#and never sketched faster in my life

[bunibelles]

I love u apples 🍎🫶🏼

Wip in progress

[pemdas-chicken-nugget]

me when ClassicError👹👹👹

GOD LET ME EAT THEM PLEEEEASE😩

[who-is-hex]

happy 2024 literally all ive done this year was work on altered lines so theres a lot of art fight in the general art one lol

(art fight ocs are owned by @indigo-constellation at the top right @awerzo at the mid left and @bohemianwalmart at the mid right)

[knightinink]

rat bastard goat man.

[gossameres]

chapter one, second nature

pairing: jacob black x f. reader

notes: written from a washingtonian i am tired of the misrepresentation so it is my goal to accurately portray my state… but first chapter a lil nervy havent written in a year but!! had fun writing

genres: childhood friends, best friends to lovers, mutual pining

word count: 1.5k

series masterlist! next.

The road to Forks is a familiar one, even after two years. Evergreen trees blur past your window, their towering forms casting long shadows over the asphalt as your car hums along the highway. You didn’t realize how much you missed this stretch of Highway 101 till now—how the trees leaned in like close friends, how the air smelled like rain (because of course it does), how the damp air curled in through the cracked window and made everything smell like pine needles. Your fingers tap against the steering wheel following the beat of the radio, restless.

Your phone buzzes in the passenger seat.

Jake: You close yet?

A smile tugs on your lips. You can practically hear the impatience in his text.

You: Like 20 min out. Chill

Jake: Chill?? I’m literally pacing right now

You roll your eyes but a smile tugs on your lips. Jacob Black has always been like this—all energy, no patience. Some things never change.

Jacob Black. Your best friend since before you could spell your own name. You had shared everything with him growing up—scraped knees, projects in his garage, secret forts built from moss and driftwood down by First Beach. And as you drive past The City of Forks Welcomes You sign, your chest warms.

The last time you were here, you were fourteen, saying goodbye with a promise of a visit. Your dad’s job pulled your family to the buzz of Kirkland, where everything was cleaner, faster, and more modern. But life got in the way, as it does—school, your dad’s new job, the four-hour distance between Kirkland and Forks. Still, you and Jake kept in touch. Late-night calls, stupid texts, the occasional letters (because Jake thought it was funny to mail you doodles of his terrible car sketches and self-portraits). Still, Forks was yours in the way it mattered and now, thanks to your parents’ sudden, nostalgic purchase of a cozy summer house on the edge of town, it could be again.

You weren’t the same girl who had left, and from his photos, he wasn’t the same Jacob, either. He’d grown taller, broader. His baby face and chubby cheeks you used to pinch sharpened into somethin old, something you didn’t quite know how to name. And still—he was Jacob. Your best friend.

But now, you’re back.

Your parents arrived yesterday to get the house ready and you had stayed behind to finish packing, insisting on driving yourself. You needed the time to think and to tame your nerves.

Because Jake is… Jake.

When you were kids, it was simple. He was the little boy who taught you how to skip rocks, who let you steal bites of his fry bread at the rez cookouts he would invite you to, who tried to feign annoyance but eventually grin when you called him Jakey just to annoy him.

But now? You’re not sure who he is. What you guys are.

Your phone buzzes again.

Jake: I’m at your house btw

Jake: Tick-tock you better not be bailing on me

You scoff.

You: ?????

Jake: Your mom said I could wait for you so hurry up

Of course he was. You groan, but your pulse kicks up anyway.

You could see your parents were already inside the house by the time you pulled up—a modest, moss-draped place tucked between pines, just off a gravel road. Your parents’ car is parked out front. Right next to it is a black motorcycle.

Your stomach flips.

Slowly, you pull into the driveway right behind the already car park, take a deep breath, and step out. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles. The front door is slightly ajar and you push it open.

“Mom? Dad?” No answer. You drop your bags in the foyer and head up the stairs, looking for your room at the end of the hall—

And then you see him.

Jake is leaning against your bedroom door frame, arms crossed, impatiently tapping his foot. He’s taller. A lot taller. His shoulders are broader, his frame more solid than the lanky boy you remember, and his hair was shorter now, shaggier, like he hadn’t bothered with it much. And when you made eye contact, his face looked at you like he’d forgotten how to breathe and something passed between you in the silence.

“Hey,” you said. Your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

“Took you long enough,” his face twitches slightly and he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, now grinning like he’s just won something.

“Shut up,” you reply, but you’re smiling.

He pushes off the doorframe and closes the distance between you in two strides. He pulled you into a hug that wrapped around your whole body. His warmth is immediate and almost startling, like standing in front of a bonfire. His hand lingered at your back a moment longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. You missed him. A lot.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair.

You smile against his chest. “Missed you too, Jakey.”

He exhales sharply and chuckles, like the words punched the air out of him. Then, slowly, his arms tighten around you.

“You still gonna call me that?” his voice is low, but there’s that familiar teasing lilt in it.

You pull away from him and look up to meet his eyes, smirking. “Mhm. Deal with it.”

He snorts. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Please,” you say, stepping back with a grin. “You’d cry if I stopped, just like how you always did.”

“Only a little,” he shoots back, and there’s a spark in his eyes now, brighter than you remember. You’re not sure what it is—relief, maybe, or him just being awkward and shy.

Before you can reply, the sound of the front door creaking wider makes both of you glance down the stairs.

“Sweetie?” your mom calls up. “Is Jake still here?”

He winces slightly, already backing toward the stairs. “I should probably—”

“You’re staying for dinner!” she shouts before he can finish.

You blink. “Wow, ambushed.”

“I’ve been here ten minutes, she’s already planning the menu,” Jake mutters under his breath, then louder: “Uh—I mean, I don’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense! You’re basically family.” your mom responds brightly.

He glances back at you, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile. “You set me up.”

“I did not. She just knows you too well. Besides, you’re the one that came her before I even got to Forks.” Jake just shakes his head and shoots you a glare, muttering something under his breath as he follows you down the stairs. You can feel the energy buzzing off him—slightly nervous, but trying not to show it. He’s still smirking like an idiot, but it’s more to himself now, like he can’t quite believe he’s here again either. With you, in person, not over text or call.

The house smells like Mrs. Meyers lemon cleaner and whatever your mom is preparing in the kitchen. Jake hesitates in the foyer, glancing toward the kitchen like he's debating a quick escape, but your mom appears before he can make a move. She wraps him in a hug like no time has passed and Jake stiffens for just a second before relaxing into it, careful and gentle in a way that makes you smile softly.

“You grew up on us,” she says, pulling back to look him over. “Look at you!”

Jake rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed but smiling. “Still the same guy. Just a bit taller.”

“A bit? You always did shoot up like a weed,” she laughs, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. We’ve got enough to feed a whole pack.”

He blinks at her words and nods. “Yeah. Starving.”

And then your dad strolls in from the backyard, wiping his hands on a rag, the scent of grass and sprinkler water trailing behind him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the only kid in this town I trust near a sprinkler system. Bet you could fix ours without even looking at it.”

“I’m your guy.” he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck again. It was always a small habit you noticed he did when he felt awkward, shy, or nervous.

Your dad claps him on the shoulders as he passes. “Glad to see you again, kid.”

And just like that, he is. Wrapped into the space like he’s always belonged, fitting in the rhythm of it, even if the walls are different. Even if everything is different.

You watch him as he sinks into the chair next to yours, still buzzing a little like he doesn’t know where to put all the energy. He’s quiet now, but not in a bad way—more like he’s soaking it in, anchoring himself to something familiar. You slide a glass of water toward him and he takes it without looking, but his fingers brush yours for half a second too long.

And while he’s still Jake, it’s not exactly the same. But neither are you.

[bebe-writes-stuff]

Title: You drew me?

Pairing: Mikey x Reader

Summary: “You left your diary at my house. And I read those pages, do you really love me, baby?”

(Fluff) (No warnings)

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Y/N had been friends with Emma for as long as she could remember. The two were inseparable, and Emma’s house had always been her second home. It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to spend most of her afternoons there, lounging on the couch, talking about everything under the sun. But there was one problem that always seemed to linger in the back of Y/N’s mind—the presence of Mikey.

Mikey wasn’t your typical guy. He was charismatic, carefree, and always had that smirk that made you feel like he knew something you didn’t. But Y/N, She was quiet, reserved, never the type to make her feelings obvious. And Mikey? Well, he noticed.

Y/N always tried to be discreet, glancing at Mikey when she thought he wasn’t looking, stealing the occasional peek when Emma and Mikey would argue, or when he was deep in thought. There was something about him—something about that air of mystery—that intrigued her, but she never said it aloud.

And Mikey? He was more than aware. He noticed the way her eyes would dart away whenever his gaze met hers, the way her cheeks would redden just a bit when he caught her staring a little too long. It was almost cute, really. And honestly? He liked the attention.

One day, randomly, Mikey had been rifling through a pile of papers on the kitchen counter when his hand brushed against something—a notebook, your notebook, thick with pages. Curiosity got the better of him, and before he knew it, he was flipping through it, his smirk growing wider.

It was a collection of sketches—drawings of him. Different angles, different expressions—capturing everything from his lazy grin to the sharpness in his eyes. His fingers traced over the edges of the pages. So she was keeping these secret little portraits of him, huh?

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He should’ve known.

A few days later, Emma and Y/N were hanging out again, lounging in Emma’s room, talking about the usual: school, friends, life. It was a typical afternoon until Mikey casually appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Emma,” Mikey said, flashing his signature smirk. “Can you go grab me some dorayaki? Or, you know, a drink from the store around the corner? I’ll owe you one.”

She blinked, confused. “Uh… sure, I guess. Why now?”

Mikey shrugged nonchalantly, stepping closer. “Because, why not? Y/N stay here and help me out with some stuff.” He shot her a wink as she tilted her head in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait, what do you need me to do?” Y/N asked, but Mikey was already motioning for her to follow him.

Emma, not one to argue with Mikey. “Alright, Fine. I’ll be back soon, Y/N,” she said, brushing past Mikey.

Mikey grabbed Y/N by the wrist, pulling her out of the room before she could protest.

“Wait, Mikey, what’s going on?” Y/N asked, her confusion obvious as Mikey led her down the hall to a quieter part of the house.

Mikey gave her a sideways glance, his smirk widening. “Just trust me, Y/N. You’ll want to see this.”

He led you into one of the empty room, shutting the sliding door behind him with a quiet click. Your pulse quickened, but you tried to keep your cool.

“Mikey, seriously. What’s this about?”

He turned toward you, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Then he reached behind one of the couch cushions and pulled out your sketchbook.

Your breath caught. “Wait—what the hell, where did you get that?”

“You left it on the counter the other day,” he said, flipping it open lazily. “At first, I thought it was just random drawings, but… imagine my surprise.”

He tilted the book toward you, revealing a sketch of him—leaning on the couch, that lazy look in his eyes perfectly captured in pencil. “They’re good. Like, really good.”

Y/N lunged forward to grab the notebook, but Mikey was faster—his arm shot up, raising it just out of her reach.

“Give it back!”

she slammed into him full force chest-first, knocking him completely off balance. The two of them tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.

Y/N blinked, heart hammering, realizing she was now sprawled on top of him, her face mere inches from his. Mikey’s laugh echoed in the quiet room, low and amused.

“Well damn,” he grinned up at her, his hands moving instinctively to her waist. “You could at least take me out to dinner first before tackling me like that.”

Her eyes widened in horror, and she scrambled off him so fast it made her dizzy, sitting up with her knees pulled close to her chest, cheeks burning.

“You’re such a jerk,” she muttered, trying to regulate her breathing while avoiding his gaze.

“Relax,” he said, grinning.

You crossed your arms, trying to mask your embarrassment. “It wasn’t meant for anyone to see.”

“Oh, I figured,” he said, stepping closer. “But it’s kind of flattering, you know. You’ve been watching me pretty closely to get all these angles right.”

His words made your stomach twist. He was teasing you, sure—but there was something else behind his tone. Something quieter.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy,” you muttered. “I just… I like drawing people. You were around. That’s all.”

Mikey quirked an eyebrow. “So if I looked in another sketchbook, I’d see Draken, or Emma, or random classmates?”

You looked away. Silence was its own answer.

Mikey’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by something gentler. He held the notebook out to you.

“Y/N,” he said, and his voice lost that usual lazy drawl. “I’m not mad. Honestly, I think it’s kinda cool. I just wanted to know why me.”

Y/N swallowed. “I… don’t know. You’re just… always around. And you’re hard to ignore.”

Mikey arched an eyebrow. “So you like me.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her face betrayed her, heat rising to her cheeks. She turned away.

Mikey was quiet for a beat. Then he let out a soft laugh, “You’re weird,” he said, but there was no malice in it. “But, like… a good kind of weird. You’re cute. Real quiet, but funny when you get mad. And those drawings? You see me better than anyone.”

For the first time, she saw something different in his expression—something sincere.

Mikey stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “So how about this: next time you want to draw me, just ask. I’ll pose for you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, stunned. “You’d actually let me draw you? Like… on purpose?”

Mikey plopped down beside her again, resting his arms over his knees. “Why not? I’m a great subject.”

She snorted. “You’re a terrible subject. You move too much.”

He grinned. “Then I’ll stay still this time. Come on, prove you’re not just creeping on me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but reached for her sketchbook anyway, flipping to a blank page. “Fine. Don’t talk. Don’t smirk. Just—sit still.”

He obeyed, crossing his legs and straightening his back, trying to mimic a stoic model. Y/N settled across from him, pencil in hand, trying to focus. But the longer she looked at him, the harder it became to concentrate. His gaze never left her.

She tilted her head, frowning slightly, then leaned forward. “There’s… a shadow on your jaw I can’t quite get right—hold on.”

Without thinking, her hand reached out, fingertips brushing gently along the line of his jaw. Mikey didn’t flinch. In fact, he tilted his head slightly, letting her touch him, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Y’know,” he said softly, “you don’t hide it very well.”

Her hand froze. “Hide what?”

“The way you look at me. Like I’m something worth staring at.”

She pulled her hand back quickly, face flushing. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“You do,” he interrupted, leaning in just slightly. “It’s not a bad thing.”

There was a long, weighted pause. The room felt too quiet now.

Mikey shifted forward, now only inches from her. “You ever think about kissing me?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”

He smirked, but it was softer now, teasing without the edge. “I think about it sometimes. Especially when you’re this close.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. He was looking right at her—eyes half-lidded, voice low, tone teasing but heavy with something else.

For a second, she swore he was going to close the gap.

But then—

He leaned back with a satisfied smirk, hands behind his head. “But hey, maybe next time. You still haven’t taken me to dinner.”

Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks burning. “You’re seriously the worst.”

“I get that a lot,” he said, grinning.

She tossed a pillow at him.

He caught it with one hand, still grinning, but then he paused, voice quieter now. “People usually look at me like I’m some reckless idiot. Like I’m gonna fall apart any second.”

She didn’t say anything. Just watched him.

“But you…” he looked over at her, expression unusually sincere. “You look at me like I’m worth understanding.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She wasn’t expecting that.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Makes it hard not to like you back.”

The words hung in the air between them, soft and heavy and just real enough to make her heart ache.

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded, biting back a smile.

Mikey grinned. “Now finish that sketch before I get wrinkles from staying this still.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping her pencil upright again, but couldn’t fight the way her hands trembled slightly—because everything had just changed.

Y/N was still trying to steady her hand when the sliding door abruptly creaked open.

“Hey, I’m back!” Emma’s voice rang out, followed by the soft crinkle of a plastic bag. “Mikey, they were out of your stupid dorayaki so I—” She paused mid-step, taking in the scene.

Y/N sitting cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook in hand. Mikey seated across from her, much too close, far too relaxed. Her eyes narrowed slowly as the realization clicked into place.

Y/N stiffened like she’d been caught doing something illegal.

Mikey just smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Emma’s gaze ping-ponged between the two of them, then dropped to the faint pink still lingering on Y/N’s cheeks. “Okay… what did I miss?”

“Nothing.” Y/N blurted, way too fast. She slammed her sketchbook shut and stood up like the floor had burned her.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Right. And I’m a goldfish.”

Mikey stood too, stretching casually as if nothing had happened. “She’s drawing me. That’s all.”

Emma blinked. “Wait, seriously? You let someone draw you? You barely let people take photos.”

Mikey shrugged, tossing a lazy grin toward Y/N. “She asked nicely.”

Y/N scoffed. “I did not.”

Emma looked between them again—Mikey grinning like a cat who’d found his favorite toy, and Y/N, visibly trying not to implode. Her lips twitched.

Emma grinned. “I’m just saying, if you guys are gonna have weird flirty floor moments, at least tell me so I don’t walk into a live drama scene.”

“We weren’t flirting!” Y/N said, but even she didn’t sound convinced.

Mikey sipped from the drink Emma gave him and looked over at her with a smirk. “You kinda were.”

Y/N shot him a look. “Mikey.”

He just shrugged and leaned against the wall, that same lazy look in his eyes. “What? I like being your muse.”

Emma blinked. “Okay, what the hell happened while I was gone?”

Y/N shook her head, defeated. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Emma, satisfied that something had definitely happened, grabbed her phone. “Good. Carry on. I’m gonna pretend I’m not here.”

Mikey looked at Y/N again, this time his smile a little softer. “You still owe me that sketch, y’know.”

Y/N sighed, sitting down again with her sketchbook. “Fine. But if you move this time, I’m giving you a mustache.”

“Worth it,” he murmured, eyes on her instead of the page.

————————————————————————

[colleendoran]

Yeah, I drew that.

Half my life as a comic book creator is explaining that almost all of my training as an artist is pre-internet, pre-Photoshop, and pre-computer.

No, I don't trace all my figure work or backgrounds because almost all creators of my generation had to learn to draw extemporaneously, and it is actually easier and faster for me to just draw off the cuff than it is to dig through a pile of pics to get what I want.

No, this doesn't mean I never use reference and it doesn't mean I haven't ever closely followed reference - or even closely copied a reference photograph.

It means I usually don't have to use reference for things I draw every day, like the human body. But if I had to draw the Taj Mahal, I'd use reference. I mean, I could do a generalization of the Taj Mahal from memory, but I'd need reference to get it right.

No, back in the day artists didn't all use the Camera Obscura, overhead projector, or lightbox. There is the sight size method, the comparative method, and the construction drawing method. I learned all three and have never used a Camera Obscura. I only used overhead projector a few times and hated it. I usually only use a lightbox to transfer sketches to the final art boards.

In classical ateliers, artist candidates are locked in rooms without access to any kind of Camera Obscura-style tools to make sure the artist can draw and paint without reliance on them.

No, this doesn't make me a Luddite and it doesn't mean I don't use computers now, it just means I can draw and paint and write without them, perhaps with a bit more confidence than some who never had to do without.

There are some computer artists who can do without, and some who can't. No judgment.

You do you.

I did without computers because there was no with computers. And that is how I learned.

But I don't appreciate that some out there flat out mislead about drawing methods because, it seems, if they can't do something, clearly other people can't either. Just because an artist used reference on one picture or even a dozen pictures, that doesn't mean every single element of everything they draw was slavishly referenced.

Most comic book creators of my generation did not and do not trace their figure work in Photoshop. Or whatever.

Some do. Most do not.

That's all.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

The Artist & The Gamer

Vinnie Hacker x Y/N - Drabble - 932 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: artist reader, established relationship, supportive fans, not much honestly lol just cute fluffy shit

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You leaned your canvas against the wall near his bed and sat down, cracking your neck before picking up your pencil and starting to sketch. Vinnie smiled as he watched you, he played his game and streamed, watching the chat go and go once they saw you in the background. You two figured out before you even started dating that you enjoyed parallel play or as Vinnie called it, “together alone time”. He couldn’t help but watch you every so often; how your face scrunched up as you erased a line you didn’t like, your lip snagged between your teeth as you focused. 

“Fuck…” you whispered, setting down your pencil.

“What?” Vinnie chuckled, still keeping his eyes on his game.

“I forgot a water cup for the brushes…” you groaned, leaning your back against his bed while you looked at the canvas. 

Silently, Vinnie paused his game before walking out of the room. You watched him go before you looked at the screen, waving shyly. Vinnie and you had been together for over a year but had only become public in the last two months. The fans were getting used to you just as much as you were getting used to them. You saw the chat scroll faster when you waved. You looked at the door, then back to the screen. You stood up, walking over to the computer.

“Um… hi everyone… I’m not sure where Vinnie went but I’m sure he will be back soon.” you said reassuringly. Your eyes scanned over the game, he was playing Valorant today. “Ya know I’ve never been very good at this game.” you said, mostly to yourself.

User23456543432: what games do you play?

You read the comment, looking back at the door you decided there was no harm in some friendly convo while you waited for Vinnie to finish whatever he was doing. “I really like story and puzzle games,” you smiled. “Or Mortal Kombat, I will always play that, it's my favorite.”

User98765434561: what are you painting?

“Well nothing yet but it is going to be a person at some point.” you said, squinting at the canvas resting against the wall. “It’s all abstract anyways, it can be whatever.” you shrugged.

User45678654324: Favorite show?

“It changes but if I had to pick a favorite right now I’d say “Blue Eye Samurai”? If you haven’t seen it you really should, it’s amazing.” you said. You stayed like that for a few more minutes answering random questions you saw in the chat. Eventually you looked at the live feed and saw Vinnie leaned up against the doorframe, smiling at you.

You blushed, getting out of his chair. “Sorry…” you mumbled.

Vinnie chuckled as he handed you a mug of water, “For your art.” he said. He handed you a plate from behind his back that had different fruits and treats on it, “For your body.” he said. 

You set them down before pulling him into a hug, snuggling your head into his chest. “For my soul.” you said before placing a sweet kiss on his lips. 

You could feel him smile into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you against him. He broke the kiss after a moment, placing a peck on your cheek before going back to his desk to continue the stream. 

You sat down, mixing a few paints together to get the color you wanted before you touched your brush to the canvas. You snacked on the things Vinnie brought you, admiring him as you went; appreciating his kind nature that has always taken care of you. 

“Staring is rude.” Vinnie said without taking his gaze away from the screens. 

“I’m admiring.” you corrected him before turning back to your art. 

The next few hours flew by and you were finally done. So done that the chat pointed out to him that you were asleep, your body contorted awkwardly against the floor and the side of his bed. Vinnie smiled to himself warmly, he couldn’t believe he got to hang around your life, let alone be loved by you. Small moments like this always made the world disappear so it felt like just you two. 

“Baby?” Vinnie said, nudging you slightly.

You groaned softly.

“Honey?” he said, nudging you a little harder. 

“What?” you asked with slight annoyance in your tone.

“Wanna sleep in the bed you’re less than a foot away from?” he chuckled.

You sat up a little, stretching your achy joints. You nodded; Vinnie could tell you were half asleep with every clumsy movement you made as he helped you up before just flopping down on the bed.

Vinnie smiled softly as he adjusted your legs before pulling a blanket over you. You snuggled in, he kissed your cheek. He played his game for a few more minutes, constantly looking at you in the background, tossing around occasionally. “Alright chat, I think I’m gonna log off for the night. Thank you all for joining my stream, see you soon!” He said before turning off the computer. He cleaned up your art supplies, washing your brushes just how you had shown him. Once everything was clean he slipped off his clothes until he was in just his boxers before joining you in bed. 

You immediately rolled into him, “I missed you,” you mumbled. 

Vinnie chuckled, tucking your head into the crook of his neck so he could give you a quick kiss as he wrapped his arms around you. “I love you.” He whispered a few times as he left feather light kisses on your head.

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

Naboo's Note:

Capitalism is sucking the life out of me slowly and the state of the USA is crippling me with how ABSOLUTELY FUCKING RIDICULOUSLY STUPID it is but here is a fic. Will try to write more soon.

[neurotica-tales]

How would yanhiccup react to yantuffnut falling for reader??

I'm writing a new story thanks to this question sent to my inbox and also thanks to @sf-renard for giving me an idea that has been flying around in my head since they suggested it. So yes! This story will be a Yandere Hiccup x Reader x Yandere Tuffnut! To give a little information about it, this story will have three parts. One where Hiccup and Tuffnut falls in love and realizing that they both fell in love with the same person. One where they start trying to one-up each other for your attention. And the ending... is a secret! So stay tuned!

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The Chief, The Fool & You (Yandere Hiccup x Reader x Yandere Tuffnut) (1K Likes Special 5/10)

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When you moved to Berk, you didn’t expect dragons to be real. You didn’t expect the Chief of Berk to notice you, either—not like that. Not with gentle smiles and handmade gear tailored just for your hands. And you definitely didn’t expect the chaos of a certain Thorston twin to start orbiting your life with fish-scale gifts, goat-related accidents, and an affection so strange it made your heart skip.

But the deeper you sink into the warmth of the forge and the laughter in the village square, the more you realize: this isn’t harmless.

Because Hiccup doesn’t just admire you—he’s rearranging Berk around you, carving your name into his world with every plan, every smile, every step. And Tuffnut? He was never supposed to fall. But now that he has, he’s not letting go. Not without a fight.

You were just looking for a place to belong.

Instead, you’ve become the thing they can’t live without.

And Berk?

It’s not big enough for the both of them.

Not when you're in the middle.

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Up Next: Forged in Obsession (Yandere Hiccup x Reader), The First Kindness (Yandere Tuffnut x Reader)

To find my main master list, click HERE.

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You moved to Berk for reasons you didn’t talk about.

It wasn’t scandalous, or even especially sad—just complicated. Your home village had been absorbed into a trade alliance with the archipelago, and your parents, eager to secure your future, arranged for you to relocate to Berk. A small home near the cliffs was offered as part of the agreement—nothing fancy, but enough. The walls creaked in the wind. The sea air rusted everything. The neighbors were loud. But you didn’t mind.

Berk was strange. Hard. Cold. But it had dragons.

And that made everything better.

You’d grown up hearing stories about them—monsters in the night sky, fire-breathing terrors, creatures only fools would dare approach. But what you saw on your first morning in Berk shattered every tale you’d been told.

A Deadly Nadder coiled beside the bakery, politely waiting for a woman to toss it a fish head. Two children giggled while brushing soot off a chubby Gronckle’s snout. And high above it all, a shadow cut across the sky—faster than a storm, sleeker than a spear.

You followed it without thinking.

Down the winding stone paths, past the goat pens, through a cluster of wooden huts half-swallowed by cliffside fog. You watched the dragon descend into a wide open clearing that sloped toward the sea. He landed with a quiet thump, folding his wings with the fluidity of silk.

A Night Fury. The only one left in the world, according to rumor.

You didn’t approach him.

Instead, you found a dry patch of stone several meters away and pulled out your sketching tools—scraps of parchment, a bundle of charcoal wrapped in cloth. Your hands moved before your thoughts did. The angle of the tail, the slitted eyes, the folded wings. You barely noticed the cold biting your fingers. He was beautiful.

You came back the next day. And the next.

You kept your distance. The dragons didn’t seem to mind you. A few of them watched you curiously. A few even dozed near your spot, rumbling peacefully as you worked. No one interrupted you.

Until one day, someone did.

It was quiet that morning. Wind off the sea. A thin, salty fog had rolled in, and the dew hadn’t yet lifted from the grass. You crouched near a rocky outcrop, sketching the way a Nadder’s spines flared with tension as a Terrible Terror landed on its tail.

You didn’t hear the footsteps.

“Those are… really good.”

You jumped so hard the charcoal snapped in your fingers.

A boy—no, a young man—stood several paces away, basket of metal scraps tucked under one arm. He had windswept brown hair, a soot-smeared cheek, and a tunic that looked like it had survived several explosions. His green eyes—sharp and hesitant—were fixed on your drawing.

“I—I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he added quickly. “I was just on my way to the forge and saw you out here and—”

He stopped, fidgeting.

You stared at him. Not rudely. Just trying to place the pieces. The artificial leg. The dragon emblem on his vest. And in the distance, the familiar black shape of the Night Fury slinking between trees.

You realized who he was a second too late.

“I’m sorry,” you said, brushing charcoal dust from your hands. “Was I not supposed to be here?”

“What? No. Not at all.” He shifted the basket to his other hip. “This is open space. You’re fine. It’s just that—most people don’t really… see them the way you’re seeing them.”

You glanced at your sketch. “The dragons?”

He nodded, taking a cautious step closer, like he was worried you’d vanish if he moved too fast. “You didn’t just draw the Nadder. You noticed how it was bristling, how the muscles in its legs coiled before it jumped. You gave it… personality. I’ve never seen someone get that close to right on paper before.”

You weren’t used to that kind of compliment. You didn’t even think he meant to flatter you—it sounded more like astonishment than praise.

“You seem like someone who notices a lot of details yourself,” you said.

He smiled, and it changed his whole face. “Maybe too many.”

There was a long pause.

Not uncomfortable—but not easy, either. Like two people standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure who would step first.

He looked away, then back at you. “I’m Hiccup. I—well, I guess you already know that.”

“I do.”

“You new to Berk?”

You nodded. “Yes. A few weeks now.”

“Well…” He scratched his head, suddenly nervous again. “If you’re interested in dragons, you might want to visit the forge sometime. Or the stables. Or, uh… both. I mean. If you want to.”

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

His shoulders relaxed, just a little. And for a second, you saw something in his eyes—something uncertain, but bright. Like a spark that hadn’t caught fire yet.

Toothless appeared behind him then, sniffing the air and curling protectively near his rider’s side. You studied the way the dragon leaned into him—not as a pet, but as a partner. You hadn’t realized how deeply that bond ran.

Hiccup noticed your gaze.

“He likes you,” he said softly. “He doesn’t warm up to strangers.”

You didn’t realize it, but neither did Hiccup.

And yet here he was—lingering in the fog, watching you with fascination, heart already shifting in ways he wouldn’t admit even to himself.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next day, you stood in front of the forge, debating as to whether you should go in or not since it wasn't exactly the kind of place you’d ever thought of as welcoming.

It breathed smoke and fire, glowed with red-hot metal, and thundered with the roar of dragon bellows and hammer strikes. It was a place where steel was beaten into submission—where flames didn’t warm, but scorched. The kind of place that made others step back, flinch from the heat, shield their eyes.

But not you.

And not him.

You stepped through the heavy door just after sunrise, the sea air still damp on your sleeves. The wood creaked under your boots, and the scent of iron hit you immediately—thick, earthy, and warm. You paused just inside the threshold, blinking against the dim light and the shimmering haze rising from the forge's heart.

Hiccup was already there.

Not the Chief you’d seen from afar—calm and decisive, with his shoulders squared in public and his words measured. No. This version of him was softer, stripped of that title. He was in motion—half bent over a worktable, one leg propped on a support beam, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a smudge of soot streaked under his left eye. His tunic clung damply to his back with sweat, and a half-forged harness sat disassembled beside him like an open puzzle.

He didn’t hear you enter at first. The sound of quenching iron hissed loudly through the room, followed by the clink of tongs on metal.

Then—

“Oh—hey!” His voice cracked over the sound of a hammer dropping. He looked up, startled, then smiled like your arrival had shifted gravity. “You're early.”

You stepped closer, brushing a stray curl behind your ear. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Best reason to start forging,” he said, reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands. “Or watching someone else forge. That works too.”

He said it playfully, but there was a flicker of something else in his tone—hopeful. Like he didn’t want to assume too much, but desperately wanted to.

Toothless, curled on a pile of canvas in the corner, lifted his head. He gave you a brief look, then rumbled low and warm, settling back down. You offered the dragon a small smile before turning your attention back to the man who hadn’t stopped watching you since you entered.

The forge’s heat wrapped around you both, heavy and golden in the morning light.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just looked around—the scattered gears, the half-completed blueprints, the table scarred with burn marks and knife gouges. Everything in here had been touched by his hands. Everything in here breathed him.

“It’s… a lot more organized than I expected,” you said after a moment.

He blinked, then laughed. “Organized chaos. Gobber would argue the opposite, of course, but this?” He swept an arm across the room. “This is deliberate. This is where dragons and humans meet. This is where we figure out how to fly together.”

You drifted closer, drawn to the schematic pinned to the far wall. A saddle—complex, with triple-jointed stirrups and shock-absorbing supports. A name was scrawled across the corner: Hookfang.

“You redesign all of them yourself?”

“Every one,” he said, and his voice went soft again. “Every dragon flies differently. Feels differently. You wouldn’t give Toothless the same rig you’d give a Nadder. You’d be amazed how many people don’t think about that.”

“But you do.”

He met your eyes then. Something in his chest fluttered—visible only for a second.

“Yeah. I do.”

You nodded slowly. “Good.”

There was a pause.

The forge crackled. Outside, a seagull screamed into the wind. Inside, you reached for one of the metal plates lying on the workbench.

It was heavier than it looked—curved and ridged with dragon-scale design, the edges smooth from careful polishing.

“What’s this one for?”

“Armor. For wing edges. Hookfang’s, specifically. He burns himself on his own fire sometimes during dives. The plate disperses the heat—keeps the membrane from blistering.”

You turned it in your hand thoughtfully. “It’s elegant.”

Hiccup swallowed. “It’s nothing special.”

“It is.”

He didn’t reply.

He didn’t have to. His hands trembled slightly when he reached for the next tool, and the corner of his mouth tilted upward like you’d said something he wanted to preserve in memory.

You set the plate down gently.

“Show me how you made it.”

That was the moment it started.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You came back the next day.

You didn’t plan to.

It was a moment of impulse—your fingers brushing over your charcoal kit, the sun rising behind the dragon stables in pale, sleepy gold, and something pulling you toward the forge. Not a voice. Not a reason. Just instinct.

You told yourself it was the dragons. That you wanted to sketch Hookfang’s armor while it was fresh in your mind. That it was just a place to focus.

But you knew better.

And so did he.

“Didn’t expect to see you so early,” Hiccup said as you walked in, voice casual—but the way he stepped out from behind a stack of lumber and brushed soot from his arms betrayed the truth. He’d been waiting. Not long—maybe only a few minutes. But enough.

He always had something ready.

This time, it was a half-built wrist guard—lightweight, shaped for a human arm, with padded lining that flexed with the wrist. You paused beside it, admiring the craftsmanship. Hiccup stepped up beside you, not quite brushing your shoulder.

“You said yesterday your hand cramps when you hold the charcoal too long. I figured…” He trailed off, lifting one hand awkwardly. “It’s nothing big. Just a prototype.”

You turned to him, lips parting in soft surprise. “You made this overnight?”

“Not all of it.” A nervous chuckle. “Just… most.”

He didn’t say he’d stayed up past midnight, pacing between blueprints and melted candle stubs. He didn’t mention how many times he redrew your hand from memory, getting the curve just right, the joint alignment exact. He didn’t tell you that he measured his own wrist and adjusted for the size difference until it fit the image of your fingers as they brushed graphite against paper.

You picked it up.

It fit perfectly.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After that, you came often. At first, you called it coincidence. Just stopping by. Just passing through. But it became habit. The forge became your gravity, the place you wandered to without thinking.

You brought your sketches. He brought something new every day.

Blueprints. Schematic fragments. Metal feathers cut from polished brass. He claimed they were scraps, leftovers, little projects that didn’t matter. But each one carried your name, whether written or not.

One day, you made the mistake of asking for his opinion on a sketch.

He leaned over your shoulder, hand bracing against the bench beside you, and fell utterly, wordlessly silent. When you turned to glance at him, he startled—like he’d been staring at the stars and forgot the earth still spun.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s just… you’re really good.”

You didn’t see how tightly his hands were clenched after you smiled.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The village started to shift around you.

Not that you noticed. Not right away.

But the blacksmiths who used to pass through the forge in the mornings stopped coming by while you were there. Riders who trained their dragons along your sketching paths quietly relocated to the northern field. Chores you were once expected to do were reassigned—without explanation. Meals were delivered to your door more frequently. Fishlegs started giving you extra portions at the market, claiming it was surplus.

You thought it was kindness.

You didn’t realize it was coordination.

All of it—redesigned by one hand.

Hiccup didn’t ask for more of your time.

He just took away the reasons you might spend it elsewhere.

And when you thanked him, not knowing the full extent of what he’d done, he smiled—soft, self-effacing, like he wasn’t even sure he deserved the praise.

But inside?

Inside, he was burning.

Sometimes he didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

You’d be sketching in the corner of the forge, charcoal smudged across your fingers, and he’d stop mid-sentence, mid-hammer, mid-anything just to watch.

He never said it outright.

But his eyes—those green, stormlit eyes—held something that scared you when you caught it too long.

Longing.

Hunger.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even realize he looked that way.

“Have you ever thought about flying?” he asked one afternoon as you worked side by side, sweat glistening at the back of his neck.

“What, like on a dragon?”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t that require… I don’t know… not dying?”

He laughed, and it was breathless—relieved.

“I could fly with you. I mean—with Toothless. It’s safer that way.”

You gave him a wry smile. “That’s not why you’re offering, is it?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been hinting at it for days.”

Hiccup opened his mouth, then closed it. His fingers flexed around a rivet. Then he set it down and turned to you.

“I just think you’d love it,” he said, softly. “The wind, the height, the sky. No one else there. Just you and the dragons.”

And me, he almost said. But didn’t.

Not yet.

You accepted.

You thought he’d let you sit behind him, maybe grip the saddle as Toothless took off in a lazy glide over the cove.

You didn’t expect him to build you your own saddle.

Lightweight. Tailored to your frame. Made for a passenger seat, but not a passive one.

“This is too much,” you said when you first saw it.

He shook his head. “It’s not.”

You touched the leather. It was already worn in. Already fitted to you.

Like he’d been planning this longer than he let on.

That flight changed something.

The first time your hands gripped the handles, the first time Toothless launched into the sky and the wind screamed in your ears—you understood what Hiccup meant. The world below shrank. Everything became motion and breath and heat.

He flew beside you, guiding your dragon with light gestures, checking over his shoulder every few seconds. Not because he doubted your balance.

Because he couldn’t look away.

When you landed, cheeks windburned and laughing, Hiccup dismounted slowly. He turned to face you, eyes shining, hair wild from the wind.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just looked at you like he was seeing something sacred.

Then—softly, deliberately—he said, “You looked… perfect.”

You froze.

Not because you didn’t know what to say. But because of the way he said it—like it wasn’t a compliment, but a confession. Like he’d been waiting to tell you that for a long, long time.

Your heart skipped.

And you weren’t sure if it was because you were flattered… or because something in his voice unsettled you.

You saw it then, just for a moment. How deep the water went. How far he'd already sunk.

And you didn’t know whether you wanted to swim with him… or run for the shore. Whatever it is that you planned to do, the last thing you expected to happen was to run into the chaotic twins of Berk -- one of them at least.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tuffnut didn’t plan to fall in love.

He planned to launch a salmon at Snotlout’s face.

There was a difference.

The salmon, for the record, was carefully chosen. Big. Slimy. Just the right weight for an aerial arc. It had taken him all morning to steal it from the smokehouse without Gobber noticing, and all afternoon to hide it in a barrel of mead outside the Mead Hall. By the time sunset rolled in and the fish was perfectly chilled, he was ready.

His target: Snotlout Jorgenson, village menace and champion of “accidentally” lighting hay bales on fire while showing off.

His goal: Glory. Also laughter.

His backup plan: Deny everything.

The village square buzzed with life—vendors shouting over cauldrons, dragons circling above, old women complaining about “those dratted yak-stealers again.” Tuffnut crouched behind a wooden cart, eyes narrowed, fish in hand, tongue poking out in concentration.

“Ready…” he muttered, drawing his arm back. “Aim…”

Snotlout swaggered out of the blacksmith’s stall, flipping his hair like he’d just defeated an army. Tuffnut adjusted his grip on the fish. Wind was in his favor. The salmon glistened in the sun like a meat torpedo of destiny.

“FIRE!”

The fish soared.

Unfortunately, so did a goat.

“NO—BAD TIMING, GUSTAV!” someone shrieked nearby as a goat leapt off a barrel and collided directly with the salmon mid-air, knocking it off course with an angry bleat. The fish spun, wobbling like a drunk bird, and sailed—not into Snotlout’s face, but into yours.

Right between the shoulder blades.

SLAP.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You never expected to get hit with a fish.

Let alone in the back.

One moment you were carrying apples through the village square, sun warming your shoulders, wind catching the hem of your tunic—thinking maybe you’d finally adjusted to Berk’s unpredictable weather and even more unpredictable dragons—and the next—

SLAP.

Something large, cold, and very, very slimy smacked between your shoulder blades with enough force to make you stumble. The basket in your hands tumbled down, apples bouncing across the cobblestones like startled birds.

You stood there in shock, hands hovering mid-air.

And then—of course—it slid down your back and flopped onto your foot.

You looked down at the fish.

It looked up at you.

Your eye twitched.

Around you, the village went silent. Someone sucked in a dramatic gasp. You turned slowly—very slowly—to find the source of your new misfortune.

And there he was.

Crouched behind a market cart with only the top of his wild blond hair visible, peeking over the edge like a child caught stealing honey.

The second your eyes locked, he straightened awkwardly and gave a little wave.

“Hey.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You bent, picked up the fish—still slightly twitching—and walked straight toward him.

He looked panicked for half a second. You could practically see the thought: Is she going to hit me with it? That would be fair.

Instead, you stopped in front of him and held it out.

“Is this yours?”

He hesitated, like it might be a trap. “Uhh… depends. Are you mad?”

You raised a brow. “You hit me with a fish.”

“Technically,” he said brightly, “I was aiming for Snotlout. You just bravely intercepted the trajectory. For peace.”

He grinned.

You didn’t.

You sighed.

He blinked.

Then something… changed.

It was hard to explain, but you saw it in his eyes—some invisible weight shifting behind the grin. Like he hadn’t expected you to sigh. Like he’d prepared himself for yelling or swearing or, at the very least, a full-body tackle. But you didn’t do any of those things.

You just handed him the fish.

“Try not to commit any more seafood-related crimes,” you said dryly.

And then you turned, gathered your apples, and walked away.

That should’ve been the end of it.

But something tugged at your mind—not the fish, not the slime, not even the chaos—but the way he’d looked at you. Like he didn’t know what to do with you. Like you’d broken a rule he didn’t know he’d been following.

Like he’d been waiting for someone to react… differently.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You saw him again two days later.

Well, technically you heard him first.

There was shouting near the Mead Hall, something about a “catapult,” and then a crash that shook the window shutters. You didn’t investigate. Honestly, at that point, you’d started to assume any loud commotion was his fault by default.

But when you walked through the village later—arms full of herbs and smoked meat—you caught sight of him perched on top of a roof beam, yelling down at Ruffnut, who was shaking a pair of pants on a stick.

“YOU SAID THE GOAT WAS TAME!”

“I SAID IT WASN’T CURRENTLY BITING ANYONE!”

You snorted.

He turned at the sound.

And saw you.

Instantly, he fell off the roof.

“Ow.”

You paused mid-step.

“…Are you okay?”

He popped back up with a crooked grin, hair full of straw and dirt. “I meant to do that.”

You gave him a look.

“Part of my new agility training. Gravity-based. Patent pending.”

You shook your head, amused despite yourself.

He squinted at your bundle of herbs. “Are you… doing plant stuff? Witchcraft?”

“Cooking,” you said.

“Same thing.”

Then—“Wanna see something cool?”

You hesitated. Part of you knew better. But curiosity won.

“What kind of cool?”

He beamed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Five minutes later, you were standing in the middle of the village square, watching him try to juggle three fish, a candle, and what might have been a live eel.

It ended exactly how you expected: with a fountain catching fire and a sheep escaping toward the cliffs.

He was soaked. Covered in soot. And laughing.

You were doubled over, wheezing with laughter, nearly dropping your meat bundle.

“That was not cool,” you choked out.

“It was kind of cool,” he wheezed. “If you ignore the structural damage and minor legal implications.”

“You’re insane.”

He wiped his face on his sleeve. “Thank you. You’re not bad yourself.”

And there it was again.

That look.

Not teasing. Not sarcastic. Just… watching.

Like you’d surprised him again.

Like you were a riddle he couldn’t stop solving.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After that, he started popping up everywhere.

You'd stop by the market—he’d be balancing upside-down on a barrel.

You’d head to the cliffs to sketch a Stormcutter—he’d already be there, building what he claimed was a “dragon repellent made of yak hair and cheese.”

You didn’t mind him, exactly. He was strange. Loud. A little exhausting. But harmless. Kind, in his own weird way.

And then one day, as you were walking back toward your home, he appeared beside you with a flower.

Not a pretty one. Not even a whole one.

Just a crushed, lopsided, possibly-dead sprig of something green.

“It looked like you,” he said.

You stared at it.

Then at him.

Then you smiled.

“Thanks.”

His mouth opened, like he had something to say. But no words came out.

He just watched you tuck it behind your ear.

And that was the third time.

The third moment he didn’t know what to do with you.

The third time you didn’t treat him like a punchline.

And he was starting to think… maybe he didn’t want anyone else to have the chance to, either.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It started with the gifts.

Sort of.

The first gift was a piece of driftwood.

Well, “gift” was a strong word. More like… a carving attempt. A lumpy stick that vaguely resembled a person, if you were generous about the definition of limbs. You found it sitting upright on your porch one morning—carefully propped between two stones as if someone wanted to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

You blinked at it, then looked around. No note. No one hiding behind a bush. Just birds and fog and the far-off sound of a dragon sneezing.

You picked it up.

The grain of the wood was rough under your fingers, and the figure had a noticeable lean to one side. Something about the way it tilted looked weirdly familiar. Like the way you stood when you were holding something heavy. There was even a scratch across the chest that reminded you of the scar you’d gotten last month falling into a saddle rack.

That had to be a coincidence. Right?

You snorted.

Tuffnut.

That was your first and only thought. Who else would leave a vaguely-you-shaped stick outside your house before breakfast?

You shook your head with a smile and took it inside. Propped it next to your window herbs. It leaned like it was about to fall over. You didn’t fix it.

It felt right.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The second gift showed up the next day.

A string of dragon scales—red, green, black, even translucent ones that must’ve come from a Changewing. Tied together with some sort of leather cord, knotted so clumsily it looked like it might’ve been done with one eye closed and one hand tied behind a back.

You found it dangling from your doorknob when you came home that evening. There was a feather stuck in the middle. You weren’t sure if that was intentional.

Still, it sparkled.

You couldn’t help but grin.

It was the ugliest necklace you’d ever seen.

You wore it anyway.

Just for a little while.

Just because you were curious what he’d leave next.

After that, it became a pattern.

Each morning, something new.

A rock shaped like a fish (you’re almost certain it was meant to be a heart, but you didn’t want to assume). A helmet half-melted from dragon fire, now being repurposed as a flower pot with exactly one weed growing in it. A fish spine carefully twisted into the shape of a ring, which you found tucked into the pocket of your cloak even though you knew you hadn’t put it there.

The weirdest part? None of it bothered you.

It was just… Tuffnut.

This was how he operated. Big gestures. No explanation. No warning.

If it had been anyone else, you might’ve worried. You might’ve wondered what they wanted, or whether there was something behind it all.

But this was the same person who once tried to create a saddle for a yak using only pinecones and old socks.

The same person who tried to forge a sword by dropping a metal rod in a volcano “to see if the gods were interested.”

Weird gifts were the least surprising thing he could’ve done.

You started looking forward to them.

Not in a romantic way. That would’ve been silly.

But they were fun. Harmless. Like a private joke he kept telling that you didn’t have to answer.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

One day, you found a wooden spoon carved with what looked like your face.

The handle was crooked. The eyes were way too big.

You stared at it for a full minute.

Then laughed until your stomach hurt.

You didn’t even bother wondering why he made it.

You just hung it on the wall.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

People started noticing, of course.

Gobber squinted at the scale necklace. “New fashion, or just Thorston trouble?”

You shrugged. “It’s definitely not fashion.”

Fishlegs saw the wooden figure in your window once and asked if it was a cursed artifact. You told him it was Tuffnut’s art.

He backed away slowly.

Astrid said nothing when she saw you with the flower pot helmet. She just gave you a look that said, “You’re either very patient or very doomed.”

But you didn’t care.

You weren’t worried.

This was just how Tuffnut was.

Weird.

Creative.

Generous, in his own bizarre way.

It didn’t mean anything.

You told yourself that without hesitation.

And you believed it.

When the gifts started showing up in stranger places—like under your pillow or inside your firewood basket—you still didn’t think anything of it.

He was probably just testing how stealthy he could be.

Or maybe Ruffnut dared him to do it.

You didn’t ask.

You didn’t want to ruin the fun.

He wasn’t hurting anyone.

You didn’t realize there was anything to notice.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was strange how often you started running into Tuffnut.

Not suspicious-strange. Just… Tuffnut-strange.

Which was kind of its own category.

You’d leave your home early to avoid the market rush—there he’d be, already sitting on a barrel, sipping something that may or may not have been fermented yak milk.

You’d go to the cliffs to sketch the coastline in peace—he’d show up “accidentally chasing a squirrel” that had “insulted his honor.”

Even when you changed your routine, doubled back, skipped the forge entirely just to take the long way around Berk, somehow…

There he was.

Perched on rooftops. Leaning around corners. Emerging from carts with wild theories about storm clouds being dragon camouflage.

You didn’t question it.

Why would you?

This was the same man who once wore a jellyfish as a helmet during a feast and swore it enhanced his “oceanic intuition.” Seeing him at odd hours or in unlikely places wasn’t alarming. It was practically expected.

If anything, you started to enjoy it.

You’d be walking alone, and there’d be a sudden crashing noise, a plume of feathers or soot, and then his familiar voice:

“You’ll never guess what I found inside a cabbage!”

And you’d laugh, turn, and suddenly your day was better.

Not because you were waiting for him.

But because the world felt… lighter when he was around.

Like gravity didn’t work quite the same.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You noticed little things, too.

He always had something in his hands—a stick, a stone, a clump of grass—and more often than not, he gave it to you without ceremony.

A snail shell shaped like a spiral heart. A button he claimed was ancient and “cursed with mild romantic consequences.” A scrap of cloth he said “looked like you if you squint hard enough and believe in miracles.”

Each time, he’d hold it out solemnly, like a knight offering a sword to their sovereign.

You accepted them every time.

Sometimes you kept them.

Sometimes you slipped them into your pocket and forgot about them until later, when you’d find them again and smile.

You never considered what it meant.

Not really.

Because Tuffnut was just like that.

Ridiculous. Sweet. A living whirlwind of nonsense and stray animals.

You never felt unsafe.

You never felt watched.

You just… felt entertained.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It wasn’t just you who noticed, though.

The village did, too.

It started with raised eyebrows and muttered jokes. Fishlegs was the first to comment, quietly, while flipping through a dragon field manual beside you on the docks.

“He’s been within ten feet of you for the last six days.”

You blinked. “Who?”

“Tuffnut.”

You laughed. “He’s just being Tuffnut.”

Fishlegs adjusted his glasses. “Sure. But he usually spreads the chaos around. You’ve become… central.”

You waved him off. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

You didn’t ask what he meant by that.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Snotlout was less subtle.

“So, you and Tuffnut, huh?” he asked one afternoon as he spotted you helping Ruffnut tie extra saddlebags to Barf and Belch.

“Me and—? No. Absolutely not.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Come on. You’ve got the whole village wondering. I mean, the fish bone necklace? The goat-skin pouch full of moss? Classic courtship.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just saying—if he proposes with a dead eel bouquet, don’t act surprised.”

You punched him lightly in the arm. He squawked and fell into a trough.

Ruffnut didn’t even flinch.

“I give it two more weeks before he builds a nest under your house,” she muttered.

“It’s not like that,” you replied automatically.

But she wasn’t even looking at you. She was squinting up at the roof.

“Then why is he watching you from the chimney?”

You turned—too late.

The chimney was empty.

Just smoke curling upward.

You frowned.

Then shook your head.

Just Tuffnut things.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You might’ve brushed it all off for good—except Hiccup noticed, too.

At first, it was small. The quiet way he watched from across the square when Tuffnut spun a wild story about falling into a pit full of enchanted beetles and you laughed so hard you nearly dropped your basket. The way his expression didn’t change—but his hand on Toothless’s saddle strap clenched slightly.

He didn’t say anything that day.

Or the next.

But he was there.

More and more.

You started seeing him wherever you saw Tuffnut—not talking, not interrupting, just present. Hiccup had always been a little intense, but now there was something extra. A weight behind his gaze. An alertness that prickled when you turned away.

It came to a quiet head during the Harvest Bonfire.

You’d just arrived in the square with a basket of dried herbs for the offering when Tuffnut leapt from the roof of the ale tent, landed beside you with a flurry of confetti (you didn’t ask where he got it), and declared:

“Your presence has summoned the spirit of chaos and autumnal mating! I mean celebration! I mean… look, I made you something!”

He held out what looked like a small wreath made of chicken feathers, dried flowers, and what may or may not have been pieces of bark with your name carved into them.

You burst out laughing.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He beamed. “You’re welcome.”

You took it. Not because you wanted to wear it—but because it was so absurdly sweet in that very specific Tuffnut way.

He immediately tried to put it on your head.

It didn’t fit.

He tried anyway.

“Hold still—your skull’s bigger than I remember—”

“You’ve never measured my skull—”

“I did once while you were asleep. Only a little!”

You were wheezing from laughter by the time the wreath fell off.

That’s when you noticed Hiccup across the square.

Standing at the edge of the bonfire ring, one hand wrapped around a torch.

He wasn’t smiling.

Toothless stood beside him, tail twitching slowly, eyes flicking between the two of you.

And Hiccup…

Hiccup didn’t look away.

Not even when you did.

Not even when Tuffnut grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the cider cart with a shout of, “Let us drink until our dreams are weird and legally questionable!”

You followed, still laughing.

You didn’t notice how long Hiccup stood there, unmoving.

You didn’t see the flames reflected in his eyes.

You never noticed when he whispered something to Toothless, quiet and low.

Or the way Toothless turned his head toward Tuffnut’s retreating back… and blinked.

You didn't notice at all because you were too busy being dragged toward the cider stand by Tuffnut, who was gleefully shouting about fermented apples and how “all good love stories start with indigestion.”

You giggled as he shoved a wooden cup into your hands and dramatically toasted, “To fire, freedom, and people who don’t question my fashion choices!”

You clinked his cup with yours, nearly spilling it, and took a sip. It was sweet, a little spicy, and much stronger than you expected. Tuffnut’s laughter grew louder the more you coughed.

You didn’t notice the way Hiccup stayed behind near the flames. You didn’t notice the way Toothless tilted his head, a low rumble in his throat, like he was being told something important. You didn’t notice the way Hiccup’s eyes flicked toward the bonfire sparks and then followed you through the crowd.

But Tuffnut did.

Sort of.

Not in a concerned way.

Not yet.

He saw Hiccup’s face for a brief moment—flat, unreadable—but chalked it up to normal Chief stuff.

Hiccup’s always like that, Tuffnut thought. Stoic. Thinking about taxes. Or diplomacy. Or why dragons keep sneezing in the armory.

Hiccup always watched people. It was kind of his thing.

So Tuffnut didn’t think twice.

He just downed the rest of his cider, tossed the cup over his shoulder (it hit a goat), and started plotting how to convince you to help him build “a memory shrine made entirely of fish scales.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next day, the weather turned chilly.

Wind curled down from the cliffs in swirling bursts, and most of the villagers huddled inside, tending fires or mending cloaks.

You ventured out anyway, eager to check on a small herbal patch near the east cliffside. The cold air bit at your fingers, but you liked the solitude—and the view from the rocks was always worth it.

Tuffnut met you halfway up the slope.

“I knew you’d go here,” he said proudly, skipping over stones like a mountain goat. “Because your soul is drawn to windswept poetry and mild danger.”

You blinked at him, bundled tighter into your cloak. “You followed me?”

“No,” he said quickly, then paused. “Yes. But in a respectful, deeply spiritual way.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled.

He helped you reach the rocky ledge, offered you a slice of questionable dried fruit, and began explaining his latest theory: that trees have secret opinions about everyone, but only reveal them to birds.

You were mid-snort when you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned.

Hiccup was there.

Wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, boots dusted with frost, a small leather pouch in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, eyes flicking to yours. “Thought you might be cold. I brought you some warming powder. Just mix it with tea or hot water.”

You took it with surprise. “Thanks… I didn’t even realize I needed this.”

“I did,” he said quietly, then nodded and turned to leave.

The wind tugged at his coat.

You didn’t see Tuffnut watching him.

You didn’t hear the brief silence stretch longer than usual.

Later that night, as you walked back to your house with Tuffnut chatting beside you about his latest attempt at crafting a dragon harness from spare belts, he suddenly said,

“Hiccup’s always been weirdly prepared, huh?”

You shrugged. “He’s a good Chief.”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, sure. He knows things. Makes stuff. Probably sleeps with a map under his pillow.”

You laughed. “What’s your point?”

“No point. Just saying. It’s cool he, uh… noticed you were cold. That’s all.”

His tone was light.

Not bitter. Not suspicious.

Just… noting.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next time it happened, Tuffnut didn’t think it was a pattern.

Not yet.

It was just another ordinary afternoon.

You were helping Ruffnut untangle fishing nets on the docks—mostly by laughing while she yelled at them—when a gust of wind blew your hood back and flung saltwater straight into your face.

You sputtered. Ruffnut cursed. The net slipped into the water.

Before you could chase it, someone stepped up beside you.

Hiccup.

Holding a clean cloth.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed it to you.

You blinked. “How…?”

“I saw the wind shift. Thought you’d need it.”

He smiled and walked off.

Ruffnut let out a low whistle.

Tuffnut arrived three seconds later with a fishing spear, soaking wet, wearing only one boot and proudly shouting, “I defeated a mackerel and stole its soul!”

You immediately forgot everything else.

But later—much later—when Tuffnut was combing seaweed out of his braid and mumbling about how Hiccup always seemed to be around at the right time…

That’s when the first tiny flicker of suspicion entered his head.

He brushed it off.

He wanted to brush it off.

Because it was Hiccup.

And Hiccup wasn’t competition.

Right?

Right.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tuffnut wanted to ignore it.

He really did.

But after the docks incident—after the too-convenient cloth and the perfectly timed “Chiefly concern”—he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Hiccup always seemed to know.

Not just where you were, but what you needed. When. Why. How.

And now, he didn’t just show up.

He stayed.

The very next day, you were helping Gertie the baker haul sacks of flour to the storeroom when a voice behind you said,

“Let me grab that for you.”

You turned to find Hiccup already beside you, reaching for the heaviest bag.

He offered you a soft smile as he slung it over his shoulder.

You blinked. “Weren’t you working in the forge this morning?”

“Took a break.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Thought I’d walk by the bakery. Smelled something nice.”

You didn’t think much of it.

You smiled, thanked him, and went back to work.

Tuffnut—who had been loitering just outside the storeroom with a cinnamon roll stuck to his elbow and a sprig of rosemary in his hair—watched the whole thing.

He didn’t say anything.

Yet.

The next morning, you walked out of your house to find Hiccup waiting with Toothless.

“Thought you might like a ride,” he said casually, patting the saddle. “It’s a clear day. Good views from the sky.”

Your heart jumped. “Really? You’re offering me a flight?”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Just the two of us.”

You didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered when you smiled.

Or the way his hand tensed on the reins when you reached up to touch Toothless’s nose.

But Tuffnut did.

From a rooftop. Under a basket. Holding a jar of pickled eggs he’d meant to gift you.

He froze mid-step as he watched you climb onto the saddle.

And he didn’t come down from that roof for a long, long time.

At first, he told himself it was fine.

Hiccup was the Chief. He had duties. It made sense that he’d be everywhere. Helping people. Smiling at villagers. Offering dragon rides.

He was just being a good guy.

That’s what Tuffnut kept telling himself.

Over and over.

Until it started happening every single day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The shift became impossible to ignore the day of the storm.

Heavy clouds had rolled in by midday, dragging rain and sea wind with them. Most villagers ran for cover, but you stayed out longer than expected—trying to help an older woman collect laundry before it blew away.

By the time you made it halfway home, your arms were full and your cloak was soaked through.

That’s when Hiccup arrived—again—with a second cloak.

Dry. Warm. Just your size.

You stared at him. “Where did you—?”

“I thought you might need one. The weather looked bad.”

You took it, half-laughing, half-shivering. “You think of everything.”

Behind a stack of barrels, out of sight, Tuffnut gritted his teeth.

He had also been running toward you.

With a handmade umbrella made out of fish skin and bones.

He stopped.

Looked at it.

Then back at the way you smiled at Hiccup.

The umbrella dropped to the ground.

By the end of the week, Tuffnut had stopped pretending it was a coincidence.

He didn’t want to be jealous.

Not really.

Jealousy was ugly. Petty.

He was chaotic, not cruel.

But every time Hiccup stepped in—every time you laughed just a little softer for him, or tilted your head that way that made Tuffnut’s stomach turn—something inside him twisted.

He’d spent days crafting the most ridiculous, beautiful fish scale ring anyone had ever seen, only for Hiccup to hand you a dragon-shaped pin the same day—practical, polished, elegant. You wore it immediately.

You didn’t know.

Of course you didn’t.

But Tuffnut did.

And the moment he saw that pin glinting in your hair as you smiled at the Chief?

That’s when something changed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You didn’t know.

Of course you didn’t.

You were still smiling, adjusting the dragon-shaped pin Hiccup had given you—fingers brushing over the polished metal at your collar like it belonged there.

You were talking to him—probably about nothing important—and laughing like everything was normal.

Like there wasn’t someone just a few feet away watching you from the shadow of the well, silent and still for once, fingers clenched so tight around a fistful of scales that his knuckles turned white.

Tuffnut stared at the way Hiccup leaned just slightly too close.

At the way your eyes flicked up to meet his.

And something inside him—the part that had always laughed, always shrugged, always assumed everything would work out—curled in on itself and burned.

Not with anger.

Not with heartbreak.

But with something deeper.

Darker.

Older.

A low, simmering pulse in the back of his mind that whispered:

So that’s how it is.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t shout.

Didn’t throw anything.

He just stepped back into the shadows.

And smiled.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @sf-renard, @gudaworks, @mel-vaz

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[0omillo0]

MODEL! HYUNJIN X FEM! MODEL! READER

autor’s note: hi! this is my first post, I hope you’ll like it!

warnings: none!! pure fluff

Hyunjin, a renowned Versace model and gifted artist, has grown used to the fast-paced world of fashion. But when Y/N, a new model, steps into the scene, her authenticity catches his eye. As their paths intertwine, Hyunjin finds himself drawn not just to her beauty, but to something deeper—especially when he discovers a personal connection to his art in her life.

The lights above the runway glowed bright as you walked, your heart racing with every step. It was your first major show—Versace, no less—and the pressure of the fashion world felt like it was resting squarely on your shoulders. You kept your face composed, though. It was the life you had chosen, after all.

As you reached the end of the runway and struck your final pose, you caught a glimpse of someone standing backstage. Hwang Hyunjin. A name you had heard whispered many times, both in the modeling industry and beyond. He was already legendary as a Versace model—and as an artist. He stood with that ethereal grace, watching the runway with a calm confidence. His aura drew you in instantly.

Backstage, the models buzzed with excitement, but you found yourself scanning the room for Hyunjin. You weren’t sure why—maybe it was the effortless way he carried himself, or the way his expressive eyes seemed to speak without words. But there he was, standing near a rack of designer outfits, quietly sketching in a notebook.

He must have felt your gaze, because his eyes lifted from the page and met yours.

You blinked and quickly turned away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

A moment later, you heard a voice behind you. “Nervous?”

Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with Hyunjin. His smile was small but warm, and it made your heart stutter. “A little,” you admitted, forcing yourself to breathe.

“You didn’t show it out there. You looked great.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I would survive that.”

He chuckled, his laughter soft and genuine. “We all feel that way at first. Trust me.”

You nodded, trying to keep your cool. “You were sketching something?”

“Oh,” he glanced down at the notebook in his hand, almost shyly, “yeah, just passing time. It’s nothing.”

“I bet it’s beautiful,” you said without thinking. His sketches were famous—everyone knew Hyunjin wasn’t just a model but an incredible artist. His works sold out faster than any runway show.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow at your comment, looking a little surprised, but his smile grew just a bit wider. “Maybe one day you’ll see for yourself.”

---

Days turned into weeks, and as more Versace events brought you together, you and Hyunjin grew closer. What began as polite conversations evolved into genuine exchanges—talks about art, fashion, and life beyond the glitz and glamor. He was different from the others. Though he was breathtaking in every way, Hyunjin never acted like it. Instead, he carried himself with a quiet humility, a soul deeper than the world around him realized.

One evening, after a long day of fittings, you sat backstage, scrolling through your phone to relax. Hyunjin approached, as he often did these days, and sat beside you. His presence had become comforting.

"What are you looking at?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, nothing special," you said, not thinking much of it as you showed him your phone. But his eyes widened slightly when he saw your lock screen.

It was one of his paintings—a swirling combination of colors and emotion that you had seen in an exhibition once. You loved how raw and alive it felt, and you had put it as your wallpaper without realizing Hyunjin might ever see it.

"That’s... my painting," he said softly, his voice almost touched with disbelief.

You felt a sudden rush of heat rise to your face. "Oh my god, I—yeah, it is. I didn’t think you'd—uh, I really loved it. It just felt so... powerful. I hope that's not weird."

He stared at the screen for a long moment before meeting your eyes. His usual calm demeanor had shifted, and for the first time, you saw something vulnerable in his expression.

"It’s not weird," he murmured, his voice lower than usual. "It’s... actually really special."

His hand brushed against yours as he handed your phone back, and neither of you moved away. The air between you seemed to thicken with something unspoken.

"You know," Hyunjin began, his gaze dropping for a second before looking back up, "people don’t usually talk about my art like that. They just think of me as a model."

"I don’t," you said softly. "I think you’re an incredible artist."

Hyunjin looked at you like you had said something life-changing. His hand stayed close to yours, and you felt a magnetic pull between you, as if something deeper had just clicked into place.

"Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice almost fragile. "I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that."

---

As weeks passed, the connection between you and Hyunjin only deepened. The fashion shows continued, the flashing lights, the crowds, the interviews—but somehow, when you were with him, it all faded into the background.

He would seek you out between shoots, and you found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn’t explain. His attention to detail, the way he viewed the world through an artistic lens, the kindness in his words—it made your heart race every time you saw him.

One evening, after a long day of rehearsals, the two of you found yourselves alone in the studio. Hyunjin was working on a painting in the corner while you sat nearby, watching him with quiet admiration. He glanced at you every so often, his eyes soft.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, breaking the silence.

"Of course."

"Why my painting?" he asked, his voice careful, but curious. "Out of all the art you could’ve chosen, why mine?"

You thought for a moment before answering. "Because it felt real. When I saw it, I felt something… like it was a piece of your soul. It wasn’t just a pretty picture—it had emotion, depth. I could see you in it."

Hyunjin stared at you for a long moment, something intense flickering in his gaze. He set his brush down and took a slow step closer.

"You saw me in it?" he repeated, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

"Yeah," you nodded, holding his gaze. "I did."

Hyunjin's breath hitched, and in that moment, something shifted between you. He reached out, gently taking your hand. His touch was warm, and his thumb brushed over your skin as if testing whether this was real.

"I see you too, Y/N," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "More than you know."

You stared up at him, your heart pounding as he stepped closer. His face was inches from yours now, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. And in that quiet space, where words seemed unnecessary, Hyunjin leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

The world faded away, and for a moment, there was only the two of you—two artists, two souls, finding each other in the midst of the chaos.

———

I hope you enjoyed this story! Requests are open!!

[valdekboy]

Another Amazing AU

I never know what to write here… so let's get straight to the point then. A while back I found another amazing AU that belongs to @chez-cinnamon and I liked it … a lot.

And as always, If I liked something, I can't just be normal about it and comment something nice, I had to draw something. Long story short, first sketches were terrible, that took me on a long trip of re-learning some things and learning a couple new things. Overall, making these drawings was one looong roller coaster.

And as always . . . THAT LITTLE YELLOW SON OF A GUN WAS PUSHING ME TO DRAW THE MAIN 6 HE LIKES SO MUCH. So this time I gave him a camera and made HIM do all the work. Let's see how it went.

Well, the camera experienced Mach 1 speed, so I think that's all

.

.

.

Now, that's all.

In the end I want to say that I love what you did with these characters and I'm sorry if i messed up any of them.

And now off I go cause honestly I'm a bit stressed about posting this. So I'm pressing the publish button and I'm signing off. I'll be back soon.

As always have a Good Night/Day!

And If you want to read a bit of my rambling about this whole drawing process It's all down there. Just be aware that I write these things mostly for myself.

When I did the first sketch I realized that my old method of drawing poses (which was just sticks and orbs) won't work here. So i started to learn and re-learn some basics, and I tried to remake those sketches at the same time.

In the end there were like 5 different sketches for each character and to be honest, I was really close to just throwing it all out the window because it felt like i was going nowhere. But I found the problem.

My brain just couldn't comprehend that REFERENCE is just a REFERENCE not a fucking guideline that you have to hold on to for your dear life. It's okay to mess up here and there and that no-one is going to kill me for that. And when that thought clicked in, it felt amazing. I finished sketches, then lineart, heck I even drew all these in-betweens with Valdi (that yellow potat).

And then there was time for coloring . . . and that fear of messing up came back. That's why there's not much going on in that department. I'll keep working on fixing that, but it might take a while. And these backgrounds were a complete experiment. I'm not even sure myself if they're any good.

All of this felt like I threw myself in the deep water, but somehow I did it and I'm really glad all of this happened. Comparing these to my previous ones, I really see some improvement, and I did these MUCH faster. Even counting in all the learning i did. (plus building up courage to post these)

I still wish these drawings turned out better, the lines feel stiff, there's nothing to interesting in terms of colors or shading, but even with all that, for the first time in a while I think that these drawings aren't that bad.

And now for the AU. Why this one? I just stumbled upon it one day and I really liked the idea of switching up the one who controls the whole circus. And all those changes to the characters, their style, the clothes, colors and all those little details, I just love everything about that AU. All these characters feel really calming/relaxing to draw If these are the right words to use. (I really hope it doesn't sound too weird) I don't know if I would've learnt the things I did if I didn't find that AU.

So I want to say THANK YOU @chez-cinnamon for creating an Awesome AU and all these Beautiful drawings, and for giving me that bit of inspiration I needed.

If anyone decided to read all that and somehow survived, know that I'm sorry if all of that looks like bunch of random thoughts cobbled together (I bet that my english didn't make this any easier) As I said earlier, I write these thing mostly for myself so I can come back and read them in the future (It just helps me sometimes).

And I just want YOU to know, whoever you are, I'm really glad that YOU are here, reading this.

Thank You for being here!

[boneyardprince]

I can just imagine Tim not telling anyone that he's narcoleptic specifically so he can keep eavesdropping on conversations while napping in communal areas

like imagine Dick and Damian walking into the living room and finding a sleeping Tim there, clearly knocked tf out and unresponsive to stimuli so they keep talking as if he can't hear them

(he can. sleep attacks typically shut the body down but not the brain - kinda like sleep paralysis but with less clown hallucinations)

Damian: tt, Drake is as useless as ever

Dick: hey I'm just glad he's sleeping, he's been pretty stressed from that case recently

(he has, hence the sleep attack)

Damian: I know, it's appalling. If only he were to ask for more help, he ought to know we would be willing

(...wait, we?)

Dick: I don't know, Damian, I'm usually in Blüdhaven and the two of you-

Damian: Do not start

Dick: I'm just saying, you could always just tell him you look up to him

Damian, swiftly leaving the room: I know not of what you speak

Dick, following him: Oh yeah? Then what about that sketch I found of the two of you train surfing-

Damian, walking even faster: I HAVE NEVER DRAWN ONCE IN MY LIFE GO AWAY

Tim still can't move a muscle as he considers what he overheard... but he does start to think that - maybe - it wouldn't hurt to get an outside perspective on his case

(though first he'll have to wake himself up. he's been suffocating in a pillow for a while now)

[wardenbloom]

Rafayel: My Beloved Muse

"... Wasn't he here yesterday and the other day? And the other week? And the past months??" A museum employee murmured to her coworker as they caught a glimpse of Rafayel seemingly stunned by a painting. 

"Yeah, well, some artists do obsess about random things and I heard he’s a famous artist… not that I know of.” He shrugged. “Let him be. We should be on our way to the right wing." The coworker replied then the two employees went their way. 

... She feels so familiar... And beautiful... Are you sure we haven't met before? 

Rafayel thought as he surveyed an old painting of you. Wait, is the woman in the painting really you? Or just someone who looks like you? Well, we don't know yet. 

Rafayel's sight travelled from the smiling face of the woman, to her bosom, then to her hands that were placed on top of her lap, down to the title of the painting written below the frame. 

Title: My Beloved.  Artist: unknown Summary: While little is known about this painting, the artist made sure that whoever unearthed this piece knows that this is a painting of their beloved. This is the only relic or piece that was intact after the great calamity in the east thousands of years ago. Historians and researchers are still at awe about this painting as experts say that this piece holds a significant value in uncovering the historical event of the great calamity. 

Rafayel stared at the woman in the painting then took a photo of the painting then decided. 

I'll make you real... My Beloved. 

"Uhm, sir..." The janitor called his attention. "The museum is already closed... Please leave for tonight."

"Oh! Of course, haha." Rafayel faked a laugh as he did not notice the time. 

Even time is worthless compared to you, it seems…

He drove back to his atelier (which is also his home) and started sketching. Rafayel looked at his canvas lovingly as he blushed with every stroke while sketching you. His heart thumped; he felt ecstatic. 

Eventually, Rafayel fell asleep on the floor immediately after finishing the sketch. The next day, He rolled over and stared at the sketch he made last night and felt something he’s never felt before. His heart beat faster and he clutched his chest. 

“Good morning, my beloved.” He smiled at the sketch. He then grabbed his palette and started mixing paints. “Today is the day I will make you more beautiful.” 

Rafayel started painting; his delicate fingers directed the brush with accuracy. The painting was embedded in his mind, as if he was the one who made it and his hand moved as if it was familiar with the strokes of the painting. 

It’s so easy to love you, see? 

Hours passed and the painting was still halfway done. Rafayel rested for a while and examined the block of marble, bigger and taller than him, that he’s been saving for his future project. 

That painting will not suffice… 

Rafayel gathered his tools for sculpting and worked on the marble. Days–no– a couple of years passed and he still was not satisfied with his work. 

A little more… then you’ll be perfect… 

Contrary to his normal looks, Rafayel looked rugged as his eyes looked tired but hopeful, his facial hair was not cleanly shaven, and his hair grew that he had to tie it up. 

He took a deep breath and finally, he was done with his finishing touches. 

In front of him was a life size sculpture of you, a sculpture standing with its hand and arm out, as if gesturing for someone to hold its hand. Rafayel gently held the sculpture’s hand and kissed it. 

Ahhh… you’re here… you’re finally here… 

Rafayel looked at the sculpture’s face and gently touched it with the back of his hand. His fingers traced your face, from your eyes, nose, lips, cheeks – he caressed it as if you were alive.  His lips trembled and his eyes became blurry; suddenly, tears of happiness fell down his cheeks. He approached your hand and gently rubbed his cheek against it. 

My beloved… You’re here…. 

[magic-shop-stories]

how would bts (ot7) kids react to them being consistently forgotten by their dad ? they would pay attention to their other siblings or their job? please make it really angsty with a fluffy ending only for the kids

💌 Reply:

Thank you so much for the request, I hope that's what you imagined. I loved the idea ... should really turn this into full imagines some day - feel free to reach out if you want to be tagged Lots of Love - C

NAMJOON

silent cries

intellectual withdrawal

nature as a bridge

reparative vulnerability

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Indirect Communication

Leaves a dog-eared poetry book on his desk, open to Lang Leav’s “Lost” with lines highlighted:

“You were here, and then you weren’t / And I’ve been waiting ever since.”

Artistic Rebellion

sketches family portraits where Namjoon is a shadow or blurred figure

labels them “Appa’s Priorities (A Study in Absence)”

Academic Overcompensation

wins a science fair with a project on “The Physics of Emotional Distance”

calculates how often Namjoon misses dinner

doesn’t tell him about the award

Quiet Withdrawal

stops asking for help with homework, even when struggling

when Namjoon offers, they reply:

“It’s okay. Google is faster.”

Sibling Contrast

watches him beam at their sibling’s piano recital

slips out to bury their face in the family dog’s fur

“He remembers their C major, but forgets my B+.”

NAMJOON’S FIRST REACTION

Moment of Realization

finds the science fair project while cleaning

stares at the equations mapping his absences

hands shaking

his throat tightens at the footnote: 

“Hypothesis: If love = attention, then Appa’s love approaches zero.”

Immediate Response

runs to their room, knocking frantically

“Can we talk? Please.” 

voice cracks

Internal Turmoil

Self-Accusation

“I’m a hypocrite. Preached ‘love is a verb,’ but failed to act.”

Memory Flash

remembers missing their 10th birthday for a UN panel

they’d said:

 “It’s okay, Appa. The world needs you.” 

he’d hugged them, not realizing it was a goodbye to expectations

Fear

“Have I turned into the distant fathers I criticized in my lyrics?”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Namjoon Style/ No Excuses):

kneels beside their bed at 3 a.m.

voice raw

“I weaponized your empathy. You deserved to be selfish, to scream at me. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Child’s Reaction

probably silent tears

they whisper -“You didn’t see me.”

Radical Prioritization

Cancels Commitments

postpones album deadlines, surprising his team

“My masterpiece isn’t music, it’s the kids I’m failing.”

”Appa’s Reset”

takes them camping, no phones

at the campfire, he admits:

“I don’t know how to fix this. Will you teach me?”

Rituals of Presence

Daily Check-Ins

sets a 7 p.m. alarm labeled ”Breathe. Listen. Be.”

asks: “What’s something I missed about you today?”

Shared Journal

buys a leather notebook

writes first entry: 

“Day 1: I learned you hate mint chocolate too. How did I not know?”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they timidly handed him a poem titled “The Invisible Child” during a VLive (don't argue with me it will always be VLive!)

he’d absentmindedly tucked it under his laptop

“Later, yeah?” 

it’s still there, gathering dust

Distracted Praise

when they aced a math test, he’d patted their head while typing lyrics

“Smart kid. Takes after me.”  (they’d flinched)

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Lecture Crashing

shows up unannounced to their school

embarrassing them with a ”Proud of You” banner during finals week

Vulnerable Confessions

hot cocoa

“I’m scared I’ll never catch up to who you’ve become without me. Let me try.”

Signature Phrases

Growth-Ownership

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking to earn it.”

Nature Metaphors

“You’re my redwood, growing tall while I wasn’t looking. Let me be your roots again.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Work-Life Boundaries

institutes “Golden Hour” = 4–6 p.m.

daily, no emails

colleagues know not to call; his ringtone during those hours is “Family First (feat. his child)” 

Visible Reminders

wears a bracelet they made, beads spelling “SEE ME.”

Advocacy Shift

launches a campaign: “Present Fathers, Present Futures.” 

quotes his child in speeches

“Love isn’t a noun if it’s not a verb.”

Self-Forgiveness Journey

therapy sessions focused on “breaking the cycle of intellectualized detachment.” 

journals: 

“I can’t philosophize my way into their childhood. I have to live it.”

ENDING

months later, hia child adds a new page to the shared journal

“Day 94: Appa cried when I said ‘hi’ to a fan who recognized me for once. P.S. Mint chocolate still sucks.”

Namjoon tapes the page to his studio wall, beside a dried leaf from their camping trip

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

JIN

humor as armor

performative neglect

culinary reconciliation

grand gestures

love in laughter

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Over-the-Top Antics

stages elaborate pranks (glitter bombs, fake spiders) to force Jin’s attention

when he laughs but doesn’t engage, they mutter:

“Guess I’m just the court jester, not the prince.”

Satirical Skits

films TikTok parodies titled “World’s Okayest Dad!”

exaggerating Jin’s distracted nods and half-hearted high-fives

tags him, but he only reacts with a crying-laugh emoji

Food Sabotage

burns his favorite snack and leaves the charred remains on his gaming chair

“If you’re gonna ignore me, at least taste my rage.”

Sarcasm as Shielding

responds to Jin’s absentminded praise with biting wit

Jin: “You aced your test? My genes are unbeatable!” Child: “Yeah, too bad your time isn’t.”

Hidden Vulnerability

practices stand-up routines in the mirror

tears mixing with punchlines

“My dad’s so busy, he thinks ‘family time’ is liking my Instagram story!”

JIN’S FIRST REACTION

Moment of Realization

overhears their late-night comedy rehearsal

freezes outside their door at the line:

“Appa’s love language? Seen but not heard.” 

his smile collapses

Immediate Response

bursts in, still in his pajamas, and blurts:

“Yah! Since when are you funnier than me?!”

then hugs them so tight they drop to the floor

Internal Turmoil

Guilt Masked as Humor

“I’m the Worldwide Handsome dad but made my kid feel invisible. Pathetic.”

Memory Flash

remembers their fifth birthday when he’d joked:

“I’ll always be your main character!” 

now they’re a cameo in his life

Fear

“What if they stop trying to make me laugh? What if they stop trying… period?”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Jin Style)

arranges a “Roast Battle” in the living room

lets his child tear into him mercilessly

taking each joke like a punch

ends with: “You win. Now roast me for forgetting your fencing match. I deserve it.”

Child’s Reaction

laughs until they cry, then whispers:

“I just wanted you to stay.”

Culinary Confessions

”Apology Banquet”

cooks their favorite meal (galbi tang) together

says, “Love’s like soup, needs time to simmer. I rushed us. Let me fix it.”

Food Metaphors

points at the marinade

“See how the meat soaks up the flavor? I need to soak up you. Teach me.”

Scheduled Silliness

”Jin & Me Time”

blocks weekly slots for absurd activities

karaoke battles, DIY spa days (face masks made of literally anything), and “Dad Joke Olympics.”

Public Shame

posts cringey childhood photos with captions: 

“This is what happens when you ignore your kids. Don’t be me.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Recital

they performed a comedy set at school

Jin arrived late, clapping wildly, but they’d already left the stage

found them backstage, fake-smiling

“It’s okay, Appa. Your fans need you more.”

Distracted Praise

when they won a cooking contest, Jin joked

“Took after me, huh?”  they snapped: “No. Mom taught me.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Surprise Cameo

sneaks into their school play rehearsal dressed as a giant broccoli

delivers their forgotten line, then bows

“Your spotlight, not mine.”

Vulnerable Confessions

during a Mario Kart race:

“I’m scared I’ll never be as cool as you think I am. But I’ll keep crashing until I get it right.”

Signature Phrases

Self-Deprecating Truths

“I’m a joke, but you’re the punchline I didn’t earn.”

Culinary Wisdom

“Love’s not a microwave meal. It’s a feast. Let me set the table.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Prioritizing Presence

”No-Phone Zones”

designates dinner table and game nights as tech-free

if he slips, his child gets to throw his phone in the pool (it’s happened twice)

Visible Reminders

wears a custom apron they gifted him:

“Appa Chef: Seasoned with Regret, Spiced with Love.”

Advocacy Shift

launches a series: “Cooking with My Kid” 

episode 1 title: “Humble Pie: A Recipe for Redemption.”

Humor as Healing

therapy focus: “Laughter as a Bridge, Not a Wall.” 

journals

“I used jokes to hide. Now I’ll use them to hold.”

ENDING

months later, his child ambushes him with a prank

replaces his gaming headset mic with a kazoo

when he fake-yells:

“Yah! How dare you!”  they smirk: “You’re welcome. Now you have to listen to me.”

Jin starts a TikTok duet with them, caption: 

“My kid’s the main character. I’m just the comic relief (and I’m okay with that).”

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

YOONGI

silent rebellion

unspoken resentment

musical catharsis

pragmatic devotion

echoes of absence

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Hyper-Independence

teaches themselves music production using old equipment Yoongi discarded

creates haunting, minimalist tracks titled “Ghost Notes”

each melody a coded cry for attention

never shares them

Academic Overdrive

skips meals to perfect a coding project analyzing “Patterns of Parental Absence in High-Achieving Households.” 

submits it anonymously to a journal

wins an award Yoongi only discovers via a forwarded email

Cold Courtesy

calls him “Mr. Min” in public

when asked why, they shrug

“You’re more a CEO than a dad. Should I curtsy?”

Shadowed Resentment

recreates Yoongi’s studio in their closet

tiny desk, secondhand MIDI keyboard, soundproof foam stolen from his trash

leaves the door ajar, hoping he’ll notice

he doesn’t

Sarcastic Sacrifice

donates their birthday money to an orphanage

leaves the receipt on his desk:

 “Invest in someone who’ll use it.”

YOONGI’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

stumbles into their closet studio post-midnight, half-asleep

sees their tracklist: 

“Track 12: The Sound of an Empty Chair.” 

plays it

the melody mirrors his own “First Love”

but distorted, hollow

Immediate Response

storms into their room, voice trembling

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  they retort: “Would you have listened?”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Fuel

“I built empires to give them everything. Gave them nothing.”

Memory Flash

recalls their first piano recital at 7

he’d sent a congratulatory text from a conference

they’d replied: 

“Thx. Mom recorded it. Watch it never.”

Fear

“They’re me. Proud, stubborn, bleeding in silence. And I taught them that.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Yoongi Style)

deletes all his unreleased tracks

replaces them with their “Ghost Notes” 

crediting them as “Producer: My Regret" 

leaves his laptop open for them to find

Child’s Reaction

slams his door

“I don’t want your pity streams!”  he shouts back, “It’s not pity. It’s a truce.”

Radical Transparency

”Business Proposal”

drafts a contract: 

“Min Family Terms: 1. I work 9–5. 2. You get 6–9. 3. Breach = I retire.” 

signs it in blood-red ink

Studio Integration

moves their closet setup into his studio

“Your corner. Your rules. I’m just the intern.”

Unflinching Acts

Public Shaming

cancels a collab with a top artist

posts: “Priorities shifted. My kid’s dropping a mixtape.”

Vulnerability in Code

rewrites their neglected coding project

adding a subroutine: 

“IF Dad = ‘Absent’ THEN Alert: ‘Yah, Min Yoongi, get your ass home.’”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they coded an app tracking his travel days

sent him a notification: 

“Day 107: Still CEO of Missing Dad Inc. Congrats!”  he’d texted: “Clever. Proud of you.” 

they blocked his number for a week

Empty Praise

when they aced a music theory exam, he’d said:

“Good job. Let’s collab sometime.”  they’d hissed, “I’m not one of your bandmates.” knowing it will hurt

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Midnight Session

teaches them to sample the sound of his old Hyundai

the engine that once kept him from them

“This noise? It’s my shame. Make art from it.”

Blunt Confession

over ramen: 

“I thought success was my apology. It was just my excuse.”

Signature Phrases

Raw Truths

“I’d rather hear you scream than starve in silence.”

Musical Metaphors

“You’re my bridge verse. The part I skipped. Let me loop it now.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Structural Sacrifice

”CEO Hours”

limits work to ~40 hours/week (as much as possible, but he's really trying hard)

delegates the rest

his team mocks him: “Dad-Joon 2.0.”

he wears it as a badge

Visible Reminders

tattoos their “Ghost Notes” sheet music on his forearm

“My greatest hit.”

Advocacy Through Art

produces a documentary

“The Beats Between Us.” 

interviews fathers (in the industry)

ends with his child’s track: “Empty Chair (Full Heart Remix)”

Emotional Pragmatism

therapy focus: “Silence as a Weapon, Presence as a Balm.” 

journals: 

“I don’t know love songs. But I’ll learn theirs.”

ENDING

months later, they release a joint EP

“Dissonance to Harmony.”

final track samples Yoongi’s voice mail from Day 107: 

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m...” cut with their laugh

at the listening party, Yoongi murmurs:

“You’re the CEO now.”  they smirk: “Cool. You’re fired.”

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

J-HOPE

perfectionism as a cry for help

choreographed neglect

fractured sunshine

healing through rhythm

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Obsessive Achievement

creates color-coded schedules mirroring J-Hope’s

slotting in self-imposed “training” from 5 AM

dance drills, volunteer hours, straight-A study marathons

tags him in Instagram posts:

“7 AM: Morning Run (Faster Than Appa’s Regrets!).” 

he likes them, never comments

Physical Collapse

faints during a dance practice at school

when teachers call J-Hope, he’s in a meeting

they wake up to a text: 

“Proud of your hustle! 💪”

Smiling Mask

practices grins in the mirror, reciting: 

“If I’m perfect, he’ll stay.” 

develops TMJ from clenched jaws

Passive-Aggressive Perfection

gifts him a mug filled with espresso beans

counted to match the days he missed dinner

Spreadsheet Resentment

charts his empty promises in a Google Doc titled:

“Hope vs. Reality.” 

shares it with siblings: 

“His ‘I’ll be there’ has a 12% accuracy rate. Optimistic!”

J-HOPE’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

discovers their hidden Tumblr blog: 

“Dancing on Eggshells.” 

a post reads: 

“I’m his shadow, stretching to touch him, but he’s always chasing light I can’t reflect.” 

attached: a video of their fainting spell set to “MAMA” on loop

Immediate Response

cancels a photoshoot

sprinting to their school

finds them rehearsing alone

ankle wrapped

“Why didn’t you stop?”  they snap, “You didn’t start!”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Choreography

“I taught them to dance through pain, not to scream from it.”

Memory Flash

their first dance recital at 6

he’d video-called from a shoot: 

“Appa’s watching! Nail that spin!” 

they’d spun until they fell, sobbing

he’d laughed: “That’s my trooper!”

Fear

“I’m the sun, but I burned my own garden.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (J-Hope Style)

hosts a “Dance Court” in their living room

lets his child judge him as he performs their routines

stumbling, sweating, almost tearing his ACL

ends with a bow

“You’re the teacher now. Fail me.”

Child’s Reaction

“You’re… terrible.” 

he grins, tearful

“Finally something I can’t half-ass.”

Radical Restructuring

”Sunset Law”

no work after 6 PM

installs a Disney-themed alarm

“Step back, Appa! Your Elsa needs you!” 

forces staff to call their older sibling if he breaks it

Collaborative Choreo

co-creates a dance titled “Broken Beats” 

his move: collapsing to his knees

theirs: rising alone

Public Accountability

VLive Confession

crying, no makeup

“I’m BTS’s hope, but I broke my own. If you see me working past 6, throw eggs.” 

ARMY sends egg emojis for weeks

Merch Redemption

releases “Hobi’s Humble Hoodies” 

with slogans

“I FORGOT MY KID’S RECITAL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY APOLOGY.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they won a dance battle with a routine mocking his catchphrases

“I’m your hope, you’re my joke!” 

he’d reposted it with 💯 emojis, oblivious

Empty Encouragement

when they sprained their wrist, he’d cheered:

“Pain is growth!”  they’d hissed: “So is parenting.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

”Imperfection Day”

forces them to binge-watch bad movies

eat junk food

dance off-beat

“You’re allowed to suck. I’m proof!”

Blunt Confession

during a nail-painting session: 

“I thought love was a performance. You’re my standing ovation.”

Signature Phrases

Structured Love

“I’ll schedule my soul if it means clocking into yours.”

Rhythmic Truths

“You’re my bridge, not my backup dancer. Let me follow your beat.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts

”Hope’s Hours”

restructures his company/team to prioritize family time (I imagine him opening a dance school)

employees get “Kid Credits”

leave bonuses for school plays

Visible Reminders

wears mismatched socks they pick daily

“My dress code? Whatever says ‘I’m here.’”

Advocacy Through Art

choreographs speech on work-life balance

ends with their “Broken Beats” routine

trends as #HumbleHobi

Emotional Re-education

therapy focus: “Joy as a Journey, Not a Performance.” 

journals: 

“I don’t need to shine. I need to reflect.”

ENDING

months later, they co-host a dance workshop for neglected kids

his child demonstrates a move: 

“The Appa Apology Shuffle.” 

J-Hope messes up, laughing

“See? Progress!”

they gift him a new mug: “World’s Best Dancer Dad"

he never drinks from a different mug again

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

JIMIN

emotional sabotage

mirroring abandonment

performative self-destruction

tactile reconciliation

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Self-Destructive Perfectionism

too much skincare, bleaches their hair, starves themselves to look "idol-thin"

mocking Jimin’s past diets

posts edited selfies: 

“Appa’s Mini™️ (Just as Hollow!)"

Physical Rebellion

gets a tattoo of a wilting rose over their ribcage

where Jimin’s “Nevermind” ink sits

when he gasps, they smirk: 

“Yours is about pain. Mine’s about yours.”

Artistic Screams

writes slam poetry titled:

“Love is a Contact Sport (But You Forgot to Touch Me).” 

performs it at open mics

tagging venues he used to go to

he never shows

Weaponized Affection

flings hugs at everyone but Jimin

when he reaches out, they dodge

“Careful, Appa. Your fans might get jealous.”

Guilt Trips via Proxy

befriends a classmate’s dad who coaches soccer

posts pics with him captioned

“Found someone who notices when I score.”

JIMIN’S REALIZATION

Breaking Point

finds their poetry notebook hidden under their bed

a page titled “Choreography of Absence” 

details his missed milestones in dance terms:

Pirouette: Dad missed my recital. Grand Jeté: Dad jumped over my graduation. Collapse: Me, always.

Immediate Response

drives to their school

storms into the cafeteria

demands: “Why didn’t you fight me?!”  they retort: “You weren’t there to fight.”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Choreography

“I taught them to shrink their pain into pretty shapes. Now they’re dancing my sins back at me.”

Memory Flash

their first ballet solo at 8

he’d sent a bouquet with a note: 

“Appa’s stuck in Tokyo. Dance like I’m watching!” 

they’d burned the note years later

Fear

“They’re my reflection, shattered because I couldn’t stand my own.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Jimin Style)

performs their slam poem at a BTS concert

stumbles through tears, mic shaking

“This… this is my kid’s voice. Listen.” 

ends crumpled onstage, whispering: 

“I’m sorry I made you scream alone.”

Child’s Reaction

skips school to watch the livestream

texts: “You looked pathetic.”  he replies: “I am.”

Radical Vulnerability

”Touch Therapy”

institutes daily 20 minute cuddle sessions

no talking, just holding

first time, they’re stiff as mannequins

by week three, they claw his shirt, sobbing

Public Shaming

posts unedited selfies

dark circles, no filter

caption: “This is the face of a dad who failed. My kid deserves better.”

Artistic Reparations

Collaborative Tattoo

adds a blooming rose next to their wilting one

the artist inks “Water Me” beneath it

Dance Duet

choreographs a routine where he follows their lead

at the finale, they push him away

he crawls back

repeats until they let him stay

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they starred in The Nutcracker

Jimin sent a backstage VIP pass for his manager

they gave it to a janitor

Empty Affection

when they fractured their wrist, he’d kissed it and chirped:

“All better!”  they’d snarled, “You’re not a prince. You’re a stranger.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

Midnight Kitchen Confession

makes them hot chocolate

hands trembling

“I’m scared to touch you. What if I break us more?”  they slam their mug: “Then glue me!”

Vulnerable Ritual

forces them to style his hair before work

“You’re my mirror now. Show me who I need to be.”

Signature Phrases

Raw Pleas

"Hate me, hit me, anything, but don’t starve silently.”

Dance Metaphors

“You’re my center. I spun too far. Pull me back.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts

”Jimin’s Pause”

adds a clause in his contracts: 

“No schedules during Kid’s Events. Penalty: Forfeit entire fee.” 

labels grumble; ARMY calls it “The Papa Clause.”

Visible Reminders

wears a necklace they designed: 

“CHOKE ON MY ABSENCE” in tiny beads

Advocacy Through Art

releases a solo song: 

“8th Member.” 

lyrics: 

“I built seven worlds / But let yours crumble / Forgive me— / I’m just your apprentice.” 

dedicates it at awards shows

Emotional Rebirth

therapy focus: “Affection as Accountability, Not Performance.” 

journals: 

“Love isn’t a stage. It’s the crowd I neglected to see.”

ENDING

months later, they co-choreograph a duet for a charity gala

mid-performance, Jimin lets them drop from a lift

instead of catching them, he falls too

they land tangled, laughing

the video trends as “#FlawedFlight.” 

they caption it: 

“Perfect is boring. This? This is us.”

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

TAEHYUNG

artistic abandonment

vintage vengeance

escapism as rebellion

Jungkook as a mirror

poetic reconciliation

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Symbolic Sabotage

repurposes Taehyung’s vintage film cameras into planters

stuffing them with cacti

leaves them on his desk with notes: 

“Since you’d rather focus on dead things than living ones.”

Artistic Mockery

redraws his iconic “Singularity” concept

replacing Taehyung’s blindfold with Jungkook’s bandana

tags him: 

“New muse. Better uncle. @jungkook”

Jungkook’s Shadow

shows up at Jungkook’s gym daily

lifting weights in oversized hoodies

posts mirror selfies: 

“Uncle Kook’s protegé > Dad’s props.”

Emotional Escapism

runs away to Jungkook’s apartment

blasting “Euphoria” at 3 AM

when Jungkook answers, they snap: 

“You’re cooler anyway. At least you finish games you start.”

Theatrical Exit

leaves a film reel on Taehyung’s pillow

a montage of Jungkook teaching them guitar, cooking ramen, laughing

ends with text: 

“DIRECTOR’S CUT: The Dad I Wish I Had.”

TAEHYUNG’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

Jungkook forwards their texts: 

“Uncle, can I stay? Dad’s too busy being a concept to be a person.” 

attached: a Polaroid of them asleep on Jungkook’s couch, clutching his hoodie

Immediate Response

drives to Jungkook’s in last night’s shooting makeup

smudged and frantic

bangs on the door: 

“They’re mine. Give them back.”  Jungkook blocks him: “Not until you earn them.”

Internal Turmoil

Art as Armor

“I turned love into aesthetics. Now my kid’s a moodboard of my failures.”

Memory Flash

their 10th birthday

Taehyung styled a lavish “Vintage Wonderland” party

missed it for a photoshoot

they’d worn his outfit, smeared it in cake

texted: “Now it’s art.”

Fear

“They see my soul as a gallery, all observation, no touch.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Taehyung Style)

”Empty Gallery” Stunt

rents a museum

fills it with frames of his absence

blurry photos of their back, half-eaten meals, voicemail transcripts

invites them via Jungkook: 

“Curate your pain. I’ll sit in it.”

Child’s Reaction

brings a hammer, smashes a frame labeled “First Steps (Dad: Not Present).” 

Taehyung whispers: 

“Break it all. I’ll pay to rebuild.”

Radical Rebirth

”Unfiltered” Project

destroys his vintage wardrobe, livestreaming it

“This isn’t art. You are.” 

lets them pick his outfits for a month

even if it’s Jungkook’s gym tees

Jungkook’s Role

forces Jungkook to chaperone their “Dad Dates.”

they hike

Taehyung struggling to keep up

Jungkook smirks:

“Old man. Should’ve stayed in your beret.”

Tactile Truths

Midnight Collages

sneaks into their room

leaves hand-cut paper hearts on their pillow

each with a regret: 

“Missed recital,” “Forgot phobia of spiders,” “Stole your laugh for a song.”

Public Accountability

changes his Instagram bio to “Recovering Aesthetic Addict.” 

posts unedited videos of their fights: 

“This isn’t V. This is Dad.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they starred in a school play

Taehyung sent a theatrical bouquet but attended a gallery opening (contract)

they left the flowers on Jungkook’s doorstep: 

“Here’s your prop.”

Aesthetic Wounds

when they begged for a normal family photo, he styled a surrealist shoot

they scratched their face out

"Finally, your masterpiece.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

”Ugly Art” Day

forces them to make ”the worst craft possible” together

glues macaroni to a thrift store painting

Taehyung hangs it in his studio: “Our Mona Lisa.”

Raw Confession

during a karaoke duet of “Winter Bear,” he ad-libs: 

“I’d freeze every season just to thaw your heart.” 

they roll their eyes but lean into his shoulder

Signature Phrases

Poetic Penance

“I’ll burn every camera if you’ll be my muse again.”

Vintage Vows

“You’re not a concept. You’re my cure.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts

”V’s Vow” 

caps photoshoots at 12/year

donates vintage collection to a youth art program

“Create your own lens, kids. Mine’s cracked.”

Visible Reminders

wears a keychain they made

a smashed camera lens encased in resin. “My favorite scar.”

Advocacy Through Art

curates an exhibit: “Fatherhood Unframed.” 

features messy, unposed photos of dads

his contribution: a polaroid of their macaroni art

Emotional Renaissance

therapy focus: “Love as a Verb, Not a Vignette.” 

journals: 

“I used to collect moments. Now I live them.”

ENDING

months later, they co-host a “Trash Art Fair” in their backyard.

Taehyung wears a shirt they tie-dyed (badly)

Jungkook heckles: 

“Looks like a unicorn puked on you.”  they retort: “Better than your swole aesthetic.”

Taehyung gifts them a rebuilt camera

now a music box playing ”Winter Bear.” 

inside: “For capturing us, unfiltered.”

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

JUNGKOOK

Silent endurance

idolization turned resentment

physical overcompensation

intergenerational healing

sweat-soaked apologies

HOW HIS CHILD SHOWS THEIR PAIN

Athletic Overdrive

trains relentlessly in boxing, soccer, and weightlifting

chasing Jungkook’s records

posts workout videos tagged “#NotYourShadow”

filmed at 5 AM in his empty home gym

Injury Ignorance

sprains their wrist/ankle but hides it

wrapping it in his tape

when he asks why, they snap: 

“You’d only notice if I bled on your trophies.”

Hero Worship Sabotage

wears his Golden Clothes MV outfit to school

then dyes it black

posts: “Rebranding Dad’s legacy. Who’s next?”

Hyung Hopping

adopts Yoongi’s studio as a sanctuary

brings him convenience store coffee

begging: “Teach me to produce. I want a real skill, not just Dad’s abs.”

Sibling Rivalry

challenges their (older) siblings to push-up contests

snarling: “Winner gets his attention for a week.”

JUNGKOOK’S REALIZATION/ FIRST REACTION

Breaking Point

Yoongi texts him a voice memo of the child crying over a beat

“I’m just his rep count, something to finish fast.” 

attached: a photo of their bleeding knuckles gripping Jungkook’s dumbbells he was looking for

Immediate Response

drives to Yoongi’s studio

slamming the door

sees them asleep at the mixing board

hoodie stained with ramen and tears

“I’m… I’m the villain, aren’t I?”  Yoongi grunts: “Fix it before they turn into me.”

Internal Turmoil

Guilt as Fuel:

“I wanted them to be strong. I made them breakable.”

Memory Flash

their first soccer goal at 7

he’d cheered:

“Do 10 more!” 

instead of hugging them

they’d scored 20, vomited, and lied: “I’m fine!”

Fear

“They’ll outgrow needing me before I learn to be needed.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Apology (Jungkook Style)

Public Humiliation

posts a ”Fail Compilation”

him dropping weights, tripping on stage, crying mid-concert

caption: “I’m not Superman. Just a dad who fell.”

Child’s Reaction

comments: “Cringe.”  he replies: “Deserved. Roast me harder.”

Radical Surrender

”Apprentice Dad”

forces them to train him in their hobbies

lets them critique on the soccer field

“Faster” he grits when they overtake him 

“I can take it.”

Yoongi’s Role

sits in on studio sessions, taking notes

“Hyung, how do I… parent?” 

Yoongi tosses him a lyric sheet: 

“Try listening, not fixing.”

Tactile Vulnerability

Injury Ritual

cleans their bloody knuckles/scraped knees nightly

rewrapping them with ”Sorry” scribbled on the tape/band aids

Bedtime Confession

reads Green Eggs and Ham in silly voices

like they’re 5 again

“I missed this. Missed you.”

TYPICAL MOMENTS & DIALOGUE

Past Failures (Angst)

Missed Milestone

they won an important soccer match

Jungkook sent a new pair of soccer shoes via assistant

they sold them

buying Yoongi and them coffee for studio sessions

Empty Praise

when they aced a math test, he’d flexed: 

“My genes are fire!”  they’d hissed: “Mom’s a professor. You’re just… you.”

Reparative Actions (Fluff)

”Weakness Workshop”

Jungkook cooks burnt pancakes

laughing as smoke alarms blare

“See? I suck. Teach me.”

Raw Confession

mid-sparring, he lets them knock him down

“You’re stronger. Be stronger. Forgive me.”

Signature Phrases:

Painful Truths

“I thought love was a competition. You’re my coach now.”

Athletic Metaphors

“You’re my personal best. Let me be your warm-up.”

LONG-TERM CHANGES

Systemic Shifts:

”Golden Hours”

limits their training to 3 hours/day

buys a family-sized gym where staff call the child ”Boss.”

Visible Reminders

tattoos their initials next to ”ARMY”  

“New recruits ...”

later they get matching tattoos

Advocacy Through Action

launches ”Rest Days” campaign for (athlete) mental health

speeches quote their fights: 

“Trophies rust. Kids don’t.”

Emotional Rebuilding

therapy focus: “Strength as Softness, Not Swagger.” 

journals: 

“I don’t need to win. I need to stay.”

ENDING

months later, they co-host a ”Dad vs. Kid” match

Jungkook takes a dive, theatrically collapsing

they sit on his chest, grinning: 

“You’re washed up, old man.”  he pulls them into a hug: “Nah. Just letting you lead.”

they gift him a new jeans jacket, hand painted:

“World’s Strongest Dad - almost” 

he wears it to the Grammys

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

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter XVI. Warmth.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 2.9k

chapter summary: a garden created from the artist's hands blossoms fully when the greatest love is the one that's shown in small acts of kindness.

warnings: mentions of a character's death

nsfw warnings: oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating

~ Masterlist for the series

~ Epilogue

🪻 Heliotrope - eternal love and devotion.

Hyunjin and you spent the last few weeks practically joined at the hip and wrapped up in each other, making up for all the time you lost during what felt like a never-ending hell of a summer.

You opened up your shop again and he came in with you every day, helping you out or painting while you worked.

You also taught him a few more garden tricks so the two of you would spend lots of time in your sunny garden too, working around your flowers.

Hyunjin understood the delicate art of growing flowers and nurturing them, and you understood the art of bringing a vision to life on an otherwise blank canvas.

It was as if you were once a singular soul who got separated into two parts somewhere in another world, and the broken soul parts wandered around all the realms until they finally reunited inside the vessels that are your bodies here on this Earth.

Hyunjin made sure you feel loved and worshipped every day and you did the same for him.

Everyone on the island was so happy to see that Hyunjin is back, Bennet and Catherine invited the two of you over for dinner, closing the restaurant as the four of you enjoyed the evening, talking, drinking and laughing.

Luna was also exceptionally happy, gifting Hyunjin a drawing of him as a prince and you as a princess, which in turn made both of your faces red and your hearts beat faster in unison.

You've never been this happy or this thankful to have someone like Hyunjin by your side.

With fingers tightly entwined, Hyunjin and you walk towards the little cove that has always been your safe haven, now back to it's original view, nothing but the deep blue sea, the sky bleeding into it; empty but never lonely.

The sound of your laughter echoes on the beach as you sit down on the rocks, your favorite spot.

Hyunjin remembers when he first arrived to the island, and tried to sketch something as simple as the waves only to hear echoes of his mother's venomous words inside his head, causing him to hurt again.

You notice he's quiet, a contemplative look on his face, as he stares off into the vastness of the sea.

You don't say anything at first, only reach out to gently touch his hand, fingertips caressing his soft skin.

Hyunjin looks at you, melancholy written on his face and reflecting in his eyes in the shape of tears that threaten to spill.

He seeks comfort in you, as he leans his cheek on your chest and wraps his arms around you tightly.

"Jinnie?"- you say it gently as your arms wrap around him and you caress his head, carding your fingers through his hair.

"I called her."- he swallows the tears.

"Her?"- you ask.

"Mhm. My mother."- he says quietly.

"Oh. How did it go?"- you ask cautiously.

"Like always."- he sniffles.

"I'm sorry."- you say as you kiss the top of his head and he presses himself closer to you as his hands grip at your shirt.

"It's okay."- he looks up at you, a single tear sliding down his cheek and you catch it with your thumb.

"I'll be okay."- he repeats.

"You will, Jinnie. And I'll be here to help you."- you smile gently at him, the kindness he always associated you with is there, touching him warmly, keeping him safe from all the harm.

"My flower."- he smiles and sits up to kiss you lovingly and you return the kiss with the same sentiment, pouring all your love into him.

"I- I wanna go visit Isaac today."- he says as the two of you part and you keep caressing his face. "I'm ready to say goodbye to him."

"Okay, we can go pick some flowers up from the shop and bring it to him?"- you suggest.

"Okay."- Hyunjin nods and you kiss his forehead before the two of you get up and make your way to the shop.

When you finally start making your way to the graveyard, the walk there is quiet.

Hyunjin is holding the bouquet you made in one hand and in the other, he holds your hand.

Your thumb is constantly moving on his skin in a subtle attempt to soothe him and he squeezes your hand shortly to let you know that he feels your warmth.

"Here we are."- you say as you stand in front of Isaac's gravestone.

Hyunjin stands quietly for a few moments before he kneels down to place the flowers on the grave.

You can see that he's struggling not to cry so you kneel down next to him, grabbing his hand gently.

"Goodbye, Isaac."- he says, his voice breaking as tears start sliding down his cheeks and he lets himself cry.

The two of you stay there for a few minutes, just quietly holding onto each other and reminiscing about the man who had helped Hyunjin in more ways than he even knows it.

He wishes he could see Isaac one last time, he wishes that he at least had a few more moments with the warm man who was sort of a father figure to him, someone as kind to him as you are.

When you come back home, Hyunjin finds himself falling into your arms, his face buried in your chest as you comfort his saddened heart.

The little owl he had whittled together with Isaac still stands on your shelf, watching over both of you as you hold onto each other tightly, finding everything you ever needed inside the loving embrace.

"I have something for you."- Hyunjin smiles gently, he had barely unpacked his things a few days ago, both of you too infatuated in each other that you forgot about mundane tasks such as that one.

"Oh? What is it?"- you look at him as you sit on the bed.

Hyunjin opens up a drawer, one he filled with his things and takes out a little lavender box out of the back.

"I got this made for us."- he adds as he makes his way to you.

"What is it?"- you giggle as your heart speeds up.

"Open it, my love."- he says as he gives it to you.

You feel giddy as you slowly open up the box, a gasp leaving your lips when you see two matching necklaces with a heliotrope flower pendant.

"H-Hyunjin."- your eyes water as your heart skips a beat.

"I'm sure you know the meaning."- he smiles, his hand on your cheek, a gentle and sweet touch of his fingertips makes your eyes flutter.

"It's a promise of eternal love."- you whisper.

"Mhm. I promise to love you forever, my muse."- he says as the two of you gravitate towards each other, lips pressing together, soft and passionate against each other.

"Let me help you put it on."- Hyunjin smiles when you part.

"What about this one?"- you grab the black stone one that he gave you before.

"You can layer?"- he pouts cutely, puppy eyes staring at you as his eyebrows shoot up.

"Sure."- you laugh at his cuteness, pinching his cheek shortly before you turn to let him put the necklace on you.

"Help me with mine."- Hyunjin says and you do so, the matching necklaces pretty on both of you, the meaning of them making them even more beautiful to the lovers whose necks they adorn.

"So pretty."- you whisper, tracing his collarbone and the necklace and Hyunjin inhales sharply, even the smallest touches by you make him weak.

You bite on your lip and gently push him down into the pillows and he gives you a cheeky grin.

You swing your leg over him, lowering your middle on his, your core pressed against him, and his hips lift up into you on their own accord, hands on your thighs instantly as he squeezes and caresses the exposed flesh.

"Jinnie."- you keep biting on your lip as you slowly drag your core against him.

"Mm, darling."- Hyunjin's eyes become hazy instantly as the two of you grind into each other.

You lean down to kiss his neck and he throws his head back, squeezing your hips as you attack his skin with licks and bites, leaving purple bruises where you suck on him and he whines, becoming harder under your wet core.

Your hands roam on his stomach and waist as you lift his shirt up and touch him wherever you can reach, making sure to caress every spot of his exposed skin, to worship him and claim him as yours.

Hyunjin grunts in the pure state of bliss as he lets you kiss him and touch him wherever you want, grinding his hard cock up into you.

You slide his shirt off and your lips travel from his neck to his chest and nipples, down to his toned stomach and waist, down to the happy trail disappearing into his boxers.

"Y/n..."- Hyunjin moans as you hover over his bulge.

"Yes lover?"- you give him a little smirk.

"Please touch me."- he whines and you giggle, leaning down to kiss the place where a wet patch formed on his boxers, kissing the tip of his cock as it twitches against your puckered lips.

"You're gonna tease me, aren't you?"- he smirks as he lets you spread his legs, your hands caressing his inner thighs.

"Mhm."- you mumble, your tongue pressing into his clothed tip.

"Ah..."- Hyunjin moans quietly and you lift up a little just to slide his boxers off.

His cock is hard and heavy when it slaps against his stomach and you whimper at the delicious sight.

His hand comes down to grab his cock and you lick your lips when you see his long fingers wrapped around his length like that, teasing himself right in front of your face.

"You wanted to tease me but you seem speechless right now."- he gives you a smirk.

"Can you blame me?"- you smirk back, getting into a more comfortable position.

He chuckles shortly, thumbing his slit as you bring your face closer to him and Hyunjin sucks in his bottom lip, his brows furrowed as he presses his tip on your lips.

"Open up, love."- he says gently and your eyes flutter as you open your mouth and take his tip in, his hands gathering your hair as he holds it in a makeshift ponytail.

You suck on the tip a little, teasing him with your tongue and the way he looks at you in that moment has you squeezing your thighs together.

His eyes are narrowed down on you, plump lips parted and cheeks rosy, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

You feel greedy and slide down, taking more of him in and Hyunjin moans as he grips your hair.

"That's it, take it. Good girl."- he smirks and you whimper around him, sending vibrations through his body and making his cock twitch in your mouth.

The heaviness and warmth of him inside your mouth drives you wild as you start sucking on him and bobbing your head faster.

Hyunjin's lips release pretty moans as you please him, the taste of his pre-cum on your tongue is sweet to you and you grip the base of his cock, working what you can't fit with your hand, as your other hand plays with his sensitive balls.

"Oh my god, y/n! Fuck, just like that!"- Hyunjin curses, losing himself in the pleasure as he arches his hips up into you, making you gag a little.

You don't mind as you slide down further, his tip hitting the back of your throat, your eyes water and you swallow around him making him whine as he buries his fingers in your hair and grips you harshly.

You moan around him and he looks down at you.

"You wanna try taking all of it? I wanna see my cock disappear in your mouth, darling."- he looks at you lustfully, his free hand brushing against your cheek.

"Mm."- you moan around him again as your eyes flutter, your arousal pooling on your panties and you desperately need some kind of friction.

Hyunjin bites on his lip again, red and swollen from sinking his teeth into it repeatedly as he helps you slide down on his length, until your nose is buried in his pubes and you inhale, trying to relax your throat.

"Mm, look at you. You take it so well, baby."- he whines and you're going crazy, rubbing your thighs together as he fucks up into your mouth slowly.

"Shit, feels so good!"- he moans as you meet his thrusts, sucking him off faster.

You keep whimpering and gagging around him, tears now sliding down your cheeks and Hyunjin can see your legs pressed together as you look for relief.

"Is my flower feeling needy?"- he asks with a smirk and you whine.

Finally, he pulls you off his cock gently, his hand still on your hair and the other cups your chin.

You cough a little as you look up at him teary-eyed.

"I won't deny you, love."- he gives you a smile as he beckons you closer to him.

You hover over him and he gently takes your face in his hands, kissing you passionately as he wipes away your tears.

Suddenly, you're flipped over on your tummy as Hyunjin presses your body into the bed and hovers over you, his cock pressed against your ass.

You gasp and grip onto the pillows as he holds your wrists down.

Hyunjin's lips are on the back of your neck and your shoulders as he kisses you and slides his hands on your back and waist down to your ass, grabbing it and massaging the plushy flesh.

"All of this is mine."- he kisses your neck again, hands grabbing at your hips to lift your pelvis up.

He spreads your legs and you whine as you hold onto the pillow.

"All yours, Jinnie."- you say as you feel the tip of his cock caress your folds.

You clench instantly, begging to be filled up as he teases you, pressing his hardness into your clit.

"I'm gonna give you all my love, darling."- you hear the smirk in his voice as he slowly pushes in.

Rarely practicing this position, it makes you feel dirty in a good way as Hyunjin starts snapping his hips into your ass, his hands splayed on your hips, holding on tightly, his cock is buried even deeper inside you than in any other position.

"Ah, ah, Jinnie, ah!"- you moan constantly, your mind becoming a cloud drifting in the wind as you let go completely, giving into Hyunjin as he pistons his hips into you fast and hard.

The sinful sounds of skin slapping skin, the feeling of his cock ravaging you, his balls smacking against your ass have you drooling on your pillow as your legs tremble, your toes curling and pussy clenching around his length.

"Let go, baby."- he knows you're there, his hands on your waist as he pushes you down on his cock harder.

"Mm, Hyunjin!"- you moan out his name as you cream around his cock and Hyunjin's hips stutter.

"Ah, shit!"- he grunts, fucking into you sloppily as he shoots his cum deep inside you, riding his high as he smacks your ass.

"Jinnie!"- you whine before he pulls out of you slowly, and turns you around easily, your legs falling open for him as his cum drips out of you.

He leans down between your legs and starts eating you out instantly, your thighs shake as you moan loudly and grip onto his hair.

"Mm."- he moans into you, eyes fluttering as he laps at you, swallowing your cum mixed together like it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"You taste like honey."- he kisses your folds and your clit and you let out a chuckle.

The tip of his tongue teases your nub and you whimper.

"Ah, sensitive!"

"I'm sorry, are you okay my flower?"- he lifts up immediately, hand cupping your cheek.

"Yes, yes, more than okay."- you smile as you wrap your arms around him and bring him closer to you.

You kiss him sweetly, the taste of him and you lingers on your tongues as they dance together slowly and sensually, your bodies arching into each other, seeking the warmth they provide.

"You wanna redecorate the house?"- you ask when the two of you part and Hyunjin bursts into laughter.

"That's what you were thinking about while I was inside you?"- he asks with a grin.

"No, I couldn't think then but my thoughts came back now."- you say and he giggles.

"Alright, let's redecorate."- he gives you a sweet smile, leaning down to kiss your cheeks.

And a few weeks later, after lots of hard work, you had managed to re-paint your kitchen, of course again in the warm signature pastel yellow you loved so much, but the living room was now a shade of lavander, just like the heliotrope flower that symbolizes the depth of your love.

Paintings that both of you made adorned your walls now, except one wall that you left blank, to fill it up with a work of art you'd create together.

You weren't alone anymore, and neither was Hyunjin, destiny had brought you together, and the two of you sat at each side of the blank wall, painting together for days to make a beautiful mosaic of blooming flowers, a luscious garden that represents your love blossoming as you got closer and closer to the middle of the wall, where you had met with your paintbrushes and matching smiles, sealing your fate with a kiss and a flower you created together.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @lemonadeboun @eastjonowhere

[kirus-grotto]

Dance Of Jealousy

Deuce had never felt this way before. Why would Malleus Draconia be dancing with Yuu?

Just a little ficlet of Deuce and F!Yuu at the Masquerade

Bright cyan eyes watched adoringly from across the way as the Ramshackle prefect danced along to the music with their friends. He’d stepped away to grab himself a quick drink with full intention of bringing one to her as well. After all that had happened it was nice to see everyone, especially her, happy.

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, Deuce began to weave his way through the crowds. Masked people shuffled and danced all around him; the music bringing itself to a slow paced melody. Groups began to break apart and pair up with one another. He couldn’t help but to freeze in place as he watched Yuu immediately turn to dance with Malleus Draconia.

It was as if they were magnetized to find each other with how quickly they seemed to go to each other. The way he had an arm wrapped around her to guide her looked as if it belonged there. The soft smiles they gave each other had Deuce holding back a scowl. He couldn’t help but to squeeze the cups he still carried just a bit tighter. Dancing in a group with the others was one thing, but this…

A thought flashed through his mind of him throwing one of them at the back of Malleus’ head. Had he not known better he just might have. Instead he forced himself to turn back toward the tables to set the glasses back down, and to take a moment to gather himself. Looking back toward the pair he could see Malleus brushing a lock of Yuu’s hair back; could see him saying something that caused her to laugh. His heart began to beat faster just watching them.

’That should be me.’

His legs began to move before he could have a second thought. Keeping his eyes on Yuu he swiftly moved between the rest of the groups between him and her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He was sure Riddle would collar him if he knew what Deuce had wanted to do. Especially since it involved wanting to fight Malleus Draconia himself. In front of the entire Masquerade. Only the thought of disappointing his mom had him begin to calm himself at the last second.

“Ah, Spade.” Malleus greeted as Deuce had grabbed onto his arm. “We were just discussing you.”

“I… uh.. You were..?” The blue haired boy looked between the two.

Yuu nodded quickly. “Your timing is perfect actually!”

Deuce blinked in confusion. “But… huh??”

Malleus simply smiled at him, and gracefully passed Yuu over. “You wished to dance with her as well, yes? I won’t take up all of her time.” After a friendly pat on Deuce’s shoulder and a nod to Yuu Malleus disappeared into the crowd.

Left alone with Yuu, who’s smile alone had his anger and jealousy melting away, he sketched a bow and asked her to dance. He felt lucky that though the current song was ending, another slow song let him continue to dance with her. He felt as if he were floating. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her warm, brown eyes. He’d always loved looking into her eyes; how comforting they were. Brown eyes were always his favorite.

“I think I might love you..” the words came out without him meaning to. He’d never felt more flustered in his life than he did right there. “I mean! Er.. wait I–”

“I think I might love you too.” Yuu laughed lightly. “And I think Ace owes me 50 thaumarks.”

“Wha–huh??” He felt confusion take over as his face deepened in color. “Ace? Why?”

“He maaayyyy have bet that you wouldn’t confess while we were here,” she said.

“...Wait, how did you know?!”

“You can be pretty obvious about things sometimes.” She laughed again. “But Epel also told me that you told him your plan.”

His head whipped over to where he noticed Epel earlier. The other boy having his innocent smile on his face. Rook, Riddle, and even Malleus on either side of him wearing knowing grins of their own. “...Did… did everyone know that?!”

“I mean… I’ve been trying to drop my own hints to you for a while now. You’re just a bit oblivious.”

Deuce groaned in defeat. “I can’t believe I never caught on..”

Yuu rolled her eyes playfully at him before leaning close to place a kiss onto his lips. “How about we split my winnings and get something in town when we get back?”

His eyes widened for a moment before softening. “I still can’t believe you made a bet on me.” His hands took her face to bring it to his own for another kiss.Feeling her smile against him had him smiling too.

“...Floyd was in on it too.” She added after they pulled away.

“WHAT??”