it's certainly not an impossibility.”

“Things get a little wild in the studio, what can I tell you?”

“More about that studio, for one.”

The comment comes out so easily, so comfortably to the younger guy just next to Hongjoong — while he nearly chokes on the drink he attempts to swallow down in the meantime, but without making a scene.

Flustered might be an understatement.

As Hongjoong attempts to gather enough coherent thought for a reply, the assumed-host steps into the living room to turn the music up, much louder than before and not granting as much ability for discussion — the two men look at each other with knowing approval before Wooyoung nods towards the hallway that leads into the dining room and eventually the backyard patio.

Much fewer people adorning the cement (and far less drunk, as well), the two pull up some lawn chairs next to the small fireplace to keep warm in the cooler, nighttime air.

“So, what are you into?”

The question, albeit innocently enough posed, sends a somewhat knowing shiver down Hongjoong's spine. No stranger to getting hit on, it's not an entirely unknown question to have heard in his life.

But from a man, a new level of diceyness he's not nearly as vetted in.

It takes him a few seconds of pause and looking aimlessly into the cup in his lap to muster up the ability to answer the man sitting just next to him — eyes locked to the side of his head the entire time.

“I—I don't—“

“Okay, let me be more clear,” Wooyoung amends with a grin, leaning over the arm of the chair and closer towards Hongjoong. “Do you fuck men?”

Genuinely, Hongjoong appreciates the forwardness — a yes or no question, easy enough to answer in almost all circumstances. The age old question in almost every college experience since the dawn of time: are you having sex, or aren't you?

And if you are, then with who?

Alongside that all being true, he still feels as though his stomach has made its way straight up and into his throat.

The problem likely lying in the fact that Hongjoong isn't sure — one way 'yes' or another 'no'. Not really.

But in times like this, perhaps it's best to fall back on what you know, what history has presented us as our tale to tell.

“No,” he says, after what feels like years of mulling the question over in his head. Eyes pulling up and towards Wooyoung still watching from beside him, the two make eye contact only briefly before he has to pull his eyes back away once again — seating them comfortably into the empty cup between his thighs just as before.

Ears feeling so hot he's certain Wooyoung can see the shade of red even in the incredibly dim lighting, he considers it also perhaps entirely pointless in ones journey not to tell the truth when given opportunities for growth, for new, for different.

For what could inevitably become ones new normal.

“I don't know.”

But Wooyoung only snorts at the shakiness of the older boy's reply, gently pulling himself away and out of Hongjoong's space, as if knowing it the precisely right time to back off and give him his own.

Tone gentle and eyes gazing out and into the sky, the corners of Wooyoung's lips curl just ever so slightly — so slight that one might have missed it if not looking directly towards him.

“We're gonna figure that out.”

Mixing bowl in hand, earnestly curating the exact shade of blue that he wishes to achieve to sprawl across the canvas that currently lies in the middle of the floor in his dorm room, it's the gentle hum of his phone vibrating that pulls his thoughts out of their artistic space and back into the present moment.

Because who could possibly be texting him at nearly 10pm on a Tuesday?

But when he picks up his phone and illuminates the screen to find the ever telling notification pop up, even based on their little interaction thus far, he's not all that surprised.

>Wooyoung: come out with me tonight, there's a thing.

Hongjoong mulls over in his head what on earth 'a thing' could be, and even in spite of the curiosity, decides on the good school boy approach.

>Hongjoong: can't. have a project due. what's “a thing” anyways?

Well, he already turned it down, might as well satiate the curiosity anyways. He's only human, after all.

>Wooyoung: you're in art school, bro. just tell them you needed an extra day to get the artistic juices flowing or whatever weirdo shit you art guys say. just come.

He rolls his eyes, both at the dismissiveness of his academia, and at himself — for sort of wanting to cave in and go to whatever the mystery is that Wooyoung so obviously chose not to disclose on purpose.

>Hongjoong: I barely know you and now you're trying to whisk me off to who knows where...ever heard of “stranger danger”?

Plopping himself down and onto the couch as he awaits a reply from the younger of them, Hongjoong looks down at the barely touched canvas of work that is definitely due in two days and sighs to himself. One, for being kinda irresponsible about it, and two, for being so easily swayed by the guy he met at a party with a dye-job far too shitty for how much money he has.

Just then, another message.

>Wooyoung: i'll make sure you get home safe and sound <3

Once again equal parts annoyed at the man in question for being the way he is and also at himself for sort of being interested in the game, he rolls his eyes at himself for the text of affirmation he then sends through to the other end.

An address comes through just as quickly, as if queued up and ready to go long before Hongjoong's will crumbles.

When they meet outside of the building — tall and beautifully crafted, Hongjoong recalls that they're actually rather far out on the other side of town. Not typically where he would find himself, but upon further thought, likely closer to where Wooyoung himself stayed. Shopping, living and staying for the upper-end of middle class and higher, Hongjoong's eyes shift from the building and down towards the man standing just beside him — this time dressed a tad bit more to-do, nice dark jeans and an incredibly fitted deep v-neck shirt, he watches as Wooyoung pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through something on it briefly — presumably the building code, once he stops and presses the four digits into the electronic pad on the front of the door and granted access with a beep.

Wooyoung looks over at a much less confident and quite evidently unsure Hongjoong, now a step below him and looking even smaller to the man a step above.

It's not even that there was much of a size difference between the two of them, but rather, the weight of the confidence that rode right alone with the boy with the purple hair — as if the world was his oyster, already figured out and just living in it. Enjoying it.

Perhaps something Hongjoong not only envied, but was perpetually drawn to from the start.

What they step into, however, is not what Hongjoong had in mind.

Eyes wide and eyebrows pressed to the sky, Hongjoong nearly stumbles at the first sights his eyes lay upon once the door closes behind them. It's not nudity — not outright, and nothing entirely explicit, but the overarching feeling of erotic energy he finds to not be easily ignored. Men happily walked along the corridors on leash and collar by their suitors, people as far as the simple eye can see adorning whips and chains and lingerie as they chat casually about work of domestic home life with their children's schools and exchanging stories of the recent kindergarten play one mans son just did — a retelling of Cinderella, in which the son in question got to play the traditionally female lead — and much to his delight, able to adorn the dress and all. Hongjoong finds the story he happens to overhear as he's gently pulled through marble hallways delightful, if not bizarrely touching given the juxtaposition of the situation he's now found himself in tonight.

Maybe he should have just stayed home and painted his fucking pictures.

“Umm, Wooyoung?” he stutters out, a hand tightly around his wrist, bobbing and weaving the both of them through the traffic of other passerby. He knows that his voice is small — matching how he feels in the moment exactly, and that over the sights and sounds of the party — likely goes unheard. Gathering the strength to assert himself (and some of it being rooted in fright), Hongjoong pulls back and against Wooyoung's forward momentum.

Feeling the tug, Wooyoung quickly darts his head back to look — terror unbecoming of Hongjoong's features. He stops immediately and turns to him.

“What? What's wrong?”

“You kind of should have told me where you were taking me.”

Wooyoung sighs in defeat, knowing as much. “Okay yes, but I knew you wouldn't come if I told you.”

“I should be allowed to not go!”

“I know! You are!” Admitting his defeat, Wooyoung huffs in the acceptance of his wrongdoing. “We can go if you want to, I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun, something to loosen you up a bit since you're a little—“

“Uptight?” Hongjoong asserts, but Wooyoung only tilts his head and grins halfway.

“Questioning, doofus,” he finishes the thought, and Hongjoong sighs in relief at the fact that he was wrong in his assumption. “We can go, seriously. If you want to go we should.”

Hongjoong can tell from the gentleness in his tone that he means it. Young and experienced and into...God knows what; yes, Wooyoung fucked up, and he was ready and willing to admit as much.

Figure, the both of them were already there, what could giving it a spin really hurt, after all?

“No—no,” Hongjoong stutters out, shaking off the last bit of visible nerves he had gripping his chest. “It's fine, I just...wasn't expecting this, is all. It's kind of a lot without a primer.”

“A primer,” Wooyoung snorts, grabbing Hongjoong by the wrist once again and pulling him — this time right along side instead of behind him.

“What? That's a thing people say it's not just like...an art thing, god.”

“I know, but coming from you it's just so especially...Art-Ho.”

“Says the guy with the shitty, washed out ten-dollar kool-aid dye job,” the older of the two bites back for the first time in their friendship. “It's cool, I used to dye my hair the same way when I was twelve.”

Hongjoong watches the features on Wooyoung's face change in a way they never have before; eyes widening in surprise and eyebrows raising in ways that Hongjoong knows the man just next to him used to seeing on his face instead. The turning of the tables feels pretty damn good, though.

“Careful baby,” Wooyoung snorts, tone obviously playful in response. “Get mouthy with me and I'll throw the art-twink to the wolves.”

Hongjoong wishes then and there that he could pinpoint the origin of the way his heart beats in particular at the liberal use of the pet name directed his way.

Without any time to think it over, Wooyoung raises his free hand to wave towards a woman standing in the kitchen with a silver, mirrored platter — atop it residing four, long-stemmed, glasses filled with a golden, bubbling liquid that would surely be an alcoholic beverage of some sort.

“Baby!”

The woman in question calling it out towards Wooyoung, Hongjoong figures it just a word casually thrown about, after all.

He also ignores that odd sinking in his chest at the realization.

“You didn't come last time I didn't know if you would be here tonight!”

Hongjoong watches on as the woman dotes on Wooyoung — fingers in his hair and hands on his face as if a woman fawning over a favorite niece or nephew — it's sort of charming and innocent, Hongjoong thinks to himself. Another absolutely bizarre oddity given their surroundings.

Suppose kinky people are just people, though. A concept often unspoken and long forgotten.

“Yeah, I had a big test I had to cram for so I couldn't take time out.”

“Good,” the woman coos, playfully switching her demeanor to stern just after with a finger pointed up and towards his face. “School's more important, prioritize that.”

“Yes, mother,” Wooyoung responds coyly.

Smiling again, the woman turns her attention to Hongjoong. “Who's your friend? I think this is the first time you've ever used your plus-one.”

“Friend I met last week at a house party, we hit it off so I kidnapped him and smuggled him into a crazy sex party so he knows exactly what he's getting into when becoming friends with me.”

Eyes wide at the words, Hongjoong slowly turns his head to look at Wooyoung, a million questions bouncing violently around in his brain before the shrill pleasantry of the woman cuts through and interrupts the words he was likely never to get out of his mouth to begin with.

“Awww, that's so lovely!” she says, as if nothing strange had been said by Wooyoung at all. “As long as he knows the rules: two drink maximum, condoms are a must at all times, be kind, safe and respectful! You're cute but we absolutely will remove you and blacklist you in a five hundred mile radius if we must.”

The boy with the brown hair can hear the kindness in the woman's voice, but mixed with it the absolute seriousness in her words. He knows that she means business, and that these sorts of things — when managed and hosted properly, are not to play around with. Safety is everyone's number one priority — as it should be, and anyone who becomes a threat to that is not welcomed. Not then, and not ever. He appreciates the sentiment, but—

“We're not going to be getting into anything tonight,” Wooyoung cuts in with the same thought that Hongjoong is having that very same second. “I just wanted to show him around, you know, what's a little sex party hopping between pals?”

Content in the fact that he and his younger keeper remain on the same page in the scenario, Hongjoong takes it upon himself to bow out of the conversation slightly — taking a few steps behind and back where they came from in order to get a glance of his surroundings better. With the initial horror having largely worn off, he finds it within himself to enjoy the sights, sounds and scents of the goings on; at the end of the day, it's really just people enjoying themselves. People being happy. People being safe.

“You new?”

The words coming in so deep and heavy, Hongjoong finds himself not only startled but unsure whether or not they're intended for him — turning to his left and peaking into the corridor to find another man — arms crossed and leaned against the marble walling, Hongjoong looks around himself if for no reason other than to confirm that it couldn't possibly be anyone but him that had been addressed.

“Um, yeah, with a friend,” he answers, attempting to sound more confident in the interaction than he feels.

“You bottom? You look like you bottom.”

Not a question Hongjoong has put much thought into, and not necessarily one he cares to put thought into right this moment, he feels the shrill tingle of discomfort and alarm shoot down his spine at the inquiry. Not good. Very bad thing, actually. Too much, and way too fast.

“I—I don't—“

And with the man shuffling slowly towards Hongjoong, he takes his first step backwards, only to be met by the firm chest of another person at his shoulder.

Not at all comforting, given the situation, until he cocks his head up and to the side to find that all too familiar and in this case — extremely comforting, horrendous dye job.

“Back off, man.”

The words sound stern from Wooyoung in a way that Hongjoong can't place. Perhaps in a way that he's never quite heard before, either. Hands in his pockets, standing strong and in place as he looks past Hongjoong and out towards the man in question.

“He yours, then?”

“He's not yours,” Wooyoung amends. “And make no mistake, Lady Arcus will be hearing about this.”

Hongjoong watches the man scoff, rolling his eyes at the gesture. “I didn't even do anything, why the fuck is he here if he's not going to play?”

“Yeah, alright, you're gone.”

Before Hongjoong can even really follow the goings on, especially in accordance to the rules of an establishment and sub-culture so foreign to him, Wooyoung is shouting into the kitchen for the woman he had just been conversing with.

“We're gonna go,” Wooyoung whispers down towards Hongjoong's ear. “Just give me a second to let her know what happened.”

“O-okay—“

Just as quickly as the scenario begins, it ends. The woman known as Lady Arcus swiftly sorting through the identifying information of the man in question to pass along and through the kink circuits for other people to be wary of — the two men air kiss her twice before heading out and on their way — a slew of weary apologies and warming send offs showered on Hongjoong by her and other caring onlookers as Wooyoung delicately leads Hongjoong out of the building and down the three, concrete steps towards the street.

Hands on his hips, he pauses in place — removing one hand from his side in order to card it through his pale hair.

“Man, I'm so fuckin' sorry, dude,” he begins, the disappointment heavy in his voice. “I feel so bad, I've been to so many of these things and nothing like that has ever happened.”

Hongjoong can hear the guilt so laden in his voice. It certainly was disappointment, but more than anything, disappointment in himself.

“It's fine, really,” Hongjoong insists, chuckling lightly. “Not the first time I've been aggressively hit on, I'll survive.”

“Yeah I'm sure, it's just—“ and Wooyoung pauses to collect his thoughts, frowning as he does in the cool nights breeze. “I fucked up. Big time. I shouldn't have brought you here to begin with and I'm sorry.”

‘I'm sorry.’

And in the moment, Hongjoong doesn't know what comes over him. A combination of the adrenaline of the scenario just before mixed with the intoxicating, encompassing feeling of being seen and heard by someone — he thinks that despite all of this being new, everything about this situation being new, completely uncharted waters, that the one thing he knows right here, right now, is this.

That sometimes there is nothing more beautiful in a moment than romanticizing everything ugly and decaying about it — give it a new life, remember it by the way that it's reborn by your own doing.

One slow step towards Wooyoung, then the second much quicker, Hongjoong reaches out and for the mans wrist — grasping it into his hand and closing the distance between the two of them in an instant. It's not the height difference that brings Hongjoong to his tip toes, maybe the nerves and necessity within to feel bigger, stronger, more confident in the decision as he attempts to pull Wooyoung against him and just as messily — their mouths.

And Hongjoong almost manages it in time before Wooyoung catches on and meets the other with just enough resistance to send him reeling.

“Okay, wait, wait—“ Wooyoung starts, wanting to clear the air just as quickly as he surely has muddled it. “Look, first of all, I'm not against that.”

He's making his best effort to actually hear the words coming out of Wooyoung's mouth — through the humiliation of the drowning feeling of rejection, especially in such a raw moment — he promises himself that he won't cry. Not now, not tonight, and not over a man he's barely known for a week.

“Are you listening to me?”

Snapping out of his daze, all of the worst thoughts and feelings festering and making themselves home in his head and heart, Hongjoong nods along — looking forward to getting home and never having to see this man again thereafter.

“I know this feels shitty right now, I know it does,” Wooyoung insists, grabbing at Hongjoong's hands and attempting to lace fingers together with no help from the other party, he sighs at the response. “Just...slow down, okay? Tonight's been kind of crazy.”

Silence takes them, another couple happily giggling to one another as they exit the building and walk past the two boys on the sidewalk. Wooyoung can see the pain in Hongjoong's features — the disappointment, the weakness.

“Let me take you home, sleep this off, and everything will be fine tomorrow. Look, I know it feels so shitty right now I know it does but I swear to god I'll make out with you for an hour when you're not traumatized from going to a sex party you never wanted to be at to begin with, okay?”

Hongjoong has to give it to the man, he certainly has a way with words. Not being able to fight the smile that cracks through his lips, Wooyoung's also breaks in response, a sigh of relief following shortly after.

“Okay? Can I take you home?”

“Yeah, okay.”

In the months that follow, Hongjoong finds that much to his surprise, Wooyoung seemingly has every intention of staying true to his word. Having a text to wake up to from the rich boy with the awful dye-job despite the previous nights activities, Hongjoong feels relief wash over him as he sets his phone back down on the night stand and rolls back over and onto his stomach.

The grin is embarrassing, he's thankful that he lives alone.

And every morning there after comes texts from Wooyoung. Be it just a thought he has from the night previous or a picture of a new restaurant that's opening around his side of town that he hopes for the two of them to try some time in the near future — Hongjoong feels a sense of belonging, a sense of inclusion that he's not sure he's ever really felt any time before then.

It's late one random evening on a school night, that Hongjoong has himself sat on the couch in the living room with his current project being sewn with nimble fingers that he comes to terms with things for the first time ever, really.

A 90s romcom playing on the television before him, the lights dancing along his features and the white walls of his student housing that he sighs to himself and finally feels ready to think the words without question: 'I have a crush on him.'

Naturally, navigating the uncertainty of ones sexuality always comes with its own set of questions and unknowing. Hongjoong accepts that he's well aware that his crush on Wooyoung could be a culmination of so many things, not even necessarily a romantic interest.

The truth of the matter is that Jung Wooyoung is an attractive man, who is attracted to men, and shows an interest in Hongjoong. For a boy just inching himself out of the proverbial closet, nothing sounds better, more inviting — easier.

And over the months, Wooyoung only lends himself to being more and more attached to Hongjoong's side.

When Hongjoong finds out that Wooyoung's major in school is Psych, it clicks a little bit more — a deeper understanding of why it is that the man may have been drawn to such a closet-case as the oldest of them seemed to be — deeply repressed and unsure and insecure, truly a cocktail of discovery for a budding student all too happy to pick apart someone's brain to learn a thing or two.

He was sure it was part of it, but Wooyoung was respectful enough, caring enough — to not make Hongjoong feel like his own sort of school project. A science experiment that someday Wooyoung would write his thesis on and that's all that Hongjoong would ever really be to him.

The irony in and of the fact that for those so unsure of themselves and of those around them, firsts and seconds often end up being nothing more than romanticized teenaged tales we tell when we're older; our first love, childish and wild and special in its own right, but ultimately — unimportant and inconsequential.

Perhaps Wooyoung knew that the likelihood of him ending up fitted into such a box in Hongjoong's future was high.

“This party blows,” Wooyoung sighs into his plastic cup, back up against the fake marble counter top in the kitchen of someone that, as usual, neither of them had ever met before. “Why did we come out here?”

“It was your idea,” Hongjoong chuckles, tossing a pretzel into his mouth as he settles himself the same next to his friend. “Nothing better to do on a Tuesday night.”

“Homework.”

“Awww, so studious,” Hongjoong mocks, elbowing the boy next to him and causing him to flinch.

“Give it a rest, would you. This place is a drag, I'm about to go make out with someone's girlfriend just to feel something.”

“Now that I would like to see.”

“Ew, look at you, voyeur.”

“Says the guy that took me to a fucking kink party on our first date.” Hongjoong giggles, shoving more pretzels into his mouth.

“That!” Wooyoung begins, finger in the air as if intending to make a point. “—was a mistake, and I have apologized profusely for it, how long must I be punished for it,” he finishes, sulking into the last few words playfully.

“Not punishing you, but you have to admit it's a hilarious story to tell.”

“Indeed, we'll tell our partners a few years down the line over drinks and a threesome, I'm sure.”

“Okay I take back what I previously said, that is what I'd really like to see,” Hongjoong says, leaning over and to the side towards an open bottle of some sort of liquor as he takes it and pours a bit into his cup. “Imagine how crazy that would be.”

“Professional Super Special Guest Star! That's what my business cards will say,” Wooyoung chuckles, taking another swig of his drink before handing the cup to Hongjoong for him to fill as well.

Taking it, Hongjoong shakes loose, brown strands of hair out of his face gently in order to pour the liquid, smile wide at the make believe scenario they've concocted as a result of their boredom.

“So, professional threesome guy? Not counting on the Psych stuff working out?”

“Au contraire, mi amor,” Wooyoung begins, a devilish grin replacing his once playful one and leaning his face in closer towards Hongjoong's. “I very much intend on doing both.”

Turning his head only enough to allow the corners of his eyes to meet Wooyoung's, Hongjoong responds with a roll of them — snorting through his nose at the thought, but mostly because he knows that Wooyoung is being extremely honest about that fact.

Pulling back, Wooyoung takes another sip of his drink, fingers running through freshly dyed but still not great looking purple hair. “You know,” he starts, slightly more serious sounding than just moments before. “You've gotten so much more used to my antics now, I don't even make you the slightest bit uncomfortable when I get into your space! Look at the baby, all grown up!”

“I'm older than you,” Hongjoong replies, looking at him with a pressed eyebrow as if not appreciating the tone. “And yes, suppose eventually anyone could get used to—“ pausing, Hongjoong waves a hand in and around the younger mans general vicinity next to him. “—all of this.”

It's a silent response, just a smile and a nod from the man — as if admiring some artwork of his own. Eyes falling over the confident man that Hongjoong had become just before his very own — well-spoken and aware of himself and more accepting of himself, at that. Wooyoung, of course, wouldn't be himself if he didn't accept some credit for it, for the obvious influence he had on him.

He's thankful that it's been positive, and more than anything, he's thankful that he gets to see it and experience it. A Kim Hongjoong that's smart, talented, creative, open, thoughtful, understanding; and more than anything else, willing. Willing to listen, willing to bend, willing to give.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words throw him through a loop a bit, if he's honest. Earnest features on Hongjoong's face as he asks the question — comfortable and confident. Two of the things the man never was when they met.

Oh, how time flies.

Hongjoong watches as Wooyoung scans his face over, presumably attempting to find any tell, any reason at all that he should advise against such a thing. One side of his mouth curling upwards and into a slight grin, Wooyoung glances around them at their surroundings — a few strangers, empty cups with spilled alcohol all over the counter tops and a broken glass in the sink — before landing back on Hongjoong.

“Here? In the middle of the kitchen?”

Hongjoong laughs, the coyness in Wooyoung's voice answer enough to his inquiry but unable to give a straight on answer unless it suits him — or he absolutely has to. In his mind, he worries for the future clientele of the man that would be having to deal with him, and how thankful he is that he may never end up on that couch looking for advice in the future.

That doesn't mean he's not going to fucking kiss him, though, because he's been waiting too long and he absolutely is.

Despite Hongjoong leaning in first, asking for permission first; it's a daunting, new, first experience — not only kissing another man, but doing so in public. Safety not a concern and for that he is thankful, but he is also thankful for the subtle guidance of Wooyoung in the moment as he also steps forward to match him — a gentle hand reaching up and towards Hongjoong's face to delicately hold him as their lips finally meet for the first time. Not the first time either of them have kissed another person — romantically or sexually, but Wooyoung can feel the tremble from Hongjoong all the same. The sensation of newness, of unsureness.

Sometimes, the kiss is all it takes to know where you stand on the matter. The more experienced one of the two knowing better than anyone that this may be the first and the last time that Hongjoong kisses a man.

But it also might not be.

Standing outside of Wooyoung's apartment, keys in hand, he smiles gently at the man just before him — it's a conversation that he knows should happen, and truthfully, he's not too attached that the rejection will torment him all that much — but rejection is such all the same, and never feels good no matter how inviting of it you may have been.

“So,” he starts, carefully untying his scarf with intent to walk inside shortly after. “How was it? How do you feel about it?”

Hongjoong looks at him wide-eyed, a look that Wooyoung thinks he hasn't seen on him in so long now. Taken aback, caught off guard — as if Hongjoong had never even considered the fact that he should think about what had taken place back there in that kitchen.

“Good,” is all he manages out at first before realizing that the man in question may require more. “It felt good, but weird.”

“New weird or straight weird?” he asks, a gust of wind blowing lavender hair into his hair at just the very same moment.

But without skipping a beat, Hongjoong replies immediately. Confidently. Without any question lacing his tone — setting Wooyoung's nerves to rest for the night in accomplished bliss.

“New weird.”

Upon entering Wooyoung's apartment, Hongjoong finds himself to be a bit shocked at what he finds. He supposes, that in some way, he expected more. Wooyoung — the eccentric type that he was — a kinkster at that, perhaps with harnesses and whips and chains adorning his abode. Looking back on whatever subconscious, preconceived notion he may have had prior to entering, it was a bit far-fetched. Unlikely for a guy barely in his twenties to effectively be residing inside of a sex shop, Hongjoong chuckles to himself under his breath as he takes the sights in for the first time: dark blue wallpapering and black couches, colorful, abstract paintings hanging from a handful of different places — so meticulously and deliberately decorated in such a high class, sensual sort of way that now that he's experiencing it, is so much more fitting of the man in question than anything else he may have previously had in mind.

The faint scent of musk and wood over taking Hongjoong's senses just then at the thought, his eyes landing on the large, three-wicked handle that it surely had been coming from even in spite of not having been lit at that moment — he finds comfort in it. In his surroundings.

In Wooyoung.

“Want something to drink?” the man offers from the kitchen, already pulling open the large, stainless steel door to the refrigerator. Hongjoong declines however, settling himself down at one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. Black marbling with white accenting — only a lone, silver, paper towel holder sitting atop it before the glass of water that Wooyoung pours himself finds itself set down there as well, the man seating himself shortly after.

“Wow, this is the first time you've been here, isn't it?”

Hongjoong nods, eyes still wandering and taking it all in.

“Like what you see?”

It's a joke, Hongjoong knows that. A coy, play on the typical pick up line. Not that he'd be all that opposed, regardless. He thinks. He's pretty sure, anyways.

“Can I ask you something?” Hongjoong finally says, eyes settling themselves onto Wooyoung's across from him.

“Shoot.”

He pauses, mulling over the words before allowing for their exit.

“What are you gonna do with the whole...lifestyle thing? Ya know, when you graduate and land in your career. Can't imagine most people would be so open-minded about what their therapist likes to do in his off time.”

One corner of his lip curling upward, Wooyoung takes a sip of his drink, only to shrug with the utmost nonchalance. “Keep doing what I do. I'm not going to stop.”

The answer is both shocking an quintessentially Jung Wooyoung simultaneously.

“The thing is,” he begins again, leaning forward to press an elbow into the marble as his chin sits atop his hand. “Can't stop being me and living my life. Not for my family, not for a partner, and definitely not for a job. Part of the reason I even wanted to get into this line of work was to specialize in that sort of thing anyways.”

“The sex?”

“The talking about sex, yeah.”

In listening to him, it makes sense. Hongjoong smiles delicately at the man across the marble. “Have you been psychoanalyzing me our entire friendship?”

It's a joke, but not really.

“Of course, it's not really something I can just turn off, but I'm not your therapist — or even a therapist, yet, so it's not really my place to diagnose you, if that's what you're asking.”

Reaching across and to Wooyoung's glass, Hongjoong slides it towards himself to take a sip before responding. “I guess, kind of.”

“Therapy isn't a punishment,” Wooyoung begins again, almost out of the blue, from how Hongjoong hears it. And it sounds pointed. “We all have stuff.”

“Enlighten me,” Hongjoong says, looking up and over the rim of the glass as he sips from it again.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. It's obvious that Hongjoong is fishing for the kind of thing that he doesn't necessarily want to give him, but in the spirit of not wanting to leave him hanging — plays along. A little.

“What? Like how you still haven't confessed your little crush to me?”

Choking on a third sip, Wooyoung can't help but giggle at the reaction as Hongjoong pulls one of his long sleeves even further forward to wipe the liquid from his chin.

“That obvious, huh?”

“You kissed me.”

“Then why do I have to say it!”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes again. “Non-verbal communication is communication, but being able to verbalize it is a skill. One you desperately need to work at. Actions speak louder than words but we are still a verbal society at large.”

Hongjoong pauses to take the words in. He knows that there's truth in them, however difficult it may be for him to parse. A young man having spent the majority of his life growing up in, reflecting through, feeling through art — numerous methods of non-verbally expressing himself — Wooyoung was correct in saying that it was a skill, and one that Hongjoong had long since left by the wayside.

“I don't know if I have a crush, really—“ he finally responds, reluctantly making eye contact through the sort-of confession. “I think I'm terrified of saying things and them not being true.”

“And you never feel confident enough in anything you feel to say it.”

“Basically.”

Standing up, Wooyoung pulls the now empty glass from Hongjoong's nervous, busy fingers — turning towards the sink and placing it within before turning again and leaning against that very spot.

“It's okay to be wrong. You're going to be wrong. That's a part of life.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“What do you think is going to happen if you tell someone you have a crush on them, then you wake up the next day and don't anymore?” Wooyoung asks, shrugging and waving his hands about into the air around him. “Like, it's fine. That's your truth, you should live it. Experience it.”

“I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings if I don't have to, so I want to be sure, I guess.”

Huffing through his nose and cocking his head to the side, Wooyoung gazes upon Hongjoong with the utmost gentleness — it's a look that says 'oh, you sweet darling.' Hongjoong understands that in a way, it's somewhat condescending. Probably not purposefully, but it comes off as such.

Not that he really blames the man, though.

“You'll never be sure,” Wooyoung says, stepping towards Hongjoong and motioning him with a nod towards his bedroom. “Whatever sign you're looking for? It doesn't exist—“

And as he stands, Wooyoung tosses an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the fluffy, brown hair that he's grown to adore so much over their relatively short friendship.

“—You can just live. Just live.”

As they settle into bed together, Hongjoong accepts that it's a decision he's made long before that night — climbing into soft, dark sheets as the television in front of the bed flickers over them. Wooyoung asks if he needs anything before they settling in for the night, Hongjoong shakes his head, slowed by the vision of Wooyoung pulling his t-shirt up and over his head and flinging it across the room into the general direction of the laundry hamper. Making eye contact with the man, he can feel his ears redden at his being found out, pulling the sheets up only that much more in a pathetic attempt to hide from a man he's about to be sharing a bed with.

But Wooyoung only chuckles under his breath. “Do you want me to put something on? I don't mind, seriously. I hadn't really thought about it, is all.”

And Hongjoong knows that however he answers is much more telling than the actual words that come out of his mouth, but figure after tonight — after everything — may as well begin that whole communication thing that everyone seems to be on about these days.

“No, it's fine.”

Disheveled, lavender hair bouncing as he makes his own way into the comfort of his sheets, Hongjoong eyes him from his peripheral. It's not the first time he's shared a bed with a man, nor is it the first time he's shared a bed with someone that he...is sexually attracted to?

It's the first time that both of those things have been taking place at the same time, though.

Wooyoung — not particularly toned or built, but thick, sturdy, with heavenly tanned skin and despite how god fucking awful that dye-job may be, the contrast of it sure does only make his skin glow just that much more.

He watches Wooyoung idly stare forward and into the television, attempting to find a suitable viewing experience whilst Hongjoong has already found his.

The unfortunate tenting in his sweats much more telling than he was going to be verbally willing for a long time.

Inhaling deeply, Hongjoong thinks over all of the ways he's ever made a move on a woman he's slept with, and why this feels any different. Sure, it's a region of sex previously unexplored — but he's no virgin — so why this. Why is he being like this?

He makes a decision though, and hastily at that — inching his way over to Wooyoung and pressing himself against the man's side, head resting on his shoulder — only briefly taken aback, Wooyoung adjusts his arm to create space where Hongjoong wishes to reside next to him, but not without a knowing grin across his lips; which the older boy catches visual of, of course.

“You a cuddler?”

Hongjoong thinks it over for a second before responding — suddenly feeling like every experience brand new to him regardless of previous exploration.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Cute.”

“Wooyoung—“

“Yeah?”

But what's awaiting Wooyoung when he looks down towards Hongjoong isn't a man with a question, or with a comment of any kind. It's beady, expectant eyes looking back up at him — eyes full of anticipation, full of interest, and desire.

He's happy to oblige.

Pulling up and from under Hongjoong to readjust — a necessity in order to carry through with what's being asked of him — Wooyoung pauses seated for just a second as the other man lies back comfortably, as if to give him time to back out, to reassess the situation, but with no such argument made, he continues his follow through, leaning over and then down atop Hongjoong's torso and gently pressing plush, warm, lips to his. It's so light, barely felt at all at first — a testing of the waters, but it's Hongjoong that's the first to press in further, teeth grazing the bottom of Wooyoung's lip as he deepens the kiss. Pastel, purple hair cascading down around the two of them, Wooyoung's happy to meet him halfway in his intensity — teeth accidentally clashing together in one particularly fervent moment, and Hongjoong finds the situation to be escalating perhaps a bit faster than he had originally anticipated, if the hardness on him, and the one against his thigh were to be any indication.

Wooyoung pulls back momentarily, half-lidded eyes of his own looking down at another brown pair matching — readjusting his positioning again to have all of his weight on one side and freeing up his other hand, he makes no movement with it. Not before asking.

🍬🍬🍬

“Do you want me to touch you?”

The question sends a shiver down Hongjoong's spine — anticipation, anxiety, want, but not without that pang of horror — as if once a man touches his dick there's no going back, everything is forever changed.

As if it even matters.

He nods. Wooyoung shakes his head but still allows his hand to begin the slow descent beneath the sheets between them.

“Say it. What'd we talk about?”

“Oh my God,” Hongjoong huffs, sure that the man can feel the way his heart nearly beats straight through his chest on the way down, but feeling set ablaze by the touch all the same. “Yes, God you're so annoying.”

Fingers deftly dipping into the waistband of his sweatpants, the breath in Hongjoong's throat hitches as Wooyoung's lips curl expertly along the edge of his ear.

“God, but you like it so much.”

In the very moment, Hongjoong tries not to focus on how humiliating it would be to bust right then and there. Quickly trying to recall a moment where he's been talked dirty to before: and failing.

Anything like that: and failing.

A desperate attempt to get his mind off of the way Wooyoung's fingers curl around his length at that very moment — so foreign and warm despite having his dick touched before, by other people, something about it feeling so new.

And scary.

And it's in that moment that the sudden realization of what comes after this dawns on him. Kissing and touching, the easy stuff. It's all fun and games. Boys experimenting and having a laugh in college because they're horny and just want to try something out.

But if he is willing to suck dick? Tonight? Is he willing to take dick tonight, at that?

The thoughts are a little all-consuming and all of a sudden, taking him out of the moment in an instant and stiffening under Wooyoung's touch; he notices it immediately — stilling for a second, only to pull his hand back and face away from Hongjoong altogether.

This was always a possibility. There's always the chance that they land on the side of “no.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—“ he inhales deeply, closing his eyes to center himself again before opening them and looking at Wooyoung. “I'm fine. It's a lot. New.”

“We don't have to do anything.”

“I know,” Hongjoong replies immediately, worried that Wooyoung may think that he feels pressured. Pushed. Rushed. “I know that. It's me, not you.”

Wooyoung smiles gently at the response, relieved at having not crossed any boundaries before settling back into bed, but not before leaning in and kissing Hongjoong on his fluffy, brown head just as he had previously.

“Let's get some sleep, I'll touch your dick tomorrow if you want.”

“God, such a romantic.”

Wooyoung can't say he's all that surprised when he wakes up to the feeling of a strange hand gently inching it's way across his abdomen. Not expected, but not surprised, either.

Fingertips ghosting across the skin beneath the covers, barely conscious, he turns his head towards the guest in his bed, eyes seemingly equally sleepy but lucid all the same — he smiles softly at the experimental touches, only barely dipping under the elastic band of his pants — little intent behind it and almost certainly not bold enough to make any real moves towards anything more defining, he allows the movements to continue at Hongjoong's pace...slow, unsure, but interested all the same.

Then, hand driven further down, one lone fingertip grazing the length of Wooyoung's cock — standing tall by morning and attention it's receiving — he inhales sharply at the touch with eye contact maintained.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

And with brown hair messy and strewn across his face, Hongjoong nods, the words of affirmation following shortly after and without more prompting.

“Yes.”

Upon Wooyoung's insistence, they find themselves in the shower together — the first time they've seen the other bare, but more than that, with physical intent behind it. Hongjoong is surprised by how comfortable it feels to have Wooyoung's eyes and hands on him — stepping behind to scrub Hongjoong's back and gently pressing kisses to the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, he closes his eyes and takes it in.

Acceptance, maybe. The moment in which he finally, truly comes to terms with himself and all that comes with that.

Settling back into the sheets from which they came, Hongjoong lies back, head against the pillow as Wooyoung settles between his legs — a pile of potential essentials off and to the side of the bed, he attempts to put it out of his mind for the time being.

Enjoy the moment. Enjoy the journey.

“If it gets to be too much just let me know,” Wooyoung insists as he pushes the covers to the bedding off of the edge to make room for himself to lie on his stomach. “We can always stop, any time. You don't have to do anything just because we've started.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hongjoong huffs out, eyes rolling up and towards the ceiling as Wooyoung brings a familiar hand up and curls fingers around his dick again. One, slow, pump — then a second, and Hongjoong feels Wooyoung adjusting his positioning again before the warm, wetness of a mouth takes him. Familiar, not the first time, not really.

Bringing a hand down and into Wooyoung's hair, he makes it a point to force his focus down, as well. To truly take the moment in. It's not a scenario in which he wants to pretend that it's anything other than what it is: you don't have to disassociate. You don't have to pretend it's not a man — not Wooyoung — it is, and that's okay, because it's what you want.

Wooyoung hollows his cheeks, taking Hongjoong further back, and fingers gripping into pastel hair, he inhales sharply, back of his head pressing hard into the pillow just beneath it.

“God, good,” he exhales, Wooyoung hums in response. “I think I'm gonna come soon, though.”

Huffing through his nostrils as he pulls off of the man beneath him, Wooyoung grins as he meets eyes with Hongjoong once again. “Already? Man, you're an easy sell. You don't want to come?”

“Not yet,” Hongjoong answers, thinking it over after having already given an answer but wanting to be sure. “Yeah, not yet.”

Wooyoung shrugs, so casual about the whole ordeal it's almost as if nothing sexual is going on at all. Hongjoong can't help but admit that he finds his nonchalance comforting, in a way.

That Wooyoung is going to be Wooyoung no matter what, and at all costs.

A pause between the two of them before Hongjoong speaks up again. “Do you want me...to...”

Cocking his head to the side, confusion lacing his features for just a split second before realizing what it is that his friend is on about, he laughs. “Oh, you mean suck my dick? I mean, if you want, you don't have to.”

“I feel like I should—“

But Wooyoung stops him dead in the sentence. “Don't do anything because you feel like you should. The fundamental rules of being a good lover: GGG. Good, Giving, and Game.”

“What...is that?” Hongjoong asks, unsurprised by the fact that this has somehow turned into Wooyoung's kinky educational hour. It always was going to be that to some degree, after all.

“Good in bed, Giving of equal time and pleasure, and Game for anything...within reason,” he explains, “always, always the within reason, part. If you're not ready, you're not ready.”

Hongjoong watches his face for a moment, truly taking the concept in despite having just mocked the concept in his mind (all in good fun, of course), and nods once.

“I think...I want to wait.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Wooyoung acknowledges, leaning over and to the side to grab the small pile of items that had previously been discarded that way. “Do you still want to...do this?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Cool, see? No worries, I'll cum anyways, doesn't matter.”

And Hongjoong likes how normal Wooyoung is about the whole thing, making the situation feel so much less big than maybe it is to him. Everything is whatever and doesn't matter or no big deal and it's consoling, in a strange way.

He also notices the tingle up his spine at hearing the way Wooyoung just so casually talks about coming...as a result of him.

“Have you ever done this before?” Wooyoung asks, popping open the cap of the translucent bottle but pausing before expelling any of the liquid onto his fingers.

“You know I haven't,” he replies, briefly pulling his head up and off the pillow to look at the man between his legs like he's an insane person.

“I mean, by yourself,” Wooyoung amends, playfully slapping the inside of one of Hongjoong's thighs. “Or, I guess with a woman. You ever been pegged?”

Hongjoong can feel the familiar heat of humiliation burning up inside of his ears already.

“No...no to both questions.”

Humming at the response first, Wooyoung bites hit bottom lip as if to be thinking. “Okay, well, we'll take it very slow. Also you should let your girlfriend peg you, ya know, when you have one. Assuming this goes as well as we'd hope, anyways.”

“You talk so much,” Hongjoong whines as Wooyoung coats two fingers with lubricant, setting the bottle back to the side and out of the way.

“Yeah but you kinda like it, right? Kind of a hard sell to say you don't when you want me to fuck you in the as—“

“Can you not!?” Hongjoong groans out loudly now, upper body pulling off of the bed completely to look up at Wooyoung — knelt steadily between his legs and hand only just an inch off from their intended goal. The two men make eye contact, pause, then laugh — Hongjoong settling right back down into place.

“Okay, okay,” the more experienced of the two begins. “Gonna be honest with you, this first bit isn't gonna feel that great, but let me know if it gets to be too much, if you want me out just say 'out'”

“Yeah, I've heard, alright.”

With his middle finger sufficiently lubed, Wooyoung begins his slow press inside of Hongjoong — immediately met with anticipated resistance, he turns his attention up and onto the face of the boy in which he's penetrating — scanning his features for any sense of needing to remove himself at once, Hongjoong only winces slightly at the intrusion. One knuckle in, Wooyoung pauses, asking him how he feels, and Hongjoong nods to signify that it's okay to continue.

Second knuckle, Wooyoung pauses again, this time noticing visibly more discomfort splashed across the features of the man beneath him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you feel?”

Hongjoong pauses before answering, inhaling shallowly. “Uncomfortable. Not unbearable, though. God, how many fingers do you have in me right now?”

Wooyoung chuckles at the innocence of the question. “One, dude.”

“One!?” Hongjoong shouts, absolute disbelief in his tone in a way that Wooyoung isn't sure he's ever heard from his friend before, as if the idea of there not being an entire fist inside of him right now be so impossibly foreign that he hadn't even considered it to be the case. “Jesus Christ.”

“It gets easier, first time can be a little rough.”

“How are we—“ Hongjoong stops mid sentence, choosing his words over again. “You're...big.”

“Yeah, uh—“ Wooyoung snorts, a single finger still lodged within Hongjoong as the conversation carries on. “Pros of dealing with me is I know what I'm doing and I'll do my best to take care of you, cons being...well, it's gonna be a snug fit.”

“Arguably not even physically possible.”

“I don't have to fuck you, I won't be disappointed.”

“I know, it's not that, just—“ Hongjoong's thoughts interrupted by Wooyoung pulling from him gently and pressing back in. “Have you ever bottomed?”

“Of course,” Wooyoung happily admits, delicately finger fucking Hongjoong as the conversation carries on. “I like sex, I'll try just about anything.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah, I'm the one that told you to get pegged, remember?”

“God, that conversation feels like it happened so long ago already,” Hongjoong huffs out, slinging an arm over his face as he attempts to get used to the feeling of being penetrated.

“I'm gonna add another finger.”

Pulling from him, pairing his ring finger with his middle, and adding a bit more lube, Wooyoung presses forward again into the small amount of progress he's made on Hongjoong, this time receiving an audible wince at the considerably thicker intrusion — fingers gripping into the sheets beneath him, Hongjoong bites into his bottom lip, screwing his eyes shut in spite of them being obstructed by his arm.

He thinks it feels as though he's being torn open, not that he particularly wants to tell Wooyoung that.

“How does it feel?”

Breathy and quick, Hongjoong can only huff out an “okay.”

Two knuckles deep again, Wooyoung stills inside of him to allow him time to adjust. “Let me know when you want me to move.”

“Is this really better than just going straight in with dick?” Hongjoong questions, ignoring Wooyoung's sentiment entirely for his own. Flustered, horny, and uncomfortable, he writhes under Wooyoung's touch. “It feels...torturous.”

“I know, but I promise it's better to take it slow. It'll get easier the more you do it,” he insists. “You should have experimented more on your own. I feel like men have usually shoved something up their ass experimentally by the time they're twenty-three.”

“I missed the memo.”

“So it seems. I'm going to move.”

It's a dull ache, uncomfortable pull when Wooyoung drags his fingers out of Hongjoong and presses them back in. Once, twice, three times, before he stills inside again — deeper this time, Hongjoong can tell.

“I'm going to try something, let me know if anything feels different.”

“What do you mean different?”

“Like, good different. You'll know.”

Hongjoong waits for a few moments, only barely being able to feel the way that Wooyoung is allegedly fishing around inside of him, until a split second hits where his nerves light up like fireworks, muscles in his abdomen tensing violently at the touch.

“Jesus, that— what was that?”

“Ah, found it, good. I'm gonna suck your dick again, try not to come immediately since you said you didn't want to yet.”

Barely able to get the words of compliance out before it feels as though life itself gets stuck in his throat, Hongjoong feels that particular, sudden, explosion of nerves in his fingertips all over again as Wooyoung presses deep and takes him into his mouth again. He knows what it is, he's knowledgeable enough to be aware.

But fuck, he did not know it was going to be that fucking good.

And as good as it is, he's embarrassed by how quick it gets him there, only three or four bobs of Wooyoung's head down on his cock before Hongjoong is urging him over and over again to stop, that he's close, and Wooyoung just giggles again as he pulls off.

“God, you have no stamina, I hope you're better with pussy.”

“Well I wasn't the first time.”

“Fair enough. Do you want to try?”

‘Do you want to try?’

Famous last words.

Hongjoong exhales heavily, as if accepting a fate he hadn't already accepted long before they had even gotten to this point. The faint, comforting scent of pine sweeping through his senses just in that moment. As if to tell him he's in good hands. A sign.

A sign from the higher powers that be: have that man fuck you in the ass.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

So casual about the whole thing.

Reaching over again and grabbing the metallic packaging, for some reason Hongjoong finds it surprising as he hears the tearing — moving his arm to look down at the scene between his legs. Wooyoung catches the subtle shock on his features and questions him about it. “What? You didn't think I'd wear a condom? After where I've been?”

“No, I don't know. I don't really know what to expect in any of this, I don't think.”

“Do you want me to not wear one?”

Hongjoong thinks on it for a second. “I think? Kind of?”

But Wooyoung frowns at the response, carrying on with the unpackaging of the rubber. “Bad answer. You should always use protection, unless you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I think it's the intimacy?”

Leaning forward as he rolls the condom down and onto himself, Wooyoung plants a kiss atop one of Hongjoong's knees. “It's still intimate. If this goes well we can get tested together and then I'll fuck you raw, how about that for romantics?”

Hongjoong attempts to ignore the way the words make his dick twitch, perhaps a little too interested in the idea of being fucked open and raw by Wooyoung — instead, he opts for a simple nod, and allowing his arm to fall over his face once again.

Lubed up fingers inside of him again, gently prying him open for what's to come, he inhales deeply as he feels Wooyoung adjust between his legs, lining himself up at his entrance with the exit of the digits and ever so delicately pressing forward with his hips.

Only a few centimeters in, Wooyoung stills, watching the features of Hongjoong's that he's able to see. “Are you okay?”

Hongjoong hums in response. Not Wooyoung's ideal reply, but it'll do, given the circumstances. continuing his drive forward, Wooyoung reaches down, hand along Hongjoong's waist to keep him in place as he slowly sinks in. Eyes locked on bitten lips and messy brown hair the whole time until fully encompassed by his body, Wooyoung stills again, swallowing down hard the primal, gut, desire to fuck the boy dumb at the stupefying, warm, tightness.

But he has to be better than that. It's his job, after all.

“How's it feel?”

Throat dry, Hongjoong finally takes a deep breath before answering. “A lot.”

“Yeah, I know. I won't move until you tell me to.”

“I think you should.”

“Are you sure?” Wooyoung questions, tone worrying and unsure.

“Yes, but can you—“ and Hongjoong pulls his arm away from his face, using the same hand to motion for the man inside of him to close the distance between the two. Wooyoung smiles at the gesture, gently readjusting and leaning in so that he lies atop Hongjoong completely.

“Better?”

“I don't know, please move. Do that thing again.”

Wooyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Bottoms are always so demanding, yes baby, as you wish.”

Hongjoong opts to ignore the pet name (a little bit) in favor of focusing on the sensation, and the sensation that he hopes to follow soon once Wooyoung finds the angle with his cock that he had just earlier found by hand, but he's thankful that it doesn't take long at all — and perhaps these are some of the joys of a first time with someone more experienced — that four, five gentle presses into Hongjoong and he's seeing stars all over again as the tip of Wooyoung's length meets that particular bundle of nerves. Toes curling and fingers dancing up and into Wooyoung's hair at the sensation, all he can manage is a breathy “fuck” in response to it.

“Good, right?” Wooyoung toys with him, lips dragging across the hot skin of Hongjoong's neck and jaw as he continues short, shallow thrusts to keep up the feeling that the man beneath him desires so much. “Don't forget to breathe.”

A bit of a funny reminder, Hongjoong finds, once he realizes that he had, in fact, been holding his breath for who knows how long. Wooyoung experimentally withdrawing just a bit further than he had been before driving back in — with it, the first full, resounding moan falling from Hongjoong's mouth.

Wooyoung thinks maybe he shouldn't have made fun of Hongjoong's inability to last just earlier in the morning.

“Do you want me to stroke your cock?” Wooyoung mumbles against skin, already reaching down and between them, and Hongjoong can barely find the breath much less the words to response anything coherent.

“I—I'll—“ is all he can whimper out between faster, fuller drives of Wooyoung into him. Wooyoung knows that he's attempting to say that he'll come, and not wanting to give away the fact that he's not too far from the same, simply nudges him even more towards that inevitability.

“So? you can come,” Wooyoung whispers between kisses and feathery nips into the flesh of his ear and jaw, his own high fast approaching and fingers gripping tight around Hongjoong's slick, pre-cum soaked cock. “You've been so good, take me so good, you can come.”

“Fuck, don't—“ but before he can make a plea, the rush of pleasure is already washing over him, ripping through his body like an orgasm never before experienced in his life — fingers gripping tight into lilac hair and back arching as repeated, whispered expletives drip from his mouth and ropes of cum cover otherwise tan, talented fingers. But Wooyoung is relieved at the sights and sounds, allowing himself the three or four hard, full pumps into the man beneath him before he buries himself in as deep as he can manage and empties himself into the condom with gritted teeth and a loud groan.

Chests heaving, first out of sync but eventually falling into unison, Wooyoung quickly pulls himself together enough to gently pull himself from Hongjoong and roll off of him, removing and tying off the condom before tossing it into the bedside waste bin.

Flopping onto the bed once again to enjoy the post-sex bliss, Wooyoung hesitantly turns his head to look at a weary, sleepy, and fucked out Hongjoong — arm tossed across his face once again and a seemingly unstoppable upward curve of his lips taking his features as he desperately attempts to collect his breath.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong sighs heavily, pulling his arm from his face only to turn his head to meet Wooyoung's gaze.

“I definitely like men.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

[xinnamonbun]

Got Nostalgic

So I decided to look at some old Inanimate Insanity humanizations I did a couple years back. I'm pretty sure I did these RIGHT when season 3 released. Good times-

(Looks)

...

AAAAAAAAÆ-

Below will be humanizations of: Soap, Bow, Paintbrush, Blueberry, Goo, Cabby, Test Tube, Cherries, Taco, Apple, Fan, Lightbulb, Suitcase, Balloon, Lifering, Microphone, Marshmallow, Nickel, and Yin-Yang

⚠️ WARNING OLD ART ⚠️

Off to a great start...the soap hair tie is almost cute...almost. (also I'd like to mention that I only knew like three types of shoes so you're going to be seeing these once or twice)

It's... Okay. This is one of the better ones we're going to see. Why does she have ballerina shoes???

I was really really bad at drawing guys and was much better at drawing girls (not that that was very good either). Paintbrush being an entirely different thing made me nervous that I was going to make them too masculine or too feminine. I remember being SO proud of myself... And like this one isn't terrible... But why are they wearing ice skates- (they're not supposed to be ice skates but that is NOT lined up)

Not terrible. I think that this still gives Blueberry vibes it's mainly the shoes that are bugging me. But other than that it's not BAD.

I remember one of my cousins called him Caillou, I sobbed... I hate that they were right- I MADE HIM BALD

Did not know how to draw a wheelchairs (still don't but I hope I could do better than THIS) THIS DOESN'T LOOK LIKE CABBY. END OF STORY. I also don't want to talk about the dress- it's bad

I guess I don't hate this one. I don't love it either. This one is pretty much just "I could believe that's test tube" BUT THERE'S NO SPICE

I had this headcannon that one of the cherries was trans which is why they never spoke because they were self-conscious of their voice. Not the worst head Cannon but I just can't see it anymore. These outfits also just suck. And the return of the ice skates-

This is season 1 Taco specifically and the idea was upon show to hide the hands while having her fancy spy outfit underneath. With the little that you can see of the spy outfit it sucks. The top doesn't look super bad I guess. I also gave her little fangs that I decided to make gray for some reason so they blended into her skin.

I remember this one was my absolute FAVORITE like I thought this was peak character design. It's not that good but at the very least it's definitely the most okay one here... Except for the fact that APPLE'S KNEES ARE LIKE 5/8 DOWN HER LEG- WHO BROKE YOUR LEG?!? Also are those green jeans? Also return of the ice skates.

RONALD MCDONALD!!! IVE FOUND YOUR COUSIN- in case it wasn't clear (it isn't) this is Fan... Excuse me while I bash my head into the wall- WHAT IS THIS ABOMINATION?!? AND ON TOP OF THAT WE HAVE ANOTHER CASE OF ICE SKATES- I swear if I see one more ice skate I'm going to lose it-

This is...kinda adorable??? The hair doesn't fit though. I still like the socks.

This one isn't THAT bad, it's just...the nose. The idea of her having a backpack to carry stuff is still cute. And-... Are those. Ice. Skates. (Inhale) AAAAAAAAÆ---

Burn it with fire. I didn't even like this one when I first drew it! I always had plans of redrawing it but I never did. In case you need clarification this is Balloon... In my slight justification for why he's wearing... that. I was originally going to give all of the returning season 3 contestants vacation clothes because they thought they were going on a vacation but I didn't really do this with any of the others so it just looks out of place and ugly.

I saw an ad around the time I drew this that showed a child missing their upper lip. I thought that that would be an interesting design choice for Lifering to to represent the hole in his face. I was correct that it's interesting. It being a good design choice before this art style is a different topic- still like the earring I gave him though.

I hate those fingers. They're so small. I hate it. I remember this was my favorite outfit, and now I don't like it that much. But I guess it's not THAT bad. It's still kinda bad.

This is Marshmallow. I needed to lead with that otherwise you wouldn't know who this is. This is straight up isn't marshmallow. That is some random girl that should not be trusted with hair dye.

This one is just...okay. at least compared to the other ones on this list. It's not the worst. It's DEFINITELY not the best. His hair is... Something. Also the return of the ice skates

This one is honestly just funny to me now. Yin just looks done (I feel you buddy) I really played around with a vitiligo (the reason why they have both pale and dark skin; look it up) and I do like the concept I had of this I just don't think I have the skills at the time to properly pull it off.

Wait...is that it? IM FREEEEEEE-

Bonus: (this was made before season 3 and I only found this because it was one of the reference images for my Bow humanization shown above)

You know what I said about Balloon? I take it back. Burn THIS with fire.

Ok NOW I'm free.

(for the record I give you full permission to bash me in the replies, in fact I encourage it. I'm planning on making redo's of these humanizations with my (hopefully better) art skills. So pointing out things that you didn't like in the previous designs or things that you think would be nice to add are greatly appreciated feedback)

[cerealforkart]

I made myself these little dress up dolls because everyone’s getting changed all the time, here’s the first batch, outfits pre-episode 13

Design notes under the cut

[part 2] [part 3]

Lincoln

* I would first of all like to thank Lincoln for being shaped like a model (long boy) and thus very easy to dress up

* I forgot that Link needed to tear off his sleeves to make Normal a diaper in lesson 14, so in lesson 11 he grabs a sweater when I assume he goes home between escaping the FBI and returning to school

* Lincoln is so comically tall the Teeny costume (which I just moved from Normal to Link and edited to match Link’s pose) only reaches his knees. It actually looked so stupid that I had to edit it to make the Teeny costume slightly longer in the legs

* Link has two roombas in his room, he’s a clean boy, he isn’t walking around Taylor’s house in his bare feet, he doesn’t trust like that, it’s sock time

Scary

* I actually originally planned for Scary to have more piercings, but I forgot to add them in lesson 1. Let’s just say her mom won’t let her go crazy on the piercings, from what we’ve heard in rad facts (wouldn’t let her get a tongue piercing or learn guitar) that sounds in character

* I wanted to do the Shit Garden logo on Scary’s shirt like one of those metal bands that only people who like metal can actually read, but I only have so much time and patience

* I want so badly to play with Scary’s hair more, but I haven’t really had the chance, I hope there will be more excuses to give her different styles in the future, I like the braided bun for fancy occasions a lot

* Big T-shirt and shorts are peak pyjamas, love it for her. Also, you don’t need to know how long I spent trying to come up with something for her shirt to say

Normal

* Don’t tell anyone but I kind of miss drawing Teeny’s big stupid head every day, it was easy comedy

* I did actually draw a Jimmy Buffet design on the shirt before scribbling over it, you can barely see if you look closely

* I don’t actually have anything to say about Normal’s dance outfit so I guess I’ll just take this opportunity to talk about my Normal design in general. He was the one it took me the longest to land on and I’m still unsure if I’m happy with him, I want his hair to be long enough to just sorta hang and be greasy, but not so long that it will get in his face too much and I still consistently fail on it

* Not much to say about his sleepover fit either. Froggy :)

Taylor

* I had originally planned for everyone to be wearing their bracelets on their left wrists but in episode 8 it’s mentioned that Taylor is wearing his on his right, at that point I think I had only drawn Taylor’s bracelet once so it was easier to just change his and let him be a special boy (also, they keep the bracelets on post-FBI because Taylor never really has an opportunity to take it off and the others wear theirs in solidarity)

*After Lesson 10, Taylor swaps out the crest of friendship from Digimon to wear his dad’s ring of swapping as a necklace, he tends to grab at it when his dad or the topic of betrayal comes up

* I hate Taylor for his dance fit. No longer my favourite son

* Not really a design note but I watched the Sailor Moon dub in three parts on youtube with my little sister huddled around our home computer after school, we’re real OGs

Hermie

* I finally decided to add the Joker makeup to my Hermie design, I found a powdery sorta brush to use for it so now he’s a true clown. Good for him I guess

* You may notice that I’ve tweaked my Hermie design and his colour scheme just a little bit. This is because white Hermie is dead and you know what? Good for him. I also made his hair a little wavier for Scam, you’ll start seeing the updated Hermie design (as if you can tell there’s a difference other than the very slight change in hairstyle) in lesson 16, because I drew the lesson 15 pages before episode 23 came out and I wasn’t going to go back and change them

* Stupid Joker tie. Hate it

* No sleepover fit for Hermie. Tragic. They need to have another sleepover and include him

[alaraxia]

I'm being Really Normal about Fallen Hero rn but my ipads charging so I can't draw and I need to keep this momentum going, so anyway stream of consciousness on (Ricardo) Ortega's fashion (or potential lack thereof depending on interpretations) below the cut with examples.

Is this just an excuse to headcanon outfits I personally like and make y’all read about it? Yes.

So we all joke about Gucci with Ortega because of the escape outfit he brings us, but I'd like to give some thoughts and examples on how I think someone like Ortega—a public figure/celebrity in their late 30s with access to stylists—would potentially dress.

First issue: most Gucci rn is just not it. Now that's extremely subjective because they do have some pieces that are pretty nice, but this is my post and I can say what I want. In general modern Gucci and the logomania resurgence of the 2010s and sorta more public recognizability of the brand in my mind hasn't done it any favors, and unless it’s very much his personal taste I don’t think a styling team would put him in it.

This is not to say logomania doesn't have extremely interesting and important roots in streetwear and fashion, but for the purposes of how I picture Ricardo to dress I don't think his stylists would go that route, and I think anything he does choose out of his own volition wouldn't align with a lot of their current offerings (and him not being into fashion, only into things that are expensive and pretty, definitely would not have him be into vintage Gucci). If anything it can also be justified by the stylists pushing him away from obvious logo usage due to being a representative of the U.S. Gov, etc.

Though he definitely has at least one full Gucci tracksuit because he's just Like That.

So this was mostly inspired by seeing some styles from stoffa's new stuff so I'm pretty much just pulling fit pics from there (current and older) that I could see Ricardo in that move his fashion beyond say just more stylish button ups and chino lookin pants. If you’re looking for insightful analysis on why I picked these, there really isn’t any, this is vibes I get from him and personal taste while taking climate and cost into account. Not going to consider more casual gym wear or undercover looks in this, he definitely has them and wears them a lot but this is more “he’s being styled”.

First off: expensive, very casual

Not much to say here, just if he’s got a fashion budget and stylists to point him in the right direction I could see him in these more put together but still very expensive casual looks.

Second: Still comfortable but more fashionable for daily wear

These are things I could see him in for just day to day outside of the office, I think he would favor a lot of lighter airy fabrics and colors (though I wish I was better with color because I think he’d have a bit more than what’s represented in these)

Third: dressing up, but in a very laid back and confident way, not for things like the gala but for nicer parties or fancy drinks.

Something a bit more modern and comfortable than just a traditional suit, think going out/filmed interview looks.

For both these kind of looks and even the fashionable daily wear I think he would definitely accessories with very expensive mechanical watches and other expensive belts, which may be where he tries to throw in Gucci (in accessories moreso).

Anyway that’s it, all subjective and my personal fashion biases, etc. All that being said he would definitely own this stupid Gucci jacket too.