#better than he could paint’ and the point was just. the art as something almost speaking through the artist

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[predestinatos]

hungry for life - MV1 (18+) ༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader

summary: it could've been a dream trip. if it hadn't been for the nightmare of the company. (also i didn't proofread i'm sorry)

tags: enemies to lovers, smut, lots of smut, filthy really, p in v, fingering, reader swallows, idk what to say.

word count: 5.2k

MINORS DNI!!!

Monet’s Water Lilies occupied the entire room, listening to your conversation intently.

“It isn’t that big of a deal” you friend said, whispering and pointing to the painting as if she was commenting on it.

Your gaze remained on the careful brushstrokes, head tilted as you replied, “Easy for you to say. I mean, seriously? Max?” your hand raised to a specific part of the painting that really wasn’t as impressive up close as it probably was from afar - but there was no other way to have this conversation.

“You’re in Paris, looking at a Monet, with your best friend” she continued, a hint of a smile in her tone of voice. Her amusement only frustrated you more as she walked a few steps to the right, trying to inspect another part of the mesmerizing painting.

“And my worst enemy” you rolled your eyes as you followed her. “It’s not fair. When you said it would be you, your boyfriend and a friend of his, I didn’t expect this. I was thinking more of a double date.”

She looked at you, shrugging, causing her beautiful hair to bounce with her. “It can still be” she joked, to which you could only reply by turning your back to her - and consequently, Monet himself, muttering a ‘fuck you’ to her giggling frame and to the lilies who stood motionless in the still water.

You stood, alone, in front of Sam Francis’s In Lovely Blueness. You felt unlovely blue yourself, though you knew you couldn’t let this ruin a dream trip for you. Your excitement might have died down the minute you met Max at the airport and put two and two together, but you were sure it was mutual, which did make things better. At least he wasn’t particularly amused himself, falling for the exact same trap you fell into.

As if manifested by your own thoughts, his frame appeared on the corner of your eye, big eyelashes adorning his eyes as he stared ahead, almost as if he had no intention of acknowledging you whatsoever. “This is inspired in a poem by Hölderlin. It has the same name and everything. In Lieblicher Bläue. It’s a representation of-” he started, shocking you at first but then angering you just as well.

“I am an art major. I don’t need you to explain this to me” you spat, a fake smile adorning your lips as he looked at you, your annoyance, and chuckled. It was brave of him, you had to admit - to intentionally go out of his way to annoy you by explaining something you were sure he knew you knew. 

Crossing his arms across his chest, his head slightly tipped to the side, he admired how easy it was to get under your skin. He wanted to be nice, to engage in a conversation and try to achieve some type of neutral ground, but he found it impossible to do so. “Since you know so much, why don’t you guide us?” 

The comment came out aggressive and petty, which wasn’t particularly intentional but he also hadn’t made any effort to hide what he felt towards you anymore. You stepped closer to him. It surprised him, how daring you were all of a sudden, but also how much you actually seemed to dislike him, to the point where this was something you did publicly, unashamedly. 

“You want me to guide you?” you asked, whispering while looking up at him. You were smaller than him, his frame towering over you even unintentionally, but that factor didn’t stop you. 

“Sure” he said, swallowing dryly, jaw clenching as the tension between you both rose. The red on the painting seemed to stand out even more and spread on the corner of his vision, inundating the whole painting.

“Okay” you replied, taking two steps back away from him, opening the distance between your bodies, carrying the red color with you as the painting seemed to fill with blue again. But not for long, for you walked and looked at him as if urging him to follow, which he did, curiosity winning against irritation. 

After a couple of steps, you reached the end of a hallway, secluded and stripped of any painting, walls too bare, contrasting with the previous setting.

He was confused. He really didn’t know what you would do next, though this whole scenario just proved you were just as childish about your feelings as he was. “And, to your left you have the exit sign, which will take you right where you belong” you said, moving your arms like a museum guide, overly cartoon-ish on purpose, knowing it would only annoy him more.

“You’re such a child” Max said. Indignation wasn’t something he felt often, yet this time he felt it appropriate. But he was also thankful - thankful that his attempt at being nice didn’t work, for he did not have to pretend to like you for a week when he absolutely did not. “I tried, at least.”

At this, you could only gasp in surprise at his courage to make such a statement. “You tried? By mansplaining a painting? Oh, that's new!” it was almost funny how you two were whispering in shots, or shouting through whispers, the empty hallway echoing your words as if to emphasize them. 

“It’s more than what you’ve done so far! I’m not the one walking around looking all bitter and bratty.”

You stood, motionless, looking at him. His green eyes fixated on yours and burned as if they were scorching red, and as much as you wanted to lash out even more at him, you figured walking away was the best solution. Once again, turning your back on someone in Paris. It had to be done.

“Oh, yeah, walk away. Good luck doing that at the hotel” Max said, the comment a nail in your coffin, a way to affirm that yes, he had won, yes he was right, and the points had been made - you were to avoid each other at all times.

You, however, stopped. His last words echoed in your head. What did he mean, the hotel? The moment you closed the door to your room and he closed the door to his, you two would be out of each other’s sight. So what did he mean by that? That he would annoy you further, being noisy, screaming, to the point where you couldn’t sleep? You were about to ask when you decided that would admit some sort of defeat - asking someone to clarify a point you hadn’t understood in an argument seemed weak, frail and ridiculous to you, so you kept walking, desperate to find your friend again.

“No,” you said when the room card was handed to you. “Fuck no” you kept going, your best friend’s hand raised towards you as she tried to contain a hint of a smile. 

Now you understood Max’s comment. Now you were angrier than ever.

Why did you let your friend handle the hotel reservations? Because you trusted her good judgment. Which was bad judgment from your part, apparently, as she reserved two rooms - one for her and her boyfriend, and one for the friends they brought - you and Max.

“It has TWO beds” she tried convincing you, as Max had already gone up angrily, snatching the card swiftly without saying a word. “I wouldn’t put you two in a king sized bed. I am not crazy” she kept going. 

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. 

Max prided himself on his fast insticts and reactions to any unforseen events that might come his way. It was probably one of his best traits, one he always mentioned when asked about his favorite psychological aspect of himself.

But all that was put into question as he stood motionless in the middle of the hotel bedroom, towel wrapped lowly around his waist as the air conditioning hit his bare back and he heard the door click open.

He stood in the same place as you closed the door behind you and ran a hand through your hair as you exhaled. He had those brief seconds of you unaware of his presence to hide in the bathroom and get dressed quickly, or lay underneath the covers discreetly. Anything at all.

But he had no time to make a decision as your eyes met his, panic written across his green irises.

You prided yourself on your fast insticts and reactions to any unforeseen events that might come your way. It was probably one of your best traits, one you always mentioned when asked about your favorite psychological aspect.

But all that was put into question when you opened the door to the hotel room and saw a Max's frozen frame, towel wrapped lowly - too lowly, you thought - around his waist, swallowing hard as droplets of water ran across his bare skin.

No thoughts crossed your mind before you cursed, a hard "for fuck's sake" escaping your lips from accumulated stress over the events of the past 24 hours.

This was not how you wanted your trip to go. This was not what you had planned. It wasn't just sleeping in two separate beds.

This proved it clearly.

During this time, Max's brain found the opportunity to adapt to the situation, adopting an arrogant attitude that contrasted from his initial shock.

"Come on, I'm not fucking naked" he said as he turned his back to you, heading to the bathroom.

"You are underneath that towel" you pointed out, starting to follow him before stopping yourself, realizing it was best not to do it. "I mean, you knew I was coming"

You heard him chuckle - really, he made sure you would - and his head and bare shoulder showed up from behind the open door. "Yes. Hence the towel. Otherwise I'd be naked. Which I'm not. Don't be such a child."

You could only throw a middle finger at him in response - one that he found gave him the victory, the upper hand. One that signified the discussion was over and he was right.

He grinned to himself, closing the door as he undid the towel around his waist in order to put on his underwear and a t-shirt.

Max's hand reached for the small hanger where it was placed and his fingers wrapped around nothing. He looked at the empty hanger and then at the floor, completely empty of what he needed the most in that very moment - his boxers.

"Shit. Shit. Shit Shit" he cursed, looking around for an answer. He knew his only choice was to ask you to bring them to him, but he only knew it cost him that final victory he enjoyed so much, his ego and pride mixing with each other to create a selfishness that surprised even him sometimes.

You heard your name being called out from the bathroom. At first you thought you had imagined it, like in horror movies where it seems to be coming from everywhere, but when it sounded again you knew that wasn't the case, though it was equally as terrifying.

You jumped from your bed and went over to the bathroom, ear pressed against the door in search of a sign of danger.

"...Yes?" you asked.

"Can you bring me a pair of boxers? They're in my suitcase. That is if you don't want to see me naked for four seconds while I get them myself."

You groaned loud enough for him to hear, your steps heavier than usual so he could notice your discontentment even if he couldn't see it.

Walking over to his suitcase, you opened its zipper almost carelessly, searching for a pair of underwear in the midst of the collection of same colored t shirts and same fit jeans.

Max was walking around the bathroom like a mad man, realizing how ridiculous this situation was, and how ridiculous it was that he had accepted it without asking who his company would be first. Maybe this was a lesson, yes, from the ghost of vacations future warning him about being careful who to trust, or to spread kindness, or something.

Before he could dive deeper into thoughts of madness, a knock sounded on the door. He grabbed the towel quickly to cover himself, although he did not bother wrapping it around him. He was not planning on opening the door entirely, not after the scene you caused.

As he opened, he saw an outstretched hand - yours - holding a pair of underwear. The fabric dangled in your pointer finger as if it was made of a burning material that you needed to get rid off, and fast.

He grabbed that from you, but as he was closing the door, your arm remained in place.

"I'm childish but you brought like two packs of condoms for this trip?" you said accusingly, and he could hear your smirk, as if you finally had something to hit him with.

"Don't flatter yourself, I didn't know I'd end up with you" he said as he pulled his boxers up and opened the door once again. "Is this less offensive than the towel?"

He was close - closer than you had expected - and though he hid his own surprise at seeing you at the doorframe, he couldn't deny that he didn't exactly measure the consequences of not checking where exactly you were before opening the door so fast.

His chest was close to yours, so close part of him almost felt as if you were touching, the proximity making him feel unbelievably taller than you, though he was sure the difference couldn't be that big.

You tried not to stare. Really, you were trying really hard. But he was so close to you he occupied your entire line of vision, his pale skin appearing so smooth in front of yours, contrasting with the dark color of his underwear - that you unconsciously had picked.

He towered over you, head low so he could look at you in the eyes, though the view wasn't particularly bad from up there. Your pajama top was loose - too loose - in your frame and your shorts were the very definition of the word.

"You wanting to sleep with me would be an insult" you said, moving away from the doorframe so he could pass, though he didn't move, merely crossed his arms across his chest, muscles tensing slightly at that. "And sure. It's an improvement" you continued, staring him up and down - taking his frame in but disguising the act as disdain.

Max's head leaned to the right, a smirk growing on his lips as he realized he got you for a second time. Nonchalantly, eyebrows raised, he decided to act.

"That's not what you said a year ago." There. He had you. And while before this bickering came from a place of anger and hatred, he was growing increasingly more amused at how you matched his own pace.

"Yeah, but that was before you opened your mouth" you retorted, focusing hard - too hard - on his face and not on his body, though it did not help either. His hair was messy and slightly damp from the shower, and his stubble had grown in a way you could only describe as attractive - not perfectly shaved but not entirely messy either.

He bit his lip then, mostly because he knew what to say to you after your words and was trying not to smile. Also because you had admitted to feeling attracted to him, even if only physically, which added to his confidence as he stared at you and ran his eyes down your body. "What's wrong with my mouth?"

You were dumbfounded for a few seconds, mouth opened at the ridiculousness of his comment, what it implied and the line it had crossed. "You're such a piece of shit" you said, while his grin grew to his eyes.

"You want me" he sounded so matter of factly, as if he had commented on the weather or said the sky was blue.

"I hate you."

"Never said you didn't" Max took a step forward towards you, and you found yourself unable to walk away. Something about his deviance pulled you in, and part of your brain told you you could leave, though another tried to convince you you were only staying because this was your room, after all.

"Then how could I possibly want you?" you asked, though it was more directed at yourself than at him this time.

He looked away then, as if the answer was obvious, his body moving closer to you but never touching you, both decreasing and increasing the distance between the both of you.

"You want me but I'm a piece of shit. And that's why you hate me. Because you know, deep down, you still want me to fuck you" as he said this, he moved away, almost as if the conversation had never happened, though it had, just now.

"I don't want you anywhere near me" you tried to sound assertive but part of your voice had failed by how taken aback you were, still wondering if you had imagined his words.

He stopped and turned to you once again, battling his own brain on whether or not he should push you a bit further.

"Define near" he said, as he walked closely towards you, like a predator slowly approaching its prey, defying them.

Your chest rose and fell as he moved, and you found yourself unable to tell him that that was near enough, mostly because it wasn't, not even close.

The back of your legs hit the bed - his bed - and you fell backwards, sitting on it as he moved as close as he could towards you. "Is this near for you?" he asked, though his tone had changed into something darker, raspier and more filled with lust than flirt.

You swallowed, refusing to break eye contact, aware of how you looking up at him provided a view for himself as well.

"Who wants who now, huh?" you asked teasingly, a smile spread across your lips as you noticed his body tensing up - with a bit of anger but maybe a bit of arousal too.

"Is this wanting you?" he asked back, finding your language had moved from insult to rhetoric, questions that needn't answer - not when he could see your eyes shining as they looked up at you from your eyelashes, not as he saw you crossing your legs despite your attempts at discreetness.

You shrugged at his question, not wanting to back down on your claim but also not wanting to give him the chance to refute it.

His hand cupped your face with firmness, holding your stare as he lowered himself towards you, bringing his lips close to yours, so close you felt his skin brushing against yours although he broke away before you could indulge in his initiative.

"What about this?" he asked, testing you now, though he knew the answer himself, felt it in his body as his boxers felt tight against his erection.

"I'm still unsure" you replied, and as if awaiting for that sign to keep going, Max exhaled and ran his hands through your bare thighs, pinching softly at them, causing you to hiss and giggle from his contact.

"Do I have to keep asking?" it was his time now to look up at you, something close to desperation rubbing at him as he knelt between your legs.

"Not if you admit it" you leaned to kiss him, to - admittedly - give him some kind of upper hand, though you weren't sure if you were playing anymore, not as his tongue hungrily explored your mouth, so desperate it was almost sloppy yet so warm and arousing and fulfilling.

"Fucking hell you're stubborn" he managed to let out during the brief instances where you weren't pulling his neck towards you, making sure his lips remained on yours.

His body moved on top of yours as you laid down in his bed, his hips pressing against yours as you felt his cock against you, a moan escaping your lips and a sigh leaving his at the contact.

"Is this, huh?" he asked again, mouth now moving to your neck, kissing it so lightly you shivered, only to bite you afterwards, the sensations overwhelming you with need for him.

Your body felt hot, burning intensely; and Max's body against yours only fueled that, his voice making you feel more than you wanted to admit even to yourself.

You wanted him to feel like you were feeling in that moment - unaware he was already as on the edge of completely losing himself as you were. So you held his hand with yours and brought it in between your legs, allowing him to get his response.

Max had to steady himself. Really, part of his brain froze and only his body worked, mouth watering as he felt how wet you were, mind going completely foggy at the fact that you had done it, at how hot what your simple gesture had been - at how strongly he reacted to it.

His cock was so tight in his boxers it felt almost painful, especially when he knew how comfortable he could be, inside you, feeling your entire body react to him and him alone.

However, he craved to drive you mad as well, convinced you would probably lose your minds together in that hotel room. "Use your words" he said, pulling your shorts down in order to get better access to you.

His fingers teased you gently, brushing over your entrance and pulling away just as you were ready to take them. "Tell me, is this wanting you?" he insisted, his voice breathy and hoarse.

You wished you could answer, could say more than his name which came across as a whine for more of him inside you. It took all your strength to focus, on winning, on seeing him crumble before your eyes, losing his composure which was so so close to fall apart.

You bit your lip while staring at his eyes - once so bright but now so dark, so filled with something you hadn't seen in him before - and took him completely by surprise as you ran your hand across his erection through the fabric of his underwear.

Max closed his eyes and his eyebrows were now close together in an almost frown. "Fuck" were the words he let out as he dropped his head.

"Admit it" you demanded, not only because you wanted to win but because you couldn't wait any longer - you felt empty, his teasing frustrating you to no end.

Without warning, his fingers dipped inside you, filling that emptiness, even if just slightly. He moved them painfully slowly, savoring every inch of your moans as you kept your hand on his hard cock.

You could feel its length and thickness, making your mouth water at the mere thought of having it inside you. You started moving your hips against his fingers, craving more of the pleasure, more of him.

Max was just observing you at that point, how desperate you were for him, how beautiful you looked with flushed cheeks and swollen lips with barely anything being done to you yet.

"I would never admit something like that" his words contrasted so much with his thoughts, but he knew one fed the other both for you and him, this back and forth the main reason why you both felt an incessant pull towards one another.

"You're ridiculous" you managed to reply, though the words came out muffled and confusing, earning you a chuckle in response.

"You're being fucked stupid and I'm ridiculous?" he asked, grinning as he used a hand to removed his boxers, freeing his erection. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, the sheer anticipation of what was to come, at the opportunity to having him buried inside you.

However, letting him win this easily wasn't something you were willing to do - and though your mind was cloudy and your judgment blurred, you stood on your elbows, face almost touching his. Your hand caressed his tensed arm which kept its movement inside you, and he couldn't help but look at your contact.

You tilted your head, biting your lip as you stared at his face - the desperate attempt at remaining composed, the rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, lips wet and eyes so dark they looked almost black.

"Who's stupid now?" you asked, hot breath against his neck. He could hide many things, but he couldn't control the goosebumps spreading across his entire body, he couldn't hide the way his shoulders tensed even more, how his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

This was thrilling. Maybe too thrilling, if such thing existed. He thought of the painting, of the colours spread across the canvas and somehow, in that moment, that seemed to increase every emotion he was feeling, and he had to close his eyes to control himself and steady his breath.

He had to keep it going. He knew he had to - he knew this was precisely what he wanted, to drive you insane, to keep the tension running across both of you until one exploded.

So he removed his hand from where it was - so comfortable, so hard inside you - and he could see you pout slightly before returning to your previous cold attitude. "You want me to stop, I'll stop" he said, climbing fully on top of the bed, both hands on either side of your head, hovering above you.

"I never said that" you bit back, though it was hard to focus as he started leaving trails of kisses on your neck, going down to your chest, and on your navel, biting your shirt and pulling it - removing the last layer of clothing you possessed.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, face in between your thighs, just above where you wanted him to be buried. Max's grin didn't hide the fact that he knew exactly the answer to this - but, just like you, he was stubborn, loving to hear the words escape your lips, to know that you wanted him to ruin you completely.

His hand now caressed your thigh, fingers softly moving up and down, drawing invisible nothings on your skin.

You fought against your will to just say it, although you wanted to give it up and just admit it. As if reading your thoughts, his eyes pierced yours with amusement as his cheek rested against your thigh, stubble scratching your skin pleasurably. "We don't have all night, sweetheart" he whispered.

The nickname caused your heart to race, but what came out of your mouth was a scoff, arrogance still coating your actual feelings despite the situation you were both in. "You're just as desperate as I am" you told him, lifting your right leg to caress his bag with your foot.

"Desperate for what, hm?" he asked, biting the inside of your thigh as he climbed back up, facing you.

"To fuck me" you finally replied, knowing it was less of an admition and more of a dare.

"Is that what you want me to do? To fuck you?" the question was rhetorical, almost mocking, but at that moment you didn't quite care. Not when the tip of his cock rubbed against you, not when he tried so hard to steady his breath.

You could only nod, carnal insticts getting the best out of you. That was all he needed to let himself go, to let go of all restraints previously holding him back - if there were any.

He sinked inside you slowly, as if to prolong your pain and your pleasure simultaneously, savoring your reactions - your whine of pleasure, your closed eyes and teeth biting your lip, your eyebrows furrowed. You felt and looked so good it took all of his strength to focus on being the stronger, composed person in the room - something he never struggled this hard to achieve.

He dropped his head low, his forehead against yours as he steadied himself. "Fuck" he managed to say, along with a loud exhale. "You feel so fucking good" he continued, words leaving his mouth almost impulsively.

"Then don't stop, Max" you demanded, almost aggressively, as your body ached for more of him.

He pulled himself almost fully out and slammed back inside you, harder now, making you let out a loud whine - one which you rapidly covered by placing your hands over your mouth.

He kept going, hips slamming against yours with a steady rhythm as you uhmed in pleasure, eyes teary already as they rolled to the back of your head.

He wanted to hear you. In fact, he wanted to know others could hear you, hear how good he was making you feel, hear how his cock drove you absolutely insane. With an assertive movement, his hand grabbed yours and pulled it away from your mouth, then held your cheeks tightly as he made you look at him.

"Don't cover your mouth" he ordered, hungrily, feeling you tighten around him as he said it. "Let everyone hear how well you take it" he continued, speeding up his pace and laying on top of you as you wrapped your hands around his waist, caging him.

"F-fuck, Max" you started, unable to resist much longer, feeling his hot body against yours, your hands pulling his hair as he moved almost animalistically, so focused on your sounds he could only get off to them.

"You sound so pretty" Max growled, close to exploding as well. "So fucking hot" he continued, and you had to bury your teeth in his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming - all you could let out was his name as you felt him inside you, and his hips rolled against you, unmatched amounts of pleasure running through you.

"I'm so close, Max, I'm so close" you said, not realizing how often his name was being uttered by you, how it seemed like one of the few words you had left to say.

Driven to a state of total lack of control, Max let moans escape his own lips, his animal vulnerability resulting in your own orgasm.

Feelings you tighten and pulsing around his cock was the tipping point for him, as his body shuddered, pulling himself out of you as fast as he could.

“Open your mouth” he said, gesturing at you to sit back. You did as he demanded, still drunk from your orgasm, still completely at his mercy, and he came finally, warm come filling your mouth.

The view was Max’s dream come true - your mouth wide open and filled with him, so obediently taking his orders and so beautifully contrasting with your previous attitude. 

“Now swallow” he said, tapping your cheeks slightly with his hand as you closed your mouth and did as he said, the slightly salty flavour filling your tastebuds.

You laid down on his bed, exhausted and completely fulfilled, while also dizzy with the amount of emotions running through your head. You closed your eyes, but felt and heard him laying down next to you, his arm brushing yours shyly now. 

“Was that close enough?” he asked.

[uchinagai]

Your endless love - ningning

➢Synopsis: once, teenage sweethearts, y/n and ningning, now meet each other as full-grown adults, expect, one life had to take a different, much harder patch. will they reunite? Or did ningning only return for a different reason?

➢Pairing : CEO!ningning x artist!y/n

➢Genre: angst, fluff but maybe only past... slightly suggestive almost there but a man has to interrupt, I really wanna point out it's angst! but gets better ...?? maybe

➢warnings: heavy topics, such as - suicide, death, arranged marriage or self-hatred, miscommunications, blackmailing, suggestive/smut, mention of a corpse but not g0re, mention of murder/possible murderer, 18+.

➢wk: 5.1k+

➢note: well... kind of inspired by my childhood Turkish drama I forgot the name of but till this day remember the heartbreak my 10-year-old ass went thru. I think that's all I have to say, hope you guys will enjoy it. :3 I'm not the best writer, I do this only for MY pure entertainment. not proofread. will there be pt.2? maybeee...

You lost five years of your life to keep your younger brother free, to save him from going to jail after he accidentally took the life of a woman. Given the choice between covering up his crime and your own freedom, you chose him. You loved your brother dearly, but the cost was far greater than you ever imagined.

They married you off to a man you could hardly stand—a man who seemed obsessed with you, and not in a way that felt like love. Yet, he called himself your husband and flaunted you like a prize that made you disgusted each day that passed. Five years had passed with the weight of that ring around your finger that was more of a rope, tightening taking away air from you.

But now, staring at your brother's pale body lying on the hospital bed, you felt a hollowness eating at your insides. Is this what you meant to waste your five years to?

Your fingers trembled as they traced over the red scar on his neck, feeling your own throat tighten as though a rope was there, suffocating you, too.

He looked ghostly, eyes closed, lips an unnatural shade of blue. You gripped his limp hand, sobbing and begging him to get up. It was all for nothing; your life was ripped apart, sacrificed to save him, only for him to take his own life out of guilt. In his last words, he admitted as much. A note lay beside him, neat and careful, explaining everything. He couldn’t bear the weight of watching you wither under the demands of a loveless marriage, sacrificed to protect him. He couldn’t stand hearing you cry through closed doors as he walked by with food for you, feeling helpless to fix what he had caused. And he couldn’t stand to see your parents throw you away, to a man who saw you only as something to possess. And it mostly saddened him knowing you were only capable of loving a person you met on a bus.

You were just 19, running to a bus you were going to miss at any second. The door closed right into your face as you banged on the door, begging the driver to open it. He did, thankfully. You thanked him as you tried to catch your breath.

‘That was a hard run’ you thought.

You looked around for a seat, but there was none.

‘Great. Just my luck.’

You tried to take a breath as you clutched onto the pole next to you. You set your canvas to a safe place and look around the bus, trying to spot the next muse of your art.

There you lock eyes with a girl. A beautiful one, looking right at you, with slight interest written on her face.

‘Woah she’s pretty’ you thought.

The girl stared back at you, not breaking eye contact. Her blonde hair fell in sleek, straight as it could be, as sunlight hit her eyes from the window. The light color framed her features in a way that made her look effortlessly striking. Her eyes held an intense, yet steady gaze, focused onto you, like you’re the only one in this crowded bus.

Your eyes roamed around, taking in her appearance.

Her lips painted a rich, dark red, stood out beautifully against her fair skin. God, she was pale—not sickly pale, but pale to the point that it was beautiful and reflected light off of her body.

She wore a simple outfit, a denim cropped jacket, with a black tube top perfectly sitting around her body. Her jeans matched her denim jacket.

As you stared, you felt an unfamiliar turn to the left as you broke eye contact that felt like it lasted ages. You looked out the window and realized that the bus you got on was not the one you thought it was, so here you were—going off in the wrong direction.

All you could do was panic and turn to the driver, asking when the nearest stop was. He reassured you it was soon, but you were already late.

It did not take a while to get to the stop, as you rushed off the bus.

But fuck! The canvas!

You turn, seeing the bus already off.

‘What a horrible day to be alive’

You mentally cursed at yourself as you were about to break down till an unfamiliar voice, filled with a sweet tone to it, broke you out of your thoughts.

You open your eyes that you closed due to stress hitting your nerves to be met with the same beautiful face, looking at you with a smile.

“I think you forgot this,” says the stranger as she reaches out your canvas.

‘What a great day to be alive’ you changed your thoughts in a second.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much!!” you say as you grab it and hug the canvas.

The girl giggles at the sight as you sigh.

“I can’t explain how grateful I am”

“It's not a problem, really”

“It should be! You had to get off of your ride to bring this for me”

“Oh yeah…” she says as you both chuckle at her lack of thinking.

“Well, I wasn’t rushing anywhere, seems like you are tho, need help?”

‘Is she an angel sent from the heavens for me?’ you thought as you nodded at her request.

“I was trying to get to my house… but seems like I got on the wrong bus,” you say defeated.

“Where were you headed off to?”

“Cheong-dong..”

It felt like you were rubbing into her that you were from a wealthy family.

The blonde looked at you, slightly taken back but she covered it with a smile.

“And you were trying to take a bus… there?”

You nod.

“Well, I forgot my car keys…”

“Let’s get you there then”

She says as she grabs your wrist without thinking, dragging you along with her back where the bus made a turn.

“So what were you doing out here?”

“I was in my studio... Painting”

“Figured,” she says as she chuckles.

“Oh right, what’s your name… at least got to know what’s the name of a beauty that is about to kidnap me” you say as you both burst into laughing.

“Ningning, it's Ningning, and I'm not gonna kidnap you,” she says as she reassures you. “Yours?”

“y/n”

“Pretty name, just like your face.”

And that is pretty much how it all started. Was it too cheesy to say you both fell in love at first sight? Maybe. But god she had you whipped.

Every little thing she did made you feel butterflies all over. The way she looked at you, waited for you in front of your studio and surprised you with a bunch of balloons attached to your car. How she played music that she loved while doing her homework in your presence. It was a matter of time and you two were official.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her. The way her blonde hair fell to her face, the way her nose would scrunch up when she couldn't get the answer right. It made you all fall for her, and she was just as much in love with you.

You would always sketch her at different times while working or writing music. She was beautiful every single time. You mostly loved sketching her while sleeping, that’s when she looked most relaxed and calm, without a care in the world. You were always at her place because you didn’t know how your parents would react to… someone from the lower class.

But it did not matter.

You were in love.

You decided it was a good idea to tell your mom about it since she was always supportive of your decisions in life - painting? She got you a whole studio and the best paints in the world. Music? She installed speakers in the studio to enjoy it. So you told her, and at first, she easily accepted you and supported you.

Till she wasn’t.

You remember it like yesterday, calming your little brother from what he had just done. You couldn't believe it either? Your brother, hurting someone? But before you could even process that, you were pulled by your parents into a security room.

There he was, again. With that smug of his that made you feel uneasy with everything.

He pressed space. And there was your brother, with a gun, laughing and giggling, pointed at the girl. He thought the gun girl brought along for ‘roleplay’ was just a toy till he fired.

He pauses the footage.

“I delete this footage and do not turn it to the police… on one condition”

“Whatever you want!” your mom pleaded.

Then he looked at you and it all clicked. He wanted you. Then you looked at your parents.

Your mom was looking at you full of hope but your dad… He seemed just as against the idea as you were.

“We will have to talk this out first,” Your dad says as your mom looks at him unpleased with his decision.

But there was no point.

Your life was already decided

Now here you stand, watching as they lower the casket as you can only think about Ningning.

Your ‘husband’s’ hand was holding u firm against him. Like he was holding u for support but it suffocated you even more.

You couldn’t even cry, you felt numb. All of those years for what? For him to kill himself because he felt guilty? Bullshit.

As the time passed after the death, you felt yourself grow angrier than sad and the only person to be able to shut it down was Ningning. You kept looking back to old pictures, missing her, her touch, scent, everything.

At some point, you would stalk her socials, and try to keep up with her till she completely vanished from all social media. Her account was up but her last post was when she left back for her home country - china, and that was years ago.

Was she still in China? Did she come back? Does she still live in the same house?

It was another day, staking her dead account which was too much for you because most of the pictures that were posted, were taken by you, so you just went on a night walk by Han River, after another argument with Kai He always found a way to drain you, was it either verbally, physically, or mentally.’

You put on your earphones as you enjoyed the specific scent the water had. It was pretty chilly, so you dressed up warmly, a puffer jacket with a black scarf around your neck, wore simple black baggy jeans, and went on the walk. It calmed you down for sure and music playing in your ears that distracted you from unwanted thoughts.

But you stop in your tracks.

As the music was about to switch and earphones went silent for a few seconds, you heard it.

Honey-dripped voice giggling. All too familiar.

You couldn’t have mistaken that. It was basically recorded in your brain.

You shut your music off in an instant as you start looking around, searching for the familiar blonde hair… but it is nowhere to be seen.

Were you just imagining it?

But there was no way… right?

And then you heard it again, you were not going crazy.

You tried to follow the sound only to be met by a black-haired haired turned away from you. What was going on?

Till you saw it.

That beautiful side profile of hers, her nose scrunched up in laughing.

She went black… you thought as you just stood there, looking but not moving an inch. She was with a bunch of three other girls that you paid no mind to. It was just her, standing in front of you to reach but being so unreachable. Everyone was out of the picture like the world had stopped where it was her voice filling it up.

God knows how long you stayed there, watching, but it definitely caught the other three's attention as they nudged the black haired whispering something to her as she turned her head right at you.

It was like a spark went through you as her smiley gaze landed on you, but it quickly died down as her face dropped.

‘She hates me’ you thought due to her facial expression dropping as you felt tears forming. You wanted to run, hide, and never show yourself but it was like you were stuck in a quicksand, unable to move from your spot.

She stared back right at you till she turned her head towards her friends. Saying something that made them all look at you and then back to her.

You wanted to reach out, call her, touch her, explain yourself, but the lump stuck in your throat made it all impossible.

“Ningning!!” you choked out as she was about to start walking away, making her pause in her tracks making her turn to you, standing what felt like kilometers away. You were at a loss for words… she changed, in a good way, but everything about her was different. The way dressed, the way she did her makeup… the way she looked at you.

The last one hurt the most. Her expression was almost unreadable but it was full of hurt and hatred, and you understood her more than anything. You had no idea what to say to her. You haven’t even planned out how to talk to her, thinking she was still in China.

“Can we talk?” you say after a decade

“What is there to talk about?” she says, almost mocking you. Her honey voice was completely replaced with venom. It hurt but you couldn’t blame the girl either.

But she moved against her words because the next thing you knew, she was walking towards you.

‘What the hell is going on right now?’

“What are you gonna say? I’m sorry I ghosted you? Or are you gonna tell me you’re married, because I already know that, everyone in South Korea knew about y/n l/ns marriage BUT me.”

God, it hurts so bad, you couldn’t respond to her. You just stood there while Ningning looked at you like she hated your guts. It made you feel like you were trapped, with the door right in front of you, but it was locked away.

“Answer me y/n!” She yells, demanding an answer from you, knowing you physically couldn’t utter a word. You choke on your sob as you start crying. All you could do was cry.

As she stood there her scent was right in front of you, all you wanted was to grab her into a hug bury your head into her, and never let her go.

For Ningning it almost felt like an instinct to reach out and cup your face, wipe your tears away, and tell you everything was fine when it wasn’t fine, but she would do anything to stop you from crying in front of her. It ate her from inside as she saw your hand reach up to your face, covering your tears away.

The ring.

It should’ve been her who you were married to, not some guy Kai that she knew very well was from a very well-off family.

“I never meant it to get this bad,” you say between sobs as you fall to your knees in the middle of the bridge.

Ningning instantly went down with you as she held your head.

“What do you mean y/n, for god's sake speak to me at least once. Tell me you don’t actually love me so I can let you go”

That was your biggest fear as you looked up at her and clutched onto her wrist “No! No, that's not true!” You yell, desperate for her as she looks at you. Her eyes slowly welled up with tears as she bit her lower lip.

“You’re making everything harder than it should be y/n…”

“I had to Ningning, I couldn’t pick…-” you say as the lump in your throat chokes you from saying anything else.

“What you couldn’t pick��

“My own future…”

Ningnings heart hurt. She didn’t know what you meant at all but one thing was clear to her - everything was against your own wishes. That was enough for her to grab you into a long overdue hug as she held you tight against her.

You melt into her arms as you wrap your arms around her neck, clutching onto her shirt as you sobbed into her. You two stayed this way for a long time till you finally calmed down and steadily started breathing, enjoying her arms around you.

It made you feel complete.

Like you were missing a part of you, and now that it’s back, you would give anything to keep it with you.

She took you to her new place—one that, to your surprise, was just a street away from your own house so near that you almost thought she got it on purpose to stalk you. You could step into the driveway and you were able to see your own house clearly.

‘Seems like she built herself up’ you thought as you stood out in the driveway, staring at your prison perfectly on display while having a blanket wrapped around you.

The younger girl stepped out with two cups of hot chocolate. As she reached one to you.

You guys left her friends behind as she drove you to hers, even though she knew where you lived. She wanted you to be with her only.

Only then you were gonna be able to tell her everything.

You grabbed the cup and held it with you.

“If you’re wondering, yes. I did buy the house to be close to you.”

You felt it coming. You knew it was her dream to live at least close to you, if not with you.

“It’s pretty”

“Yeah, it is.” She says as she slowly turns her head to you. “Care to tell me, properly?..”

“My brother is dead.” You said as you looked back at her. “He’s gone while I suffered for five years because of him.”

‘Suffered’ made Ningnings's ears perk up and feel uneasy.

“You know my… husband, kai. He threatened me that he would leak footage of my brother accidentally killing a woman. To stop him from doing so, I married him.”

“Y/n I’m so—“

“You didn’t know, nobody does, so don’t stress yourself” You smile at her as she sends you a weak smile back at you.

You take a sip from your drink as you turn your head back, now seeing movement in front of your house. It was Kai, slamming his car door and screaming at the staff.

“I couldn’t make sense why you would marry him when I saw him act like a spoiled male brat, but now it all makes sense,” she says as she giggles at his outburst as you crack a smile.

“He’s a boy, seriously. He might be leading his daddy’s company but it will go downhill with his outbursts in around 1-2 years.”

“Then another rival company down,” Ningning says as she turns back to her house and you instantly follow her in.

“CEO Ningning?” You question with a teasing smile as you lean against the kitchen island, next to her.

“Why? Does it turn you on?” She says as she leans on the counter, playing into your game.

“Maybe… you always looked… good working,” you say as you lean towards her now.

It was like something flipped in her as she grabbed your waist and trapped you between her and the counter.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you”

You looked at her, like a prey trapped with a predator. God, you missed her, the way she touched you, or looked at you. You couldn’t even answer her as you wrapped your arms around her smashing your lips on her, which she responded to immediately.

Her hands went down to your waist, placing herself between your legs as your hands went to her hair, thuggin' at it which caused her to whine into your mouth.

You break the kiss as you look at her with hooded eyes, telling her everything just by looking at her. In an instant you switched positions as now, you were trapping her.

“Let me make up for all the times we missed..” you mumble against her lips as you lay wet kisses from her jaw down to her neck.

The girl was sensitive and you were kissing all of her right spots so all she could do was whine and clutch onto the counter behind her.

Ningning was very impatient with you because it seemed like you were taking an awfully long time with her, so what could a girl do?

She positioned herself on your thigh before so now all she could do was grind against it, searching for some friction, but to no avail. You held her hips down, not letting her chase her desired feeling.

“Getting slightly impatient now are we?” You tease her as she looks at you with her.

At that, you both froze at an incoming doorbell, from the entrance of the driveway, which was guarded with a getaway. It causes both of you to groan as she looks at the security camera installed:

It was your husband, looking as if he's composed and calm but you can read him like an open book: a hint of anger in his left eye, a slight dent in his cheek on his right, which means he is biting on that side, clenched jaw and car in the background messily parked by him. He was mad, for whatever reason.

But how did he know you were even here? And what was he even doing here, in front of Ningning's house?

What confused you even more was, why was Ningning seemingly all okay with it?!. It was like she was expecting him so she opened the gate for him as he walked up the driveway, taken aback by seeing you from the ceiling-tall window.

“Mr. Kai,” she says as she greets him offering her hand to shake, but there is no point in it, he is staring dead at you, not even glancing at Ningning waiting for a handshake. She takes her hand back and chuckles seeing the staring battle between the two. You were staring at him, without any emotion showing, scared that he might suspect something between the two of you.

“We are childhood friends, Mr. Kai, no hard feelings”

“Oh are you guys now?” he says as he turns his head, eyes still on you, but then he looks at Ningning and sends her the psychotic smile that made your skin crawl every time you saw it. You knew he was mad and in an attempt to calm him down, you took a step towards him grabbed his upper arm, and looked at him. The touch was gentle, and that did not go unnoticed by Ningning. Now she was the one clenching her jaw as she looked away.

“Kai don’t cause a scene, she's my friend, we were catching up,” you whisper as he looks down at you. He glares at you but looks up masking it perfectly.

“And here I was, wondering where my wife went,” he says and giggles which Ningning can only manage to send him a fake smile.

‘My wife’ coming from his mouth made Ningning livid. She should be the one saying it. She should be the one you wake up next to but here she was, in front of him.

“We have to go back,” you say as you turn to Ningning “ We are having lunch, right?” you say to him as he nods and grabs your wrist.

“We will talk another time, Ning Yi Zhuo” It was probably your first time hearing her actual name from someone other than her or her parents. But the question was… why would Kai and Ningning even speak about and how did they know each other?

It didn’t take two weeks for you to figure out why would they speak - they’re basically rivals in their job.

Both your husband and Ningning were law firm CEOs and the rivalry between the companies was pretty much known to mankind. So here they were, standing, a drink between their finger at a dinner party, hosted by someone you did not care slightly about.

But what you DID care about, was that the invited person had a chance to bring a plus one. You, as Kai’s wife, were his plus one. But who was Ningning’s plus one? She would never go alone to these kinds of parties, so you hawked around the big room full of people, trying to spot someone you had no idea about.

Till your eyes landed on a familiar one from the day on the bridge with Ningning. The girl had pink hair - very unusual for this kind of dinner, so she stuck out like a sore thumb. You trailed her movements before she approached Ningning, making you clench your jaw.

The way she leaned in, whispered into her ear, backed away, looked at ningning, everything, made your blood boil, why the hell were they so close? But then again, you shouldn’t be the jealous one, you were the reason for the breakup, after all.

You looked away, not wanting to anger yourself with the scenery unfolding right in front of you, that you had no control of. It made you feel uneasy and uncomfortable.

And to top it all, Kai walked over. ‘Great’ you thought, as you mentally got ready to brush off his arm around your shoulder, a move you mastered he loved. But before you could do that, he leaned down to your ear, whispering:

‘Ning yi zhuo is approaching, act like a loving wife, for once, goddamit’

All this caught you off guard, and you looked straight ahead, seeing he wasn’t lying. Ningning was slowly making her way over you two, arms hooked with a pink-haired stranger, as you decided to use this moment.

Be lovely-dovey with your ‘perfect husband’.

So you put your arm up to your shoulder, Kai expecting you to brush him off, even after he asked but instead, you held his hand, as you looked up to him with a reassuring smile, that completely caught him off guard and softened up with his touch around you.

As that happened right in front of Ningning, she wanted to break a glass on his head that he was holding. But what confused her more was, why were you smiling back at him? Didn’t you hate him? Did you just lie to her?

She approaches you two as she reaches out her hand to shake Kai as she looks at him, trying to maintain her composure, that you saw right thru of. ‘It was working as you turned your head towards the couple in front of you two. You send them a small smile as a greeting and watch the two of them shake hands.

“Mr. Kai, so nice to see you,” she says with a smile, you noticed how the left side of her cheek slightly shivered which was obvious she was not having any of the things that were unfolding in front of her.

“Same goes for you, Yizhuo,” he says as he smiles, which you knew was genuine, probably due to you letting him hold your hand. He shifts his gaze onto the pink-haired girl. “Who is this girl? First time seeing someone with hair like… that. Here” he paused, wanting to point out it was not normal to have hair color as bright to a place as honorable and noble as this dinner.

“This is Aeri, my friend,” She says, annoyance visible in her tone. “I think we should go somewhere private, No?” she suggests as you notice the change of posture and stiffness of your husband around you.

Was he always like this?

You didn’t know, you never let him close enough to feel his emotions thru touch.

He slid off hand from your shoulder as he grabbed both of them and turned you towards him, gently as he layed kiss on your forehead, whispering ‘don’t go too far’ as you nodded and smiled up to him. 

What were you even doing?

You watched to walk away, as you let out a breath you did not know were holding in as you turned to the aeri girl, sending her a smile as you excuse yourself but you stop when you hear someone call out your name.

You turned realizing it’s Aeri.

“y/n!”

“Yes?” you say as you smile at her, to be polite.

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I said, be careful”

“Okay? Thank you?” you say confused as you turn on your heel and walk away, replying her words over and over. You walked mindlessly as you arrived to womens restroom and by the corner you hear muffled sounds, what seemed like two persons talking, but they sounded angry at one another. You didn’t wanna be involved but it was right near the bathroom so you walked over, clearly hearing the conversation.

The low whisper-yelling made it obvious to you, who was one of them.

Ningning.

But who was she arguing with???

“Yizhuo stay out of my fucking business!” another whisper yell, but louder.

Kai.

What the hell is going on?

“Your little precious ‘wife’ needs to know the asshole and murder you are, kai.”

Murderer.

It rang in your head, the same feeling of air slowly being taken from you came back, just like when you heard about your brothers passing, but before you process all of that you hear him bite back.

“And you need to stop messing with her head. You only came back to get revenge on me, leave her alone, we both know you don’t care about her, Yizhuo!”

Things just kept getting worse.

She only came back for… revenge? That’s what you only were to her?? A plaything for her to get revenge on your, alleged murderer husband??

What was going on, you had no idea but need to get away was huge so you ran.

You ran out, crying, causing everyone to look at your running figure, confused and taken aback. 

You ran till you own legs couldn’t support you.

You fell on the street sidewalk, staring at your own hands, hands that held his in your own.

hands that touched Ningning.

‘She was just using me’ is all you could think and repeat over and over.

Till your own mind shuts off on you.

finished.

god, this has been in my drafts for a while, heh..

[bougiebutchbinch]

You know, if I weren't lazy I could give you an essay on how comic Wade is either closeted transfem or wants to at least medically transition even if he stays using he/him pronouns. I'd even site my sources in MLA format for you. I'd just have to find some very specific events, and it also relies on the idea that the scars are psychosomatic (which was implied in one of the Deadpool and Spiderman comics).

The only problem is on a good day I'm wishy washy about liking that (a physical representation of his poor mental health that people either ignore or out right demonize? yes please) but on most days I don't really like it as a concept.

oh goshhhhhh I am soooo here for transfem Wade!!!!

Should you ever have the spoons to deliver that essay, I for one would love to hear it.

She (or he, I think they're pretty fluid with pronouns, like Deadpool always is!) is the transfem who makes her gender identity A Big Joke for years and years and years, always laughing about 'haha what if I was a girl what if I was your girlfriend what if my pussy got wet whenever we fought what if I wore a maid dress for you what if that hahahaha wouldn't that be funny'

to the point where

everyone can kinda tell

it isn't a joke

but Wade's almost too afraid to acknowledge that it isn't? Like, she's been keeping her barriers up with comedy for so long, and especially growing up with her dad and then in the military, a BIG part of her is fucking terrified about what it means to acknowledge how she really feels about herself, let alone embrace it.

Anyway, I think one day someone (Vanessa?) would listen to Wade doing his usual bit about 'lol what if I was a girl' and would just say "You could be, you know."

Her tone is kind, gentle, and completely fucking serious.

And Wade suddenly gets

very

very

quiet.

For all of a minute.

"Yeah," he manages eventually, hoarser than ever. Flashing Vanessa a bright, cheeky grin that doesn't quite reach his (her?) eyes. "But then you'd have competition for being the hottest woman in this polycule, and we can't have that."

But maybe next time he takes Vanessa up on her offer to do his nails and make up, she catches him looking at himself wistfully in the mirror, and presses a little kiss to the side of his head.

"I'm ready for that competition whenever you are," she promises. "But you'd better bring your A-game. I'm not gonna go easy on you just because you're a newly minted girl."

Wade chokes out a laugh. She jerks away from her reflection like she's scared that she's been caught - then, tentatively, glances back again. Looking at herself, scars and high cheekbones and thin eyelashes darkened with mascara, and more scars, and all - before her nervous, sickly yellow eyes flit to Vanessa's.

Vanessa can see the want there. The yearning.

And she can see, just as clearly, the fear.

"Rain check?" asks Wade, fake-breezy. "Not that I'm not ready for you to kick my ass at the art of hot-girlhood, but you have had a lot more practice."

Vanessa finds her hand - fever-hot as ever, and just a little sweaty. She gives it a tight squeeze.

"Rain check," she agrees, not because she wants it, but because Wade needs it. Then, distracting her, because there's a fragile set to Wade's mouth, like she's letting something she so desperately wants slip between her fingers - "What colour should I paint your toenails?"

"Ooh!" Wade perks up immediately, clapping her hands in delight. "Wolverine-costume-yellow? Nonono, gunmetal grey for Cable! And Colossus. Okay, so maybe one yellow for every two grey? Hey, I'll do yours too~ We can match!"

She's adorable when she's excited. Vanessa drops another little kiss on one of the textured ridges that divides Wade's skull into continents of scar tissue. "Sounds like a perfect girls' night."

"Girls' night," Wade repeats, smile small and precious. Then, bouncing up from the chair in front of Vanessa's vanity - "Okay, game plan! I'll go put on the Golden Girls and make popcorn, you get the nail polish and the files. Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing."

[bonny-kookoo]

Can we get cherry jks reaction when Mc finally shows her tattoo to jk😊 thanks

A/N: Warnings for sexual tension

"So." He grins.

"..So." You parrot back, though not as confident.

You're both sitting on his couch again, facing each other. Suddenly, you feel odd. What if he's disappointed by your body? What if he thinks you're a lot prettier than you actually are? And what if he thinks your tattoo is stupid, badly made, or doesn't suit you?

"Do you wanna.. take it off yourself, or..?" He wonders casually, leaning his head a bit to the side.

"..you." You point towards him, unable to really bring yourself to undress. It's not even all that bad- he's gonna be able to see the tattoo without you taking off your bra anyways. You're not gonna have to get naked.

But you kind of want to be, just to see what he thinks of you.

He's clearly scanning your face and rest of you for any sign of discomfort as he scoots closer to you, fingers pulling your shirt out from where you had it tucked into your shorts, before he slowly lifts it up, your hands lift to make it easier for him to pull it over your head.

Of course your underwear would be cute- lace rim sitting snug against your skin, little bows placed right where the straps begin, one singular one right in between the two cups that hold your tits all securely inside.

He actually thought about what they maybe look like. He didn't think they'd look this pretty.

"Can I touch you?" He wonders, and you shrug, before nodding, his hands surprisingly warm as he smiles, before he leans in a little closer. "Lay back for me a little, yeah?" He asks, voice lower than before, less clear, a lot more breathy. You nod, letting him help you lay back down as he sits right over your legs, knees digging into the couch below so that he doesn't put his weight on you.

He pushes up the hem under your bra, but you notice he's struggling a little not to go too far-

so you move your hands and unhook the back of your bra, catching him off guard as his hands leave you, eyes wide open before he laughs, face resting on your stomach, exhale from his nose tickling your skin.

"God damnit woman, give a man a warning!" He scolds, looking back up at you. "I thought I broke it!" He complains, causing you to laugh as well now.

"Sorry." You apologize, and he shakes his head, before he looks back at you. "You can take it off too." You approve, and he licks his lips, gaze now darkening quite a bit at the prospect of being allowed to do something like that.

He looks almost concentrated as he rids you off your underwear, leaving it to hang over the backrest of the couch to not get lost.

"That's, without exaggeration-" He says, leaning back a bit to look at you. "-the best pair of tits I've ever seen." He nods, playfully acting impressed, like an art-critic looking at a painting revealed. "Like, I know I'm supposed to look at the tattoo but wow.. can I touch them?" He wonders, and you nod- his entire demeanor making you feel awfully comfortable.

His palms immediately take the place of your bra earlier, and he personally thinks his hands are a way better fit and sight than the undergarment.

But maybe that's just him.

The moment he finds the tattoo however, he's interested. Fine lines, some already quite faded, no shadowing whatsoever. It's a simple flower design, very pretty, doesn't need any bold colors or more additions to it.

It's fine as it is. Fits you perfectly.

"I could re-trace those lines here. They're almost invisible- which happens a lot with fine line artworks.." He mumbles, before he notices your thighs move together.

Oh?

One look up reveals your flushed face, and only now does he notice the way his fingers must've continuously brushed over your by now hardened nipples. "But maybe I gotta get more familiar with... the client first." he purrs, hands moving as his body moves to lay lower, now his chin touching your stomach. "Hm?" He wonders, and you whine, unsure what to ask for.

How far does he want to even go? Does he want full on sex, or is he still only teasing you?

"Did you know that some girls can cum from only getting their tits touched?" He asks you boldly, and you shake your head, making him grin, before he runs his thumbs over your sensitive buds, a kiss placed right up onto the lowest part of your sternum.

"Wanna see if you're one of them?"

[agi-ppangx]

💭rivals to lovers (100 followers special)

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin

"i thought you wouldn't come to my exhibit," you heard hyunjin as he approached you. you didn't look at him, too stared into one of his paintings. you attended yet another of hyunjin's exhibitions in your local art gallery in the span of six months. he was thriving, it was almost as if the inspiration hadn't left him for once. you felt bittersweet about it. on the one hand you were truly amazed by his artworks. hyunjin's attention to detail always made you speechless and as an artist yourself, you examined his works and tried to incorporate the same details into your paintings. on the other hand however, you were jealous, so incredibly jealous - you wished your paintings were better, you wished for more exhibits, you wanted to amaze people as much as he did or even more. and even though you were appreciated by local art critics and media, you'd always felt as if your art was lacking something. that's why you and hyunjin were waging a silent battle among yourselves for the favour of critics and art lovers. after all, you also used to have exhibitions in this gallery in the past. 

"it's always nice to know what i'm up against," you murmured, studying the canvas in front of you. "i always assumed you didn't like my art," he then said, taking one step closer to you and pointing at the painting. "i've never said i didn't like it," "then what do you think about it?" you took a moment to gather your thoughts. "it intrigues me, i appreciate it. you always know when to stop, it's like there are so many untold feelings and emotions within you, waiting to be set free," you answered his question. it was genuine - you've always thought hyunjin's art was exceptional. "you should write poetry, yn" he giggled under his nose. you missed the slight blush that appeared on his cheeks. "is it your attempt to make fun of my art?" "no, i'm just saying that you're really good with words," "and i'm even better with a brush," you replied confidently, finally turning to him and looking him in the eyes. you examined his look - he was grinning and you noticed his hair was way longer than the last time you saw each other. you wondered if they were as soft as you imagined. "how've you been lately?" hyunjin's voice helped you to come back to reality. "i've been quite good, thanks for asking," you replied simply, not wanting to get into details. he smiled, but something in it felt off. "that's great. did you paint anything? i haven't seen your works in a while," hyunjin then asked, it seemed as if he wanted to get into details. you shrugged your shoulders and once again turned to face the painting. you haven't seen your works in a while too. "i'm taking things slow for now," you mumbled, not wanting to admit to him how unmotivated you'd been in the last couple of months. hyunjin hummed at your words, a faint "mhm" left his mouth. you expected him to leave you for now, but instead you heard him speak after a while. "hey, why don't we go to dinner together?" you froze in your spot. a dinner with hyunjin? "my treat," he added, you could quite literally hear him smirk. you looked at him, but not as confidently as before. you studied his expression, his soft smile and friendly gaze made you oddly calm. after a moment you cleared your throat and spoke. "okay, let's go."

hyunjin drove you to one of the restaurants downtown. it wasn't anything extremely fancy, but it looked like a nice place. you sat across from each other, hyunjin's piercing gaze never leaving you. it felt weird, to say the least. you'd never really spent time with him outside of the gallery. quite frankly, hyunjin intimidated you. he was well known for many people in the city, mostly for his artwork, but also for his personal charm, which seemed to do the work. you always observed him from afar, too scared to get close to him. what you didn't know is that from the first time you met, hyunjin couldn't stop thinking about you and he would always make sure to approach you when he noticed you in a crowd. "now tell me, how've you really been lately?" hyunjin broke the silence between you two. you raised your eyebrows and scoffed. was he really curious or did he only want you to admit that you were struggling? "i told you i'm doing just fine," you mumbled in response. "oh, come on, you really think i'm gonna believe you? when was the last time you painted something then?" he proceeded to ask, sounding defeated. it made you dumbfounded, you'd never heard this tone from him before. "if you invited me here just to make fun of me then save it for yourself," you scoffed, but the tears were already weiling in your eyes. you looked down, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. hyunjin exhaled shakily, shocked by your words. he never wanted to make fun of you. sure, he was happy his paintings were appreciated by people and this whole rivalry thing was fun when you actually tried to make a better exhibit than him. and since you hadn't had any in months, he started to get worried for real. "you just seem… very off lately. as if your body is present but you aren't. and it hurts me to see such a talented person lose their spark," hyunjin whispered. "why do you even care?" you scoffed, wiping a single tear that fell down your cheek. god, that was humiliating. yet your heart was beating faster and your cheeks were getting hotter at the thought that hyunjin may genuinely care for you. he was staring at you, his smile long forgotten. you exhaled loudly. "it feels as if everything i do is pointless. i don't know why i feel this way, but it can't seem to stop. and when i sit in front of clean canvas i'm scared i'll ruin them," you uttered, more tears spilling from your eyes. hyunjin didn't waste any time, he gave you a few napkins from a dispenser and then took your hand in his. it startled you, but you didn't back off. "you've never ruined any canvas, yn. i heard people talk about your art, i read articles about it. art can be scary - but you can use your fear as your weapon and create something extraordinary with that. it's just so heartbreaking to see you like this. yn, please don't give up" you looked him in the eyes, completely astonished by his words, and squeezed his hand. "damn, hwang, you're so sappy," you giggled, wiping the last tears from your rosy cheeks. hyunjin laughed at that, feeling relieved. "hey, um… there's also something i wanted to talk to you about," he muttered suddenly, getting shy. 

two months later you were standing in front of a painting in your local art gallery. two people sitting across each other, both of them in front of canvas. in the bottom left corner was your signature. it was your exhibit. 

someone approached you and even though you didn't take your eyes off the painting, you knew exactly who was standing by your side. "i thought you wouldn't come to my exhibit," you recalled hyunjin's words and he softly laughed at that. "oh, i'm just looking for my rival's weaknesses.” you stole a glance at him, taking his hand in yours. “we both know that you’re my only weakness, hwang.”

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

[ghcstao3]

(part 1)

-

As more days pass, the job doesn’t get any less strange.

Johnny is still poring over Ghost’s hint, trying to figure out how it could be possible that all these varying pieces are from the same artist. Unless it was someone more contemporary, experimenting in art styles of different eras—

Which would make sense, if not for the paints and materials not available in the present day, their methodology in creation having been lost to time, or its dangers realized.

And the signature. Scribbled consistently on every one of the pieces in the exact same place, exact same handwriting, even when the initials of S and R shift from the Roman to Latin alphabet, and when the length of the name itself shrinks and grows.

About every theory that pops into Johnny’s head is easily dismissed for another that makes slightly more sense, until he reaches another road block in reasoning. It’s impossible, plain and simple.

But at the end of the day, Johnny has to shake his head of those sorts of thoughts anyway. Because he’s here for a job, not to speculate, even when it’s his current employer that’s planted this dilemma in his head.

Speaking of—Ghost hasn’t gotten any less weird himself, either. Or, perhaps enigmatic, Johnny should say.

He continues to pose questions to Johnny as he works, but at some point they begin to sound less like questions from the owner of the artwork—and more like questions from the artist, as if seeking feedback.

All Johnny can do is answer honestly. He’s gotten better at deciphering Ghost’s hums and huffs and grunts, but not to the extent of really understanding what he’s thinking. Which only serves to confuse Johnny further about the whole… arrangement.

It’s on the last day, while Johnny is finishing up the last piece, that Ghost asks him the strangest thing of all.

“Say you were… immortal,” Ghost begins slowly, sometime nearing the end of the day; the end of Johnny’s contract, “would you choose to make a mark on the world, or remain invisible?”

Johnny furrows his brow. “I’m not sure. I mean—really, unless you’re big and famous, you kind of remain invisible to most, anyway.”

Ghost shakes his head, seeming almost frustrated by his answer—which would be a first. “No, not like—like if you made art, would you choose to keep it hidden, or would you allow it to be shared?”

It’s the first time Johnny has ever heard Ghost seem unsure of himself. He’s never seen the man falter like this, wavering in this intimidating, indifferent persona he’s thus far created.

Johnny suspects that there’s more to this question than it simply being a hypothetical.

“Depends,” Johnny says. He blinks up at Ghost, staring undeterred into that intense gaze of his. Sometimes Johnny thinks Ghost expects him to be nervous in his employer’s presence. “If it’s something personal, then sure, I’d keep it to myself. But I think in creating art, there’s also times that you’d want to display it, so I would. Not necessarily to leave something behind, but… maybe to inspire someone else.”

Ghost considers this for a long while, eyes raking over Johnny’s face for who knows what. Maybe a discrepancy in his honesty.

Eventually, he breathes slow and deep as he squares back his shoulders. “Then I’ll ask this again:” He pauses. “What do you think happened to the artist?”

The corners of Johnny’s lips twitch upward, though a proper smile never appears.

“I think he’s giving himself away right about now,” Johnny decides. It hasn’t really clicked to him, of course, that Ghost might be immortal—but it’s a conclusion he can at least speak aloud.

Ghost squints his eyes, and Johnny is inclined to think that means there’s a smile hiding beneath his mask.

“Suppose I have,” Ghost admits. Almost sheepishly, he then asks, “Does that change your answer?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I still think these should be displayed, if you’re willing. They’re… they’re beautiful pieces, and… why should you hire me to restore them just to keep them in storage?”

Ghost shrugs, and there reappears that new uncertainty. “I wanted a second opinion.”

Johnny laughs, shaking his head again. “Next you’re going to tell me you destroyed these yourself just to get it.”

Ghost stares at him a long, silent moment after that. Johnny’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline with the very clear answer to that joke.

“…Ghost.”

“It’s Simon,” Ghost corrects. “And I may have… tampered… with them. Just a little.”

Johnny scoffs. “Ghost, Simon, whatever. Some of these materials have been lost to time! And you just… you just—“

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes Ghost—Simon—that has Johnny trailing off from the rant he’d just been ready to go on. Art history is so meaningful to him, and he has a living man who can attest to those times in front of him, and—

And Johnny was just insulting him.

He shrinks back as Simon’s laughing tapers off, and that cold look in his eyes is overtaken by something warm, something friendly.

“Those pieces never meant enough to me,” Simon finally says, something melancholy falling over his tone. “But… I do have one more that was actually ruined by time that I think… I think I’d trust you enough to fix.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, perking up at the suggestion. “Really?”

Simon nods. “I’ll pay you however much, I—“

“No need,” Johnny interrupts. “You’ve already paid me… far more than you needed to, for the rest. I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Simon cocks his head, silently willing Johnny on.

The smile threatening Johnny finally releases, spreading wide across his face.

“You let me ask questions,” Johnny says. “I have a few debates to settle.”

Simon hums. Something… approving.

Finally, he says with an air of humour, and something oddly akin to hope, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

[chaosheadspace]

How about #15 for the kissies? Hope you feel better!

Hello! Thank you for sending in an ask. Yes, I am better by now, but I still have for prompts to do :D This is a continuation of this prompt, because they wouldn't shut up in my mind (tagging @academicblorbo for obvious reasons).

15 is passionately, I hope this qualifies.

Of course Hob gets the job. It just takes the interview and five weeks of waiting, during which Dream misses him that much more fiercely, because Hob could be here, with him, if they would just hurry up and answer.His inability to do anything about it almost drives him crazy.

When Hob does get the answer, the search for a house proves to be equally frustrating—slow at first, before it's all over fairly quickly. They're on a phone call, both scrolling through listings.

“Here, look at this one,” Hob says, sending a link. Isn't that—”

The listing is for a flat identical in layout to Dream’s, albeit decorated somewhat more… frilly. “There is no way to know, Hob,” Dream says. “There are thirty-five apartments in this building alone, you cannot—”

“No, look at the pictures of the balcony, it's the one next to you. It's the exact flowers you're always stealing, and the pink bird bath.”

“Excuse me?” Dream asks, offended. “I do not steal, I simply take what grows over onto my side, which—”

“Do you think we could knock down a wall?” Hob muses.

“—is very well within—what?” Dream's train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.

“Like. Make a passage. From this one to yours.”

“The lease is very particular about holes left by nails,” Dream tells Hob, holding back a smile. “I do not think they would take at all kindly to holes very much larger than that.”

“Pity,” Hob says. “Okay, have you seen the one with the double parking spot that we don't need because we both go by bike?”

In the end, they get very lucky. Through one of Dream’s coworkers, they find a small house with four rooms and a fairly large kitchen, tucked away from the seaside hotels and tourists, just a short walk away from a stone beach. The style of it is, as Hob would call it, romantic. Dream just calls it “in dire need of renovation.”

“I know you'd have loved grey stone and glass,” Hob teases. “If you want, you can paint the bedroom.”

And so Dream does. Hob knows Dream secretly loves the house just as much as he does. He’s seen him caressing the wooden framework when he thought Hob wasn’t looking, as well as trying and failing to tuck the overgrown roses back behind the archway. When Hob, who only offered up the bedroom walls as a means to make peace between the house and Dream, checks up on the room after two days, he's left there in the doorway, gaping.

The room is painted in dark blues and greys in a soft gradient until it dissipates into a light grey in the middle of the ceiling, a rippled almost-circle around the cables where Dream detached the lamp. The walls and ceiling are covered in bioluminescent sea creatures, winding themselves around the corners of the room, swimming up, partly hiding behind an underwater volcano that covers most of the wall where the wardrobe will go. Amidst all of this kneels Dream, on cheap, taped-down paper sheets, painting something close to the floor.

“Love, that's amazing, Hob gasps as he finds his words again.

Dream, veritably covered in paint, looks up at him. “You always seem to forget that my second major was art,” he pouts.

There's a bright green streak on his cheek and a white spot on his nose, his usually raven hair flecked with grey. Hob thinks he's adorable. “Never,” he vows, stepping up to Dream to carefully press a kiss on his as of yet clean forehead. “You'll always be my little artist.”

“I am not little,” Dream says.

“You so are,” Hob grins.

Dream gets up from the floor, where he has been painting the very bottom of the wall with little rocks, the paper he put down to protect the floor crinkling. “Just because I am one centimetre smaller than you—”

“One and a half,” Hob corrects cheerfully.

Dream points at him with his brush. “I am not small,” he tells Hob again.

“To me you are,” Hob sing-songs, narrowly avoiding getting his face painted on. He gently grabs Dream's wrist to stop him, his tone turning earnest. “Does it really bother you? Because I'll stop if it does.”

Dream arches his eyebrow, stepping closer, making no move to free his wrist. “Are you insinuating that I cannot take a friendly barb about my height?”

The tension in Hob's stomach eases at once, while other parts of him light up with a spark of interest. Dream really does look cute covered in paint. Maybe they should split the library room to double as an art studio. “Well, I know all kinds of things you take very well, but even I can't know everything, can I?” Hob says softly, smiling.

With a hoarse, sobbing laugh, Dream buries his face in the crook of Hob's neck, dropping the brush in favour of embracing him. “Are you seriously coming onto me right now?” His disbelieving tone is belied by his hands that wander down to tug Hob flush against him by his waist, his breath that ghosts hot over the side of Hob's neck, followed by a playful nibble.

“I might be,” Hob hedges, his breathing just a little heavy. “Why, are you objecting?”

Dream moves away from his neck to frame Hob's face with both hands. “This house is basically empty save for painting supplies, and I am filthy,” Dream states before kissing him, deep and hungry. Hob sighs and opens for him, snaking one hand under Dream's shirt, feeling a cold smear of paint on his cheek from Dream’s nose.

“A shower, then,” Hob murmurs, “so we're clean before we get filthy again.” His fingers trail up over the knobs of Deams spine, finding goosebumps on their way back down.

“So you are suggesting two showers with work in between?” Dream asks, rubbing his nose through Hob's scruff, no doubt still leaving paint, before biting at his Adam's apple.

“I think you’ve worked enough for today,” Hob says, emphasising his words by sneaking one hand into the back of Dream’s paint-smeared jeans. “Could let me do some work for a change.”

“Very well,” Dream says smugly, wrapping his legs around Hob’s waist, leaving Hob to catch him so they don’t fall. “You may.”

Hob just laughs and kisses him again before walking them unsteadily towards the bathroom.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other one's here

[billythesimp]

Never Judge a Film By Its Cover

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎...

Thank you for the request Client_Clover! I hope this is too you liking, I've never done work like this when it comes to basing interactions off of aesthetic/genres.

Wise w/ gothic-alternative-sweetheart! reader

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡...⋙

Tagging: ☘️ anon

tw: none

⋈ Wise is used to all kinds of people in both kinds of works, whether it’s helping a client in the hollows or approaching a customer to recommend a new tape they figured would be to their liking. No matter the person, he is able to adapt to their personality and knows that better than to judge a person by their looks. He has an eye for these kinds of things, picking up on the littlest details of his customers which makes him a great salesman when it comes to film options. 

⋈ When he started taking an interest on one of the regular at the shop, he was thrown for a loop when he first laid his eyes on them. In a way, they reminded him of Ellen a bit, a very low energy personality who looked around the place with hooded eyes and a ‘Don’t approach me’ attitude. Their clothing choice was also interesting to say the least, wearing different monochromatic articles that could run from looking like a mess of nets and off-shoulder tops to high waisted skirts paired with long trench coat vibes.

⋈ Of course, the many times they come by they only view the tapes and even are with a group of friends from the looks, everyone being the complete opposite of what they seem like, cheerful and bubbly they stand out with a serious case of RBF. [Resting-Bitch-Face] But that makes him even more intrigued, who is this person and what are they like. How do they attract such bright people despite their gloomy-gothic approach? He figures this out one day when they come into his shop looking for something, walking out of the staff only room to find them at the counter.

▿

“Oh, sorry for the wait. Could I help you with something?” 

They only scratch at their cheek, eyes wandering away from Wise’s gaze before presenting a film in hand. “Uh, yeah. Could I rent out this tape?” He only looked down at the tape in question, the genre surprising him to say the least. “Oh sure. Just Oh~ Sweetie today?” The nervously nod, a faint blush painting their cheeks like dapped out watercolors. He rang it up, smiling to himself before handing over the tape. 

“Alright, you’re all set. The return policy is usually a week from today, but feel free to drop by anytime before then. There’s a fee for late returns, but feel free to call the store if you have any questions. Thank you for your business.” Their eyes gleamed in excitement as they held the case in hand, Wise could almost see the sparkles emitting off of them before they waved him bye with a sheepish smile blessing his vision. Once out the store, he could only stare before smiling to himself again.

⋈ Since then, he is always greeting them while also discussing new films that would be to their liking. Mainly ranging from rom-coms to fantasy-adventure, he has gotten to knowing them to the point where they’ve become close friends. Wise enjoys their conversations as they always mention their favorite part of the tapes; he recommends them with childlike innocence, glowing brightly with a cheerful disposition. They invite him out sometimes when he’s clocked out for break, treating him to noodles or listening to some new records across the street. Another place they are a regular at, learning more about their interesting taste in music that fits their aesthetic.

▿

He’s asked about your lifestyle once, giving him a nervous response while twiddling with your fingers. “Ah, well, I get that question a lot. I always had a fascination with gothic fashion and the aesthetic as a whole, so I wanted to express my love for the art form by wearing what I found comfortable. People are surprised when I mention that, but many people I’ve met say that it’s really cool, so I continue to express myself freely- sorry, I’m probably rambling now.” Your yapping slowing into a nonsensible muttering which Wise assures them that he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Well, I think you're pretty- neat! It’s pretty neat, so I can’t argue with you on that.” He nodded along, seeing how they only skipped beside him with renewed confidence. “Thank you, Wise!”

⋈ Whenever he’s out and about, should he spot them in their usual circle or looming over a display alone, despite the aura they have hovering over them he still makes it a habit to call out to them. The moment before and after they spot him makes his heart flutter, how they look over with a subtle glare before perking up and grinning cheekily and waving him over. Really, it’s a sight to behold.

⋈ Maybe one day they’ll be more than friends, but neither of them would admit it. No number of soft touches and gentle smiles will push them to confess their little attraction to one another. So for now they’ll cuddle up on his bed while watching another film. As friends, yeah really close friends.

[eideticspider]

|| @spiderbyhalf ||

With Hanukkah and Christmas steadily approaching, Cindy was unsurprised to see the halls at HQ almost empty. What was surprising was that it was more relaxed than eerie. Clutching the two cups of coffee in her hands, she nods at the odd passersby, even smiles though her mask hides it.

Christmas used to be one of her favorite times of year before the bunker. Ezekiel didn't really do anything to celebrate for her, maybe brought her the odd book to add to her tiny collection--but nothing to the same effect that her family had. And though she and her mother had had a strained relationship since she was freed, the holidays are a little easier. The house is full of warmth and laughter, the smell of good food and simmer pots swirls around the air.

It reminds her of better times and it's a time she's come to cherish.

She'd been putting in a lot of thought into her gifts, working into the night on some occasions to make sure they were just right. For her mother, a hand knit sweater in her favorite color. For her father, she'd gone out searching for the perfect watch after he'd casually mentioned he'd broken his original. For Al, a new set of knives for his new position as sous chef at his restaurant and a new apron. Peter and MJ would be recipients of tickets to the show MJ had suggested months ago and for Mayday? Of course she had to buy her the biggest, messiest art kit that she could get her hands on.

Miguel's gift had been another one that she'd worked tirelessly on--since the day after Thanksgiving. There were constant nights where she'd collapse on her bed, smudged with lead and smeared with paint. Anxiety constantly ebbed and flowed and she worried that he would hate it. Since she finished the piece, Cindy went back and forth with just going to the store and buying him something.

It was getting to the point where she didn't have time to keep alternating between ideas.

She hadn't done the piece with any kind of intention--just a reflection of a time they shared that she looked on with fondness. He was, with the strongest definition of the term, her best friend. She valued having him in her life, regardless of the connotations.

Even if she found herself thinking about a deeper connection more and more since Thanksgiving.

And even more so after her date with Derek.

He was a nice enough guy, and they had a decent time. He hadn't tried to kiss more than her cheek and they had good conversation.

But he wasn't the one. It had occurred to her that she couldn't be with someone she had to lie to, at least not in the long-term. And she liked Derek. Not enough to share her life with, but enough to not want to have to constantly lie about who she was. As much as she'd like to take credit for declining a second date, it had been more of a mutual decision.

(And, she'd never admit this to Miguel but the meat eating had been a problem.)

Not to mention, her mind had been all over the place since Thanksgiving. Overanalyzing his kiss to her cheek had come and gone, determined to be just friendly by her forced recognition. But still, she couldn't fight off the lingering feeling that there was something more there.

Not to mention, she'd been noticing just how...beautiful he was in recent days. The lines and creases of his face, his steady posture, the rare smile that she felt privileged to see, the way joy will glimmer in his eyes at a stupid joke...If she had been an artist of old, he'd be her muse.

But she was born in the modern age and it was considered a faux pas to send two texts in a row to a guy. Jesus.

Dr. Sinclair had her work cut out for her that week.

Using her shoulder to slip into Miguel's office, she sits and nudges his cup closer to him on his desk. Neat fingers tug down her mask so she can take a long sip of her own.

"How grateful are you that it's so damn quiet right now?" She teases, leaning her hip against the side of his desk.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31

Chemistry isn’t any better than Steve remembers it. He shares Algebra with Nancy, though, so they sit together and work through the problems, getting done much faster this time around than he’d remembered doing so the first time.

He catches her looking at him, sometimes, and finally sighs, halfway through a problem. “Look, Nance, I get if this is gonna be weird now. If it would make it easier, we could officially break up. Have a big fight in public where one of us storms off, maybe. If it would help with… with closure, or whatever.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Even if we painted you as the asshole?”

He smiles. “It’s not like most our classmates don’t already know me as such.”

She shrugs. “Even if we said you cheated on me?”

He’s not fast enough to keep his expression from shuttering. “If… if that’s what would help you-”

“Steve,” she says softly. Almost too softly. “When are you gonna stick up for yourself?”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Still working on that,” he admits. “I’m fine, though, I can take it. So if you need-”

“Steve,” she interrupts. “We can just break up. Just normal. Like how we did. There doesn’t need to be a big fight or anything, we can just say that we realized we aren’t right for each other.” She tilts her head. “Cause it’s true, isn’t it? We’re not right for each other.”

Steve smiles at her. “You’re very driven,” he murmurs. “It’s something that initially drew me to you. But we weren’t ever gonna make it. I was talking with someone last night, about being compatible. And we just… aren’t, really. I’m not nearly as motivated as you, and I need someone more laid back. You need someone who’s gonna do what he can to help you reach your full potential.”

“And that wouldn’t have been you?”

Steve hums. “I think I would’ve tried my best,” he says. “But I’m still living under my father’s shadow, and the most he’d want you to be is a housewife.” She makes a face, and he laughs. “Exactly. I think maybe if we’d met later, after I’d realized I don’t owe him anything, maybe things would be different. But as it is… I’m being haunted by things that haven’t even happened yet. And won’t, now, because of what we’re trying to do. But that’s not fair to you.”

“And what I did to you wasn’t fair to you,” she says softly. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

He stares at her for a moment, then looks abruptly down at his paper. “So, for number six, I’m still not understanding the polynomials.” He catches her sympathetic smile as she ducks her head to look at where he’s pointing.

“Okay, this is easy,” she says, and it feels like closure.

Still, he drags Robin into an empty classroom later. “Oh boy,” she says. “That’s a Nancy look. What did she do? Do I need to stop being friendly towards her?”

“No, Robs,” he chuckles, pulling her into a hug. “Just… it’s been a day, okay?”

“You can say that again,” she agrees, and wraps him in a hug tight enough he squeaks.

“It was good,” he finally manages. “We talked, during Algebra. Um. She apologized.”

“Oh, Steve,” Robin murmurs, and hugs him even tighter.

He buries his face in her hair. “Love you, Robbie.”

“Love you, dingus,” she murmurs. “Always.”

They stand like that for a few minutes, until the next bell rings and Steve pulls back with an apologetic smile. “Don’t wanna make us late.”

“Screw school,” Robin replies immediately, the way Steve knew she would. “I’m here for you.”

He grins sheepishly at her. “Next class is gym,” he says. “With Eddie. And all the guys I used to be friends with.”

Robin nods knowingly. “And you started burning those bridges with Tommy today,” she adds. “Yeah, okay. Go get your man.”

Steve chuckles and squeezes her one last time. “What class do you have?”

“Art.”

“Ooh,” he teases, because he knows she shares that class with Tammy.

“Fuck off,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and shoving him away.

He just gets right back into her space. She lets him. “Never,” he grins.

She fights down a smile as she pushes past him. “I thought you had gym?”

“Oh, fuck,” he says, and rushes to the lockers.

He can hear her laughter following him all the way.

Because his life must hate him, the gym teacher chooses dodgeball as the activity of the day.

Steve’s good at dodgeball, but he’s never been on the team opposite his friends. He’d always been the captain, and he’d always picked them for a reason: they’re good at the game.

But now it seems like the whole school is aware of his and Tommy’s parting, and they’ve all unanimously decided to side with Tommy.

Not that Steve cares about any of that at all. He’d just like to get through this class without a concussion.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy @paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 7: Volunteer

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dieter sat in his car, the engine still running as he stared at the community center across the street. He told himself he was just killing time, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. The last time he’d been here, it was a scheduled appearance, something Honey had set up as part of his image rehab. But today, he was here on his own, drawn back by something he couldn’t quite name. It was quieter this time, the mid-afternoon lull making the building look almost inviting.

He turned off the engine and got out, adjusting his baseball cap to shield his face even though no one here would care who he was. As he stepped inside, the familiar sounds of kids laughing and chattering hit him—a soundtrack of life that felt miles away from the empty echo of his house.

“Back for round two?” Sam, the young volunteer with colorful streaks in her hair, greeted him with a bright smile from behind the front desk. She handed him a volunteer badge without hesitation, her eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and genuine delight. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, well…” Dieter shrugged, sliding the badge over his head. “Turns out I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Sam laughed, a sound that cut through the cloud of self-deprecation hanging over him. “Well, we’re glad you’re here. The kids love having you around. And hey, it beats sitting at home, right?”

Dieter nodded, grateful for her easy acceptance. “Definitely better than that.”

He made his way toward the art room, the familiar hum of activity pulling him in. Maria, the art instructor, was already busy explaining today’s project to a group of kids gathered around her. When she spotted Dieter, she gave him a knowing smile.

“Well, look who decided to join us again,” Maria said, handing him a brush without missing a beat. “Couldn’t stay away?”

Dieter chuckled, feeling strangely at ease. “Guess I missed the glitter.”

Maria laughed, shaking her head. “We’ve got plenty of that. Today’s project is murals—big, messy, and colorful. The kids are painting scenes that we’ll hang in the main hall. Feel like jumping in?”

“Yeah,” Dieter said, looking around at the kids already deep in their work. “Sounds good.”

Dieter settled in at a table with a few kids who were busy painting what looked like a wild, chaotic sunset. The youngest, a girl no older than six, was splattering paint with unrestrained joy, her tiny hands covered in bright red and orange streaks.

“You know, when you do that,” Dieter said, leaning over and pointing at her brush, “it’s called the Jackson Pollock technique. He was this artist who used to just throw paint at a canvas and see what happened.”

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Is that okay? To just throw it?”

“Absolutely,” Dieter nodded. “It’s called ‘action painting.’ There’s no wrong way to do art. It’s about how it makes you feel.”

She beamed at him, flicking more paint across her canvas with newfound confidence. Dieter laughed, feeling a lightness he hadn’t in a long time.

As he continued to paint, Dieter found himself explaining bits and pieces of art history in a way the kids could grasp. He pointed out how to make colors blend softly together, sharing dumbed-down versions of famous artists’ techniques that he’d picked up over the years. He helped one boy, who was struggling to make the sun look realistic, by showing him how to use a sponge to create soft, fading edges.

“This is called blending,” Dieter explained, guiding the boy’s hand. “See how it makes the colors look like they’re melting into each other? It’s kind of like magic.”

The boy looked up at him, eyes bright. “Cool! You’re like an art wizard or something.”

Dieter laughed, the boy’s innocent enthusiasm infectious. “Yeah, something like that.”

Ethan, the freckle-faced kid who had called him out as “that guy from the movies” the last time, sidled up next to Dieter. He held a brush in one hand, eyeing Dieter with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“You’re back,” Ethan said, stating it like a fact rather than a question.

“Guess I am,” Dieter replied, smirking. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

Ethan shrugged, dipping his brush into a jar of blue paint. “It’s just… I thought you were, like, famous. Don’t you have better things to do?”

Dieter paused, considering the boy’s question. “Honestly? Not really. I like it here. It’s different. You guys don’t care about who I am or what I’ve done, and that feels… kinda nice.”

Ethan glanced at him, then nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. We’re just painting. Nobody here cares about all that stuff.”

“Exactly,” Dieter agreed, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. “So, what are you working on?”

Ethan held up his canvas, showing off a messy but earnest attempt at a landscape. “I’m trying to paint a beach, but it’s not coming out right.”

Dieter studied the painting, then picked up a brush. “You ever heard of Monet? He used to paint outside, trying to capture light in different ways. It didn’t have to look perfect—it just had to feel like the place. See how the light hits the water here? Try adding some lighter blues and yellows to give it that shimmer.”

Ethan nodded, following Dieter’s advice with focused determination. As the boy worked, Dieter found himself slipping into a rhythm, his own brush moving across his canvas without much thought. The act of creating, the feel of paint under his fingers—it was like slipping into a familiar old coat. But today, surrounded by these kids, it felt even better. Almost… happy.

“You’re really good at this,” Ethan said after a while, watching Dieter paint. “Like, really good.”

Dieter smiled, genuinely touched by the kid’s sincerity. “Thanks, buddy. I’ve been doing it a long time.”

“Did you ever want to be an artist instead of an actor?” Ethan asked, his voice innocent and curious.

Dieter hesitated, his brush hovering over the canvas. “Yeah. Once upon a time. I just… I dunno. Life kind of went a different way.”

Ethan shrugged, as if that made perfect sense. “You could still be both.”

Dieter chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, you might be right.”

As the hours slipped by, Dieter helped the kids finish their murals, showing them how to add finishing touches and clean up their brushes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light, this connected. He wasn’t just Dieter Bravo, the troubled actor. He was a guy sharing his love for art with kids who didn’t see him as a failure, but as someone who could teach them something cool.

As the class wound down, Maria approached him again, her expression warm. “You’ve got a real way with them, you know? They love having you here.”

Dieter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, well… I like it too. Makes me feel… useful, I guess.”

Maria nodded, her gaze soft. “We could always use more hands. If you want to make this a regular thing, the door’s always open.”

Dieter glanced around the room, taking in the kids’ excited faces as they admired their finished work. For a moment, he let himself imagine it—coming back week after week, being part of something that felt real and untainted by all the noise of his other life.

“Yeah,” Dieter said finally, his voice quiet. “I’ll think about it.”

As he stepped outside, Dieter found himself lingering by his car, not quite ready to leave. He watched as parents arrived to pick up their kids, the joyful reunions filled with laughter and hugs. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years. Watching these families, Dieter found himself yearning for something he’d always been too afraid to admit he wanted—a family of his own. Kids to share his love of art with, to teach about blending colors and painting the world as they saw it.

He let his mind drift, imagining a simpler life. He saw himself finger-painting with a toddler, their hands covered in bright splashes of color, laughter echoing through a sunlit room. He pictured little feet running across hardwood floors, paint-splattered smocks, and the soft, sweet chaos of family life. He imagined a wife—someone to share quiet evenings and messy mornings with, someone to laugh with when the kids got more paint on themselves than the canvas.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter who he had been with all these years, it was still Honey’s face that he saw. Still the only person he’d seriously considered that life with. Honey, with her warm smile and the way she’d always believed in him, even when he couldn’t believe in himself. The vision hit him so deeply, it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Dieter shook his head, trying to clear the daydream. But the ache lingered, a deep, relentless pull that left him feeling hollow. He wanted that life—he wanted it with her, and he’d never been able to replace that image, no matter how many parties, flings, or late-night mistakes he’d made.

The familiar urge to drown his feelings in booze and drugs started to claw at him. The thought of numbing this pain, even just for a little while, felt so tempting. But as he glanced back at the community center, at the kids streaming out, waving their painted hands in the air, something inside him shifted. He didn’t want to run away, not this time.

Instead of driving to the nearest liquor store, Dieter decided he’d head home and do some art. Maybe he’d paint the mural he saw in his mind—the one with bright splashes of color, little hands, and warm smiles. For once, he wouldn’t try to escape the image of Honey and the life he’d almost had. He’d paint it, live in it for just a while longer, and let it be enough.

Dieter climbed into his car, feeling a strange mix of sadness and resolve. Today had been a small step, but it was something. And maybe that was enough to keep going. For now, he’d let his art be his escape, and maybe one day, it would lead him somewhere that felt like home.

Dieter stared at the half-finished painting in his living room, brush in hand, lost in the muddled colors that had started to take the shape of his earlier daydream. The quiet of his home felt stifling, the only sound the soft scrape of his brush against the canvas. He couldn’t get the image out of his head—tiny hands covered in paint, a warm laugh echoing in a sunlit room. The longing hit him like a sucker punch.

As he painted, his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a text from Honey. He blinked, wiping his hands on a rag before picking it up.

Honey: Hey, are you doing okay?

Dieter stared at the message, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t a question she’d asked casually; he could sense the weight behind it, the quiet concern she was trying to mask. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard before he finally replied.

Dieter: Been better. You free to talk?

Almost immediately, his phone rang. Dieter glanced at the screen, seeing Honey’s name and photo—the same one from years ago, back when things were simpler. He answered, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Honey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was no hiding the exhaustion.

“Hey,” Honey replied, her tone soft and slightly hesitant. “I just… I don’t know. I had this feeling. Mitch told me you’ve been laying low, and I wanted to check in.”

Dieter let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, laying low. That’s one way to put it.”

“How are you really?” Honey asked, her voice gentle but firm, cutting through the usual bullshit.

Dieter sighed, staring at his painting, the colors blending into something both beautiful and painful. “I went back to the community center today. Not because I had to—just… I don’t know. It felt good to be there. Felt like I was actually doing something worthwhile for once.”

Honey paused, absorbing his words. “You went on your own? Outside of our usual PR stuff?”

Dieter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. No cameras, no Mitch, no nothing. Just me and the kids.”

“That’s great, Dieter,” Honey said, sounding genuinely pleased but with a hint of professional detachment, at least she tried to make it sound that way. “I’m proud of you. I really am. This kind of genuine engagement is exactly what people need to see from you. It shows a side that’s not just a headline.”

“Yeah, well, don’t start throwing a parade just yet,” Dieter muttered, his tone half-joking but tinged with sincerity. “It’s weird, you know? Being around those kids. They don’t care who I am or what I’ve done. They just… they just want to paint.”

Honey’s silence on the other end was loaded, as if she was trying to find the right words. “I get it. Sometimes it’s the simple stuff that hits the hardest.”

Dieter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I keep thinking about what it’d be like, you know? Having that... a family. I watched those kids today, and I just… I don’t know. It felt good. And then I started thinking about—” He cut himself off, his throat tightening, he cleared it. “Never mind.”

“No, go on,” Honey urged gently, her voice laced with that familiar warmth. “You can tell me.”

Dieter swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I started thinking about what it’d be like to have my own kids. Like, actually teaching them how to paint, showing them all the art stuff that I love. I know it’s stupid, but… I’ve never really let myself think about it in a very long time.”

“It’s not stupid,” Honey said, her voice softer now, almost wistful. “I think it’s really sweet, actually. I always thought you’d make a great dad.”

Dieter chuckled, but it was tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, you’re probably the only one who thinks that.”

Honey’s silence spoke volumes, and when she finally responded, her tone coming off as a bit nostalgic, almost dreamy in a way. “You remember that time we were in that art supply store, and you spent like half an hour teaching that kid how to mix colors?”

Dieter laughed, the memory coming back vividly. “Yeah. His mom thought I worked there.”

“You were so patient with him,” Honey continued, her voice distant but fond. “It was the first time I really saw that side of you—the part that just lights up when you’re teaching someone about art.”

Dieter let the silence hang between them for a moment, absorbing her words. “I don’t feel that way about a lot of things anymore. But being with those kids today… I don’t know, it felt real.”

Honey’s breath hitched, the sound almost imperceptible. “I’m glad you went back. I think it’s good for you, PR stuff or not.”

“Yeah,” Dieter said, staring at his unfinished painting, the colors blurring together in his vision. “It’s just… it’s hard, you know? Thinking about what I could’ve had. I mean, I wanted that life with… I wanted it once. I thought about it a lot, actually.”

Honey’s end went quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of papers as she shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think you did, Dieter...”

There was a pause, heavy with everything unsaid between them. Dieter took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his confession sink in. “Do you ever… I mean, do you ever think about what might’ve happened if we’d tried harder? Stayed together?”

Honey hesitated, her voice thick with emotion when she finally spoke. “I do. All the time. I think about what might’ve been different, what we could’ve had… but we can’t live in the past.”

Dieter rubbed his temples, frustration bubbling up inside him. “I know that, Honey. But sometimes it feels like the past is all I’ve got left. I’m trying—I’m really trying to be better, to get my shit together, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like I missed my chance.”

“You haven’t missed it,” Honey said firmly. “You’re still here, Dieter… you still have a lot of things going for you, especially what you did today… And that’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Dieter let out a breath, feeling a small, stubborn flicker of hope ignite in his chest. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, neither of them rushing to end the call. It felt like old times, like the nights they’d stayed up talking about their dreams and fears, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It was bittersweet, knowing that those days were gone, but tonight, just hearing her voice was enough. It felt the same way but not quite… but it was enough. 

“Hey,” Dieter said, breaking the quiet. “Would you… I don’t know. Would you wanna meet up? We could grab coffee or go for a walk. No pressure. I just... I miss talking to you in person.”

Honey was quiet for a moment, contemplating his question, then sighed softly. “Yeah, okay. I think I’d like that.”

Dieter’s heart lifted, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “How about tomorrow? We could meet at that little park near the community center. It’s quiet, no one will bother us.”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Honey agreed, her voice softening. “See you then, Dieter.”

“See you, Honey.”

Dieter hung up, staring at the phone in his hand. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had something to look forward to.

–

The next day, Dieter arrived at the park early, his nerves buzzing with anticipation. He hadn’t seen Honey outside of their work meetings and PR crises in what felt like forever, and the idea of just being around her, with no agenda, filled him with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

He spotted her from a distance, dressed in a simple, casual outfit—jeans, a light sweater, and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and for a moment, Dieter was struck by how much he’d missed seeing her like this, outside the polished veneer of her professional life.

“Hey,” Honey greeted as she approached, her smile warm but tinged with uncertainty. “Been a while since we’ve done this.”

Dieter smiled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Too long.”

They started walking, keeping an easy pace along the park’s winding path. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on the ground as they made their way past a small pond where ducks floated lazily.

“So,” Honey said, breaking the silence. “How’s the painting coming along? You mentioned you were working on something last night.”

Dieter let out a soft laugh. “It’s… it’s a mess, honestly. But it feels good. I’ve been trying to paint this thing I saw in my head yesterday at the community center. Kids, bright colors, just… happiness. It’s not coming out quite right, but I’m getting there.”

“I’d love to see it sometime,” Honey said, her voice sincere. “I mean, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Yeah,” Dieter nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’d like that. You were always my favorite critic.”

Honey chuckled, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. “I was always fair.”

They continued walking, their conversation shifting effortlessly between lighthearted banter and deeper reflections. Dieter found himself telling Honey about the kids at the center, how teaching them made him feel more alive than he had in years.

“They don’t judge, you know?” Dieter said, his voice tinged with wonder. “They just see a guy who likes to paint. It’s like... I get to be the best version of myself with them.”

Honey nodded, watching him intently. “You deserve to feel that way, Dieter. And I’m glad you’re finding it, even if it’s in a place you didn’t expect.”

Dieter stopped, turning to face her fully. “You always saw that in me. Even when I couldn’t.”

Honey looked at him, her expression softening. “Give people a chance, Dieter. They’ll see you, too… Not the actor, not the scandals. Just you.”

Dieter’s chest tightened, the truth of her words hitting him hard. He’d spent so much time running from himself, but with Honey, he always felt seen in a way that was both terrifying and comforting.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night,” Dieter admitted, his voice low. “About how we can’t live in the past. But sometimes, it’s the only place I feel safe.”

Honey reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You don’t have to stay there, though. You can look back, but you also have to keep moving forward. And you’re doing that, even if it’s through little things.” 

Dieter swallowed, his throat tight. “I want to be better, Honey. Not just for me, but… I don’t know. I keep thinking about this life I want, and I don’t want to mess it up before I even get close.”

Honey’s eyes softened, filled with a mix of hope and something else Dieter couldn’t quite place. “You’re not going to mess it up. You’ve already taken the hardest step—deciding you want something more.”

They stood there, the moment stretching between them, filled with all the things they couldn’t quite say. Dieter felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance, to hold her the way he used to, but he held back, afraid of pushing too far, too fast.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Dieter said finally, his voice tinged with gratitude. “I know it’s not easy… being around me.”

Honey smiled, shaking her head. “It’s not easy staying away, either. And… I’ll see you at our next PR event, okay? We still have a lot to sort out there, and the world is still watching.”

Dieter nodded, appreciating her ability to bring him back down to earth without breaking the connection they’d just shared. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Promise.”

As they walked back to their cars, Dieter hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing hers lightly. Honey glanced at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and squeezed his hand gently before letting go.

“See you soon?” Dieter asked, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah,” Honey said, her smile soft and real. “See you soon.”

Dieter watched her drive away, feeling a strange mix of sadness and hope. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely lost. He had no idea what the future held, but with Honey back in his life, even in this small way, it felt like he was finally on the right path.

As he got into his car, Dieter glanced at the community center down the street, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d be back. He’d keep painting, keep showing up, and maybe, just maybe, he’d figure out how to piece his life together again—one brushstroke at a time.

Tagging: @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for this update ^_^ if you want to be tagged for the next one, just drop a comment ^_^

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Brothers with an artist MC

Lucifer has to wonder how the hell MC manages to get paint, absolutely everywhere, even when they're not necessarily painting.

Everywhere they go, there's a random paint smudge somewhere on their person, places that make absolutely no sense.

Mid-way down the back of their calf, big ol' smudge of magenta, inside of their thigh, navy blue oil paint, they weren't even using oil paints today!

Each time he sees them, it's like a visual hunt for those little splashes of colour, and at some point, he realises he'd miss them if there were none to find.

Mammon has officially become an authority on art supplies. He knows their favourite brands of everything, knows when they're running low on literally anything.

He'll go out of his way to be in the room when they're creating, be it sculpting, painting, or just sketching at RAD. If, by some miracle, he comes into posession of a piece of their art, he hordes it, buys a whole glass cabinet to showcase everything they've ever made, including little doodles in the edges of notebooks.

'Ya better keep at it, so one day the Great Mammon can make a pretty penny off all this stuff!'

That's his excuse, he'd sooner give up goldie than sell a single scrap of MC's art. They're his damnit.

Leviathan is the ultimate wealth for inspiration. You got art block? Ha! No you don't.

He'll think of something to unblock that creativity, and he doesn't even try too hard to do it, he's got so much creative media on the brain it's honestly impressive.

He absolutely loves it when MC goes to his room and just chills with a sketchbook, doodling or working on a masterpiece, he doesn't care.

Levi.exe stopped working when MC drew him though, straight up blew a fuse. He still has that sketch, got it laminated and everything. He won't display it, but it's always close by.

Satan found there art pleasant to look at, and rather liked the idea of having them in around, creating freely. He'll go out of his way to give them the right environment to encourage their art.

He's fascinated by the way their moods change the art they make. With each pact, they created a piece to reflect the demon, and so on.

Satan became drawn to the person behind those pieces, to the crinkle in their brow when something was uncooperative and the stains on their fingers. He could talk to them all day about what they make, about the beauty they seem to find in a world that merely annoys him on most days.

Asmodeus is in love, purely in love. MC wields colour like a weapon and pieces almost as pretty as him.

He thinks they're a match made by the skies above, him a piece of art, MC, and artist.

Will absolutely invite MC to use him as the canvas for their next piece. Do with that what you will.

He loves to take them to new places and watch what they choose to put to art. Little spots even he hadn't noticed, the finest of details, or a bigger picture he wouldn't have seen without them.

The two tend to hunt for beauty in the most unlikely places, which make for some interesting adventures.

Beelzebub doesn't really have a decerning eye, if MC painted a burger, he'd lick the paper, only to find out that watercolour tastes horrid.

He enjoys the tactile feel of things though, if MC decided to sculpt something familiar, he like to run his fingers over their work, imagining them painstakingly creating every detail, lovingly creating something from nothing.

The same goes for when he gets to watch them sketch, half a dozen pencil lines become a profile of a person, or a rendition of a building.

Whatever they draw, he's entranced by their hands, making something beautiful with something as simple as a pencil and the same paper he forgets not to eat sometimes.

Belphegor loves watching them work, he finds it so relaxing. Each move they make with those practised hands, the quiet music they play, and the soft sound of their humming.

Sometimes, at least.

Others, they're a little whirlwind. Music blasting with pure chaotic energy that won't even let them sit still. Their pieces vary drastically depending on that mood, and he loves both sides of that coin. Need to get up and dance some of it out? He's in.

Diavolo puts MC's pieces on display in the castle without a second thought, no matter how much they bashfully point out that every other piece of art in that castle was created by historically important figures, some thousands of years older than them.

'You are historically important, MC!' The prince declares shamelessly. 'Simply by being yourself! I hope everyone in the Devildom will remember you fondly, as I see you now!'

MC.exe has stopped working.

[noopienoopiernoopiest]

Sirius Black (C) - #12 - Keep Quiet...Nothing Comes as Easy as You

For fic-o-ween @noots-fic-fests. As always thanks to @lumosinlove

Pairing: Coops! (Sirius/Remus)

Rating: E

Description: Sirius doesn't usually go to charity galas. Remus doesn't usually come to them either...

It wasn’t the usual kind of thing they attended. Sirius was more than happy to give worthy people and noble causes his money, but he wasn’t often the type to give them his publicity, his face. He’d had cameras shoved in front of him since he was fourteen—wide-eyed and away from home for the first time on his first billet. The constant attention had made him allergic to anything involving the media that wasn’t necessary (read: contractually obligated) for his job. But this was different.

It was kids and hockey. Gay kids and hockey. And Leo’s eyes had done that thing they did where they got all wide and blue when he’d asked Sirius to help. Leo hadn’t been a rookie in a solid five years, but he was still a rookie to Sirius. How Logan and Finn ever told Leo no was beyond him. Somehow, he doubted they ever did.

‘It’s still really new, you know. The foundation. Lots of high schoolers. I’m just…I want to leave something that makes all of this better. Makes it so what happened to you can’t happen again.”

That had sealed it—Leo’s earnest concern and his bare affection.

He’d almost regretted it until he’d seen Remus. Remus wasn’t exactly a snazzy dresser most of the time. Sirius didn’t care. He didn’t need it. Remus was gorgeous in his ratty workout clothes, holes and all, while he was panting and covered in sweat from the drills he insisted on running in the basement, even on days off.  If Remus had his preference, he’d wear the same navy suit every single game day. Given Remus’s propensity to ritual, Sirius was kind of surprised he hadn’t already insisted on it. When Remus had shrugged at the question of his attire, Leo had shaken his head and sent him away with Finn for an afternoon.

Now he was coming down the stairs, still fiddling with a cufflink.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Ugk,” was Sirius’s brilliant response.

The tux jacket was a coppery kind of brown. Fairly dark, but it caught the light and tossed out warmer flashes of rust and bronze. It made Remus’s amber eyes look almost otherworldly, golden and glowing.

Remus gave a smirk like he knew what he was doing.

“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?” He asked.

Okay…definitely knew what he was doing.

He reached out straightening Sirius’s already perfectly straight lapels and smoothing them across Sirius’s chest.

“I’ve always liked this tux on you,” Remus mused, looking up at him through his lashes.

“You like all of them on me,” Sirius croaked. When had his throat gotten so dry?

“Fair point. Your shoulders, you know?” Remus admitted with a little shrug saying, ‘what can you do?’ “C’mon handsome, let’s get a move on.”

Sirius had followed him out like a lost puppy.

The fundraiser was at an art museum. They  had spent the evening taking in the sculptures and the paintings, and not for the first time, Sirius wished he had more time for things like this. What would it be like to make something for a living? Real things he could touch and feel? He wondered sometimes about how things would have gone had life been different? Wondered, but then dismissed it. He looked at Remus and thought that if life had to be precisely what it had been—Walburga included— to be right here, right now, so be it.

“Come on, there’s something I want to show you,” Remus said, tugging at Sirius’s hand. He wasn’t sure where Remus was taking him, but it didn’t really matter. Sirius would follow him regardless.

Remus looked over his shoulder before tugging him into a darkened room. By the light of the moon in the tall windows, Sirius could make out the soft pastel brush work of what looked like paintings of a million ponds and rivers, all the colors melting into one another. In the back there was an alcove. It looked like a place where a sculpture should go, but there wasn’t anything there right now.

Wasn’t until they were.

“What is—”

Suddenly, Sirius was being kissed. Not a peck or something romantic.

No, it was something filthy. Remus was kissing him like he played—full throttle, zero to 100 immediately, no time for you to mount a defense or catch your breath. And just like when Remus played, Sirius chased him.

“You’re so fucking hot. Jesus Christ,” he said against Sirius’s mouth. It came out slick and panting against his lips, and Sirius was helpless to say anything other than,

“Remus.”

Remus’s hands were knitted into his hair, pulling his head to the side so he could kiss a hot line up the cord of his neck. “I want you,” he whispered, breath hot against Sirius’s cheek.  

“What? Here?” Sirius could hear the party still going from down the hall, but something about that made him hard so fast in his tuxedo trousers that he felt lightheaded from the blood loss to his brain. They’d talked about a situation like this, gasped into one another’s ears when they were teetering on the mutual brink. And then, later in the sheets, they’d discussed it more calmly in theory. If the opportunity ever presented itself, of course.

“Mmmhmm. I’m gonna ride you into the fucking ground, baby,” he said, crowding Sirius against the wall. One of his hands found the front of Sirius’s trousers. “Oh, you like that.”

Of course he liked it. It was Remus.

It was Remus…getting on his knees and drawing him out from the confines of his pants and boxers.

“Mon Dieu,” Sirius breathed.

Remus made a show of laving his tongue up and down Sirius’s cock, worshiping the crown with moaning laps and greedy eyes.

“Love the way you taste,” he panted, pink tongue pressing to the tip where Sirius was steadily leaking. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

It was incongruous. Remus looked to put together, so fussy and formal, meanwhile his mouth was wrapping around his cock, cheeks hollowing. Sirius had the urge to muss him, so he wove his hand into Remus’s sandy hair when Remus finally pulled him deeper into his mouth.

“Fuck, Re.” His head thunked back against the wall as he felt Remus’s throat teasing at him, just out of reach. God, if he kept going Sirius was going to come.

Remus pulled back. “I gotta…”

He didn’t explain further, just yanked Sirius down against the wall. Clothes and limbs were tugged and arranged until Sirius was sitting bare-assed, back against the wall, and Remus straddling him in his lap. His hands found Sirius’s jaw and he leaned down to kiss him, slow and languid.

He reached down for Sirius’s cock, next moves telegraphed to Sirius as if he’d described them.

“R-Remus,” he gasped. “What about—”

Remus did that thing he always did, knowing what Sirius’s thoughts were almost before he’d had them. He took Sirius’s hand, kissing his fingertips before guiding it to his entrance.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius moaned. “When?” 

“Right before I got dressed,” Remus said, going up on his knees to grind into Sirius’s hand. “Didn’t want to have to wait. Knew I wouldn’t last…you looking like that. Fuck.” Sirius tried to ignore the image of Remus fingering himself open and fantasizing about what he was going to do to Sirius later.

“You planned for this?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Remus’s clinging heat clutching around his fingers.

“Hoped, baby. Now, are you gonna let me ride you?” 

Sirius nodded urgently like it was the best idea Remus had ever had. Honestly, absent the gold band on his ring finger, it might be. 

Remus lined him up and worked himself down slowly just the way he liked it. 

“Fuck,” Remus sighed, throwing his head back, his skin pale and perfect in the moonlight. “God, I love the way you split me open. So good. Feel so perfect.” 

Sirius wanted to thrust his hips up, but the angle meant all he could do was sit there and let Remus fuck himself on him. Remus’s head came back to his ear, and he started whispering to Sirius in low murmurs punctuated every so often with sighs. 

“So fucking gorgeous, Sirius. I wanted to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the middle of that gallery hall,” he admitted. “Just so everyone knew who you belonged to.” It was ridiculous that anyone looked at Sirius and couldn’t immediately glean that he was for Remus, designed and tailored just for him. Still the idea of it made him gasp. 

“You like that, baby? People watching us while I fuck you?” He’d love to tell him that it was him fucking Remus, but it wasn’t really. Instead, all he could do was quiver and nod. “Everyone watching you lose it?” 

Sirius’s hands clutched uselessly at Remus’s hips. He knew trying to drag him down faster would just mean slower. Harder would mean softer. Demanding would just mean refusing. He’d learned that lesson the hard way…several times.

He let the idea of it invade his mind. The shocked crowd watching as Remus made it crystal clear just who was in charge for the evening, Sirius desperately trying to choke back moans and being unable to. People seeing just what a mess Remus could make him. 

Finally, Remus was seated, his ass firmly resting on Sirius’s hips. Remus started moving his own hips in little circles, just enough to be a tease, nothing that’d bring either of them relief anytime soon. 

“There wouldn’t be any hiding from it, then, Sirius. Everyone would know. Intimidating Captain Sirius Black’s a desperate slut. Is that what you want? For them to know?” 

That word was like a hardwire into Sirius’s brain, and he moaned a little too loudly. 

Remus laughed and kissed him quiet. “Shhh, baby. Unless you’re serious.” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him. 

Remus groaned, this time not in pleasure. “That joke will eventually get old.” 

“Hasn’t yet, Loops.”

Remus laughed despite himself and then started moving in earnest. Sirius bit at his throat, one of his hands scrabbling to find grip against the stiff fabric of Remus’s dress shirt and feeling the heat of his back through it. 

“Remus. Remus. God. Feel so good. So…tout.” Everything. Fuck it was true. Sirius never felt more than he felt right here, Remus as close as he could be—blood hot, vice tight, and velvet soft—both of them working together to chase this bliss. Working together to make it. 

“That’s right, baby. Just like that,” Remus said, finding his mouth again and tongue licking inside. 

Sirius moved to grab Remus’s cock, hard and leaking between the tails of his shirt, but Remus shook his head. “Wanna come from just your cock. You can do that for me can’t you, baby?” 

Sirius felt drunk. Way more than half a glass of champagne would have accomplished. No, it was just Remus, finding and mashing every one of Sirius’s buttons in a complicated sequence only he knew. 

“Fuck, yes. Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good boy.” 

“Calisse. Are you trying to kill me?” Sirius hissed. 

“No, sweetheart. I’m trying to make you lose your mind.” 

Sirius got hazy from there, got lost in the two of them rutting into one another and keeping rhythm. Remus’s mouth was pressed to his ear, whispering and murmuring filthy half-phrases between hard rocks of his hips. And then—suddenly.

A noise. 

Closer than any of the ones before. Hard heeled steps down the hallway. Closer and closer by the second. Remus pulled back.

He expected Remus to stop, freeze. 

He did. Just for a moment. And then, he didn’t. 

He put his hand over Sirius’s mouth. 

“Shhhh, baby. Quiet now,” he whispered firmly, eyes boring into Sirius’s.

Sirius’s eyes rolled back in his head as Remus resumed their pace and kept talking to him, just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear even with his mouth so close. 

“Who knows? You might just get your wish. Wanna show them some art, pretty baby?” 

Sirius felt pinned down and glued in place. Between the weight of Remus on top of him, the look in his eyes, and his hand at his mouth, Sirius couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. The threat of being caught made the tension ratchet up, made the urgency of it as sharp as a skate blade. He wanted it. Wanted them, whoever they were, to see. See him held down and fucked ruthlessly by his gorgeous husband, a plaything for Remus to get off with, something needy and desperate that only belonged to Remus and no one else. Even if they wanted him for themselves, tried to tempt him away with bedroom eyes and bitten lips, it didn’t matter. It was just Remus to whom he’d crawl to on his hands and knees. Remus who he’d beg for, break for, breathe for.

The noise got closer and closer, and Sirius was certain at this point they must be close to the entrance to the room.

Remus’s eyes went glassy and then he was coming, lips bitten shut to keep from moaning out loud. Sirius could feel the hot streaks of it against his stomach, shirt rucked up and out of the way.

He paused only long enough to ride out his peak and then kept going, if anything, more intently now, watching Sirius with the same focus he gave everything he wanted.

“What’s in here?” A unfamiliar voice asked.

Oh fuck.

Sirius was coming helplessly, mouthing Remus’s name silently against his palm.

“Oh, nothing much. Come on, there’s a sculpture room down the hallway,” another voice answered.

The steps receded into the background, but Sirius wasn’t aware of anything beyond the hot pulse of his cock pouring into Remus, the solid weight of him the only thing holding Sirius down in his own body.

Remus moved his hand, replacing it with his mouth as he kissed Sirius down from his high.

“Perfect, baby. You’re so perfect for me,” he crooned between kisses. “Fucked me so good, sweetheart. Filled me up so well.”

The praise was heady, bubbling in his cortex and making his spine shiver.

“Holy fuck, Remus. You’re going to fucking kill me one day.”

Remus laughed, something dark and deep and promising.

“No way. Where’s the fun in that?”

Somehow, Remus got him back into his tux and got himself dressed, too. Sirius was certainly no help, still reeling from endorphins. He smoothed his hands through Sirius’s hair several times, eyeing it suspiciously. Sirius doubted there was anything he was going to do for it that avoided ‘just fucked,’ but if it made Remus feel better about it, he’d stand here and be pet.

They slipped back into the main room, most people lingering over after dinner drinks and fancy little desserts floating by on trays.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leo asked, giving Sirius a wry smile.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he sniffed.

“’Course not. Dumo’s house all over again,” Leo said, smirking into his whiskey.

“If I remember correctly, someone was really interested in looking at Dumo’s guest bathroom that night…” Sirius said. “Besides, didn’t Finn have that tie on earlier?”

Leo turned to look at Logan and Finn and rolled his eyes. Logan’s teal tie clashed with Finn’s navy suit. “They really are hopeless.”

“Good thing they’ve got you, huh?”

Leo laughed now. “Hardly. Who do you think it was that got them out of their ties in the first place?” He asked before wandering over toward the pair of them.

“I was going to get more drinks, but I’m kind of ready to go home,” Remus said, appearing at his elbow. “Think Leo’d be okay with it?”

Sirius snorted. “Leo will be just fine.”

He thought about getting Remus back out of all his fancy clothes, stretching him out in their bed and licking into him, tasting the place he’d just marked before pressing back into him and hearing Remus’s high whine from the almost-too-much of it all.

He looked over at Remus, who looked like he had similar ideas.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

[dandylovesturtles]

treat imbi leo/mikey?

IMBI!Leo and IMBI!Mikey, treat

No warnings for this one!

Yes a part of this is really heavily inspired by Into the Spiderverse but I can't help it, it's really cool.

---

"Alright, bro." Mikey shook the spray paint can in his hand, and even around his mask Leo could tell he was grinning. "You ready to go?"

"Oh, wait, how should I pose for this?" Leo asked out loud, fingerspelling, "Pose?" for Mikey's benefit. He flexed his arms like a strong man, asked, "Like this?" Then kicked one foot up and clasped his hands in front of him, making a kissy face. "Or like this?"

Mikey snickered, shaking his head. "Come on, Leo, just stand normally!"

"Fine, fine. You're the artist." He put one arm down and put his other hand to his hip, grinning. "How's this?"

"Perfect." Mikey shook the can again, then moved to the side. "You're gonna have to stay still, okay? Good thing you don't get tired like this."

He didn't get tired, but he could get bored; thankfully, Mikey liked to blast music while he was painting, and that was something that could occupy Leo's brain while he waited.

He'd been a little skeptical of the art piece when Mikey had described it to him, but when his little brother was struck with inspiration there was no dissuading him. And it's not like Leo had anything better to do right now.

Besides, he liked watching Mikey work, his eyes lighting up as the ideas flowed and his hands moving with purpose. Mikey kept up a running string of commentary as he went, mostly about the graffiti but often taking detours into whatever other thought entered his head. This was how he and Mikey had always vibed together best, though it was a little sad this time that Leo couldn't directly contribute.

It was cool watching Mikey from this perspective, though. The spray paint moved through his body and face at times, a surreal experience, and Leo marveled at the stream and mist of vibrant color dancing harmlessly around him with every one of Mikey's strokes.

Maybe Mikey had been on to something with this, after all.

A few times Leo was tempted to turn and take a look, but every time he so much as twitched Mikey scolded him. He just had to wait for the finished product no matter how eager he was.

Finally, after almost two hours, Mikey pulled his mask down and beckoned Leo away from the wall. "Okay! I just have to put the finishing touches on it; ready to see?"

"Oh heck yes I am," said Leo with a grin and a pump of his fist, quickly skipping forward to stand next to Mikey, whirling to see what he'd created.

A harsh knot immediately formed in his throat, choking off any words he may have said.

Mikey had painted his silhouette in a deep blue with a silver outline, but that wasn't all. Behind him was a brilliant starburst in vibrant orange and yellow, expanding out over the wall in a blaze of sunshine.

Behind that was the word "Visible," written in big block letters filled with blue. The sun and his silhouette seemed to burst out of it, lighting up the whole dark tunnel with its force.

"Oh, Miguel," he muttered, the grin on his face big enough to hurt his cheeks (if he could feel pain). He wished he could hug Mikey, but since he couldn't, he settled for bouncing in place to show his excitement instead.

"So, you like it?" asked Mikey, sounding proud - as he more than should be.

Leo crossed his arms over his chest, then pointed at the graffiti. Love it. Mikey beamed.

"Maybe someday, we can come back and do the whole set," he said. "If you're okay posing for me again."

Leo chuckled. "For you, Mikey? Any time."

[vivievienne]

The artist who painted my gray heart red — Akitoya

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In which Akito is a street artist and Toya is a simple pianist who just by case went to an event and changed his life.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Akitoya, save me, akitoya.

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Might be ooc, fluff, includes anhane, An as a cafe owner, trigger word — Toya's dad, Toya's perspective.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1569.

Is there was something more worthless than composing?

You play the same melody until you got the right notes and it finally starts sounding good, but even after all effort you pull in it, you still feel empty.

Toya Aoyagi feels empty.

He sits by the piano, looking at the paper before him.

No, it doesn't sound right. I need to change it.

And again he started playing the same cadence, but changing one note.

No, it still doesn't feel right.

He hits the keys with his fingers.

They hurt him. He spent a lot of time at playing this melody, and he still doesn't find out what he should do to make it better. 

He was clueless.

He stood up from the bench and took the paper with him.

He puts it in the drawer.

He wasn't satisfied with his work. His father... No, don't even think about him, he thought to himself.

Maybe a walk wouldn't be that bad, huh?

The thought of the coffee in the near cafe was somehow tempting.

But he didn't know one thing then...

That a ginger boy will change his life with this sassy smirk which somehow manages to soften when he was around.

***

Toya leaved his house and walked through the Vivid Street. It was a safe place for street artists and performers, and as well a place where was the best cafe, in his opinion, operated by An Shirashi.

But seeing a graffiti artist was something new to him.

After all, this wasn't any place where you can freely paint, in fact, it was a vandalism. So, it was quite unexpected to see a ginger with spray in his hand, when the Sun wasn't even setting.

Toya doesn't know how to describe the feeling he currently has.

It was something that he hasn't experienced before. He wanted to be the one, who was painting on the wall. Not the one, who stares at this boy. He knew it was illegal, but... why he wanted that? Why he wanted to be him?

"Hey, are you hearing me!?"

Toya heard a nervous voice and he quickly understood that he was staring for too long, so that person noticed.

"Uhm... Yes, sorry for that" he quickly replied with a calm tone, trying to hide his confusion. He looked at the boy before him. He noticed that he has some paint on his clothing and he wore... like three hoodies? It wasn't this cold, in fact, it was quite warm...

"Why are you staring like this?"

"Like what?"

They looked to each other eyes with confusion.

Toya never saw more beautiful eyes than these.

"Like this" the mysterious boy replied with slightly anger in his voice.

"Oh, apologise for that" Toya wasn't sure what he should do now. Maybe he should walk away like nothing happened...

"Do you like this?" The boy asked, pointing out the wall.

Toya wasn't sure what to say about the graffiti. He was looking at him after all... He gave it a simple glance and nodded. "Yes, it's quite interesting"

"Nice."

Oh no... it became awkward...

"You must do it for long time... right?" He tried to save the conversation. This mysterious boy... He felt an urge to keep the conversation.

"Graffiti is easy when you have a proper instructor. I bet you could do it as well. But for me? A few years to master this, I would say"

Wait...

"What do you mean by the first part...?"

"I mean that even someone, who doesn't have an experience in arts, would definitely do a graffiti after some lessons" the ginger seems to be on the edge of rolling his eyes at Toya's misunderstanding.

"Oh, right..." he nodded.

"Anyway, I'm gonna get back to work. Have a nice day or something. I don't know" The ginger says almost carelessly. He turned back to the wall, while Toya was standing like he was about to go blank.

"Oh... Right... Have a nice time working... or something"

He wanted to ask him how he could be this carefree when he literally almost had a heart attack! Just how... God, how good he ended it before he could. It would be more awkward. He immediately goes to An's cafe. The only thing Toya needed now, was a good coffee.

***

"Shirashi..." Toya tried to start the conversation. An looked really stressed today. She usually stayed a bit longer at his table to talk with him, but today... Something definitely happened... "Shirashi", he repeated a bit louder.

"Oh, Toya, right... How can I help you?" she finally answered with smile on her face.

"You seem to be struggling with something" he started slowly. "And I was thinking..."

"Oh, you know", she interrupted. "We will be hosting an event at the cafe soon and I have a lot work to do. There's a lot to do, but it's so little time to do it."

"An event?"

"Oh, right!" An quickly goes to the counter and took a small paper. "Here. Look" she handed it to Toya.

The title says: "Vivid Rad Street Night".

Toya was more and more intrigued.

"You can go to it, y'know?" An smiled. "I bet you'd love that. After all, you're an artist too! You would clearly enjoy the performances. I swear, you won't regret. I also will participate in it with Kohane as a singers! Please Toya, come!!" Shirashi's eyes were shining bright as the stars in her hair. She was really excited to be the host in this.

"I'll think about that, Shirashi" Toya nodded and watched as she left him after a short goodbye, because 'she has a lot on her shoulders and she needs to deal with it as fast as she can'.

He holds in hand the small poster. As he was reading through this, he knew that he should attend this event. Something tells him to. He cannot say what exactly it is, but he believed An that he won't regret coming there.

Also, doesn't it better than staying at home and looking at the wholeheartedly hated piano?

***

And that's why Toya is in the cafe watching how the hosts are beginning the show.

But why that ginger graffiti artist is here too...?

He noticed that his name is Akito Shinonome.

And that he is not just an artist but also a singer.

He was beautiful, when he was singing.

I wish I could be as happy as him when I compose.

"You staring at me, again." Toya was clearly confused when he heard this known voice behind him. "I almost thought that you are interested in me" he snorted.

"Right... I just think you talented, that's all" Toya replied, trying to remain his composure. Still, the last part got him thinking... Is he was interested in him? No, it cannot be that simple. First sight love doesn't exist, and he wasn't interested in boys... But he couldn't remember at all when he was interested in girls either....

"Maybe a little introduction wouldn't hurt, huh?" the ginger asked. "I'm Akito Shinonome. You?"

"I'm Toya... Toya Aoyagi." Akito was as straightforward as he remembered him. How this boy could be this opened?

"I guess you're not a street artist, yet, you still went here" Toya saw the slightly roll of Shinonome's eyes. Is he doesn't really know about any ethical standards?

"I haven't had anything to do... And Shirashi told me that she's hosting an event here..."

"Wait, you know Shirashi?" Toya got interrupted by Akito's quick question.

"Yes, he does. After all I know every musician who lives on Vivid Street" An came with a smile. Behind her Toya saw Kohane, her singing and romantic partner, who was known for her shyness, but also for her adoration towards strange, in Toya's opinion, things. "Hi, Toya! I knew you would come here!"

"Hey, Aoyagi" Azusawa smiled softly and waved at him.

"Oh, Shirashi, Azusawa. You soon should get on the stage, right?" Toya asked.

"We were about to going to backstage, but I saw that you talk with Akito and couldn't help, but come to you to see are you guys getting along" An said with a proud smile. "But as I can see, you get to know each other pretty well, so we won't bother anymore. See ya on the stage!" She said and pulled Kohane towards the backstage with her, leaving Akito and Toya by his own.

"She won't ever change" Akito sighed and rolled his eyes. "But she mentioned that you are a musician, right?"

"Oh, that..." Toya rubbed his back of his neck at this question. He hated to say that he was a pianist and composer. Just like his dad... "I'm a pianist..."

"A pianist, huh? You seem to be a bunch of surprises, don't you?" he snorted and smirked. "Well, that's good to know you're into music. Maybe a singer as well?"

Toya was slightly confused at this question. What this ginger was going to say?

"Actually... I don't even tried" he replied calmly.

"Wanna try then?"

Toya felt that he was hit with a truck.

He asked him about trying?

He doesn't say he have to... He asked him to try.

Try.

"I was looking for a partner" Akito explained. "Singing by your own it's not a big fun. So, would like to try, at least? You have an experience in music, so I suppose that you could fit as one."

He asked him... He asked...

"Of course... I would"

"An, what are you doing?" Kohane asked her, when they went to backstage.

"Can't you see that I am trying to get Akito a boyfriend?"

"I can but... Isn't he is able to do it by his own?"

"Treat is as a little help to love."

"And what if they won't fall for each other?"

"Can't you see how Toya looks at him? He definitely fell in love with him, even if he didn't realise it yet."

"But what about Shinonome?"

"Fell later, fell harder. Remember this, Kohane."