#but I thought it’d be fun to make his eye color have a little gray in them

[mpsansy]

Of Water and Fire.

God I made both these elementals beautiful

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

There's a slight chill in the air today. One of those days where the heat of the sun is beating down, but every now and then, a breeze kicks up causing goosebumps to raise on my arms as it flutters through leaves that are starting to turn to various shades of gold but have not yet fallen. Still holding on along with the last remnants of summer.

As promised, I’m walking with Asher to the bakery for a decent cup of coffee. He invited Lex to come along, which I’m glad about. I always enjoy hanging out with her. She keeps things light and easy.

She’s ahead of us now, alternating between skipping forward and hopping backward so she can gesture to us as she tells her story. She reminds me of a child in a bouncy house recounting a grand adventure. Exaggerated, out of breath, and constantly trying not to laugh as she stumbles about. It’s infectious.

Just being in her presence, I feel lighter, like the weight of the world has taken a break from my shoulders, allowing me to relax and breathe a little easier.

It’s easy to see that her and Ash have been friends for years. They act more like siblings with their constant inside jokes and play-fighting. I’ve already given up on trying to follow their conversation about people I’ve never met and places I’ve never been, but enjoy the sounds of their banter all the same.

“Hey, Atlas!” Lex jumps over and smacks my arm with the back of her hand, snapping me out of my thoughts. She’s affectionate in an almost violent way: slapping, poking, wrestling. Her hugs are the kind that leave you gasping for air. Affection is not something I’m used to, nor does it come easily to me, so Lex’s heavy jostling is somehow more palatable than softer, more intimate forms of contact, even if I still rarely reciprocate.

“Have you caught up on Somnium yet?” She asks me this every week, but at least today I won’t have to disappoint her again.

“Yeah, Dawn and I caught up the other night.”

She squeals and claps her hands together, excited to finally be able to talk without spoiling, “So, what do you think of your precious coffee shop boy now?”

I roll my eyes at her, “Jesus, Lex, I said he was cute once, and now you’re always up my ass about it.”

Asher perks up and asks with a grin, “Ah, so that’s your type huh? Pale boys with black hair?”

I look over, surprised by his sudden interest, and noting the way he pointed out literally the only thing he has in common with the character. The truth is, Wyatt isn’t really my type. But Asher, with his relaxed confidence and playful smile, very much is, so I decide to play along, shrugging casually, “I mean, it’d be better if he dyed his hair a bright color like blue, or green, or something, but close enough.”

He laughs and then squints up at me, “See, now, I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or flirting with me.”

“Pourquoi pas le deux, hm?” He is cute, isn’t he? Especially the way he’s looking at me now, chewing on his bottom lip, his gray eyes searching mine as he tries to determine how serious I am. As we look at each other, the air suddenly feels electric between us, and I have to avert my gaze before my face gives me away. I’m relieved to see we’re approaching the bakery, and I jump ahead to open the door before he can respond.

As I hold it open, Lex walks through giving me a sideways glance and an amused smile. Asher follows close behind, saying, “Thank you,” and flashing me a quick wink that catches me off guard. My stomach flips as I fall in line behind them, dropping my head to hide my face as I smile to myself.

Prev // Next

🧡Somnium

[autisticrosewilson]

First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

[sksninja]

@ovegakart art ramble [affectionate]

Hey Lady! I heard you were feeling a little underappreciated ‘bout you art recently and thought, “Hey! I can gush! I can ramble! I can throw some love her way!” So here we go! 

(note: this was just going to be a tumblr ask but partway through I realized those have a character limit and I definitely passed that so public post it is! [YOU WANT ATTENTION?! YER GONNA GET IT!♡] sorry-not-sorry) First up, it amazes me that you're potentially not constantly buried in asks/compliments with the sheer talent of your works. Like, you look at them and it's… it's them! The poses, the expressions, the SNARK. From your polished comics, to colored art pieces, to more sketched shitposts, there is clear heart in everything I've seen you create. I’m confident I could show off some of your LoZ pieces and tell people it's official concept art and they would believe me. It’d be easy. There’s feeling in this shit.

But those are just pretty words. Let's break down some examples! *scrolls back in the archive*

OKAY. FIRST UP, THAT COLORED LU IMAGE WHERE TIME IS SHAVING AND WIND IS WATCHING HIM/FOLLOWING ALONG. That alone is cute and fun, but you also got details like the mirror shield, the way they have their hair tied back, the- ohmigosh the tiny house by the rock in the foreground I don’t think I noticed that bit before! So. Fucking. Cute. And then there’s the boys playing with sticks in the background OHMYGOD. Lovelovelovethem. Wars with his hand on his hip all proper-like. Wild clearly cooking but teasingly wielding the soup ladle. And then Four, OH MY GOD FOUR. My boy, that is a whole-ass tree you’ve got there. Leaves trailing off of it and everything. Is he gonna go straight for the unsuspecting Wars? Is he gonna charge in swinging with no clear aim? Has he had a single thought past, “Big branch big branch YES BIG BRANCH!”? Who knows! Probably not Four!

Next up is from your Doll Comic. There’s a never-ending stream of fun in that thing but the scene I’m going to highlight is that bit where Wars just flops himself onto a resting Twilight. It is such a sibling thing to do. It's hot and humid (additionally highlighted by his not wearing his scarf) and you find your bro resting peacefully on the ground? BETTER MESS WITH HIM. The way it isn’t even a main point of what’s happening in the comic, and yet manages to carry over into the next update’s pages is just delightful. Adding in the other Link’s ignoring the pair of idiots rolling around on the grass fills me with joy.

What next… Ooo! That Hylia and First comic where she gives him Fi (and a little kiss ♡) and The Imprisoned is yelling about triangles in the background. It’s so cute, they’re so cute, I straight up use “TRIANGLE” as an adjective in real life now. I seriously could go on but this is already a lot of words so let's keep going.

Oh okay okay, that Dark Link and Cia comic? Specifically that bit where Cia realizes they’re going to lose, Dark’s like “Till the bitter end Mistress.” And then Cia stops a minute, USES THE TRIFORCE TO MAKE DARK HUMAN AND THEN SHOVES HIM AWAY TO SAFETY@!?!!!? Holy shit!???? The dynamic change between shadow-Dark’s red eyes and solid gray tones, to black hair yellow eyes and a startled expression that makes you want to cry? The way he falls through that portal only for gravity to flip and then up is down and he gets slammed face-first on the ground? And- she's gone? Everything's gone? He doesn't even get to try and fight? Fuuuuuuck.

Wait, how many has it been? What time is it? Eh whatever, let's do one more. I pick the older Windwaker Link & Tetra drawings! I love Links scruff and Tetra’s piercings! I love them yelling of their “spawn” and how happy the kid is to be picked up and flailed around. You don’t see aged-up Windwaker too often and I appreciate it extra for its rarity.

Well okay, that one was quick so I’ma pick one last one (for real this time). Ooo and I pick the recent SS Link seeing TotK Link’s degraded Master Sword and deciding yes. Yes, that dehydrated sack of eczema is going down. There is so much said without any words. The confused heartbreak in the first image, the heartbroken understanding in the middle, and Ganondorf cutting through the depths like an Olympic swimmer cause ohhhh boy son you messed up at the end. Chef's kiss. Sublime.

So look. Trust me when I say you could pick any one of your works and ask me what things I like about it and I would have WORDS TO SAY. Do it. I dare you.

Also I know I’m not alone in my love of your art. Even off of tumblr I’ve heard and seen people mention you by username, and very often your works are spoken of positively (be it discord DMs or voiceover videos on TikTok or YouTube)!

In conclusion, anyone else reading this wanna show ovegakart some love? Show them some love ♡ Failing that, toss ‘em some Ko-Fi 😘

Ps: this took forever to write, not because I struggled to find words, but because I kept getting distracted looking through your stuff ~(￣▽￣)~

[daemonoferror]

Ouuhuhou Scarlet Hollow fanfic, that sounds so good! If it’d be fun for you I’d suggest a little reese fix it moment , like hurt comfort fluff in his basement before stuff goes down! If not that’s all chill too ^^

I'm so sorry this took me like, a month to write- I still hope you like it!

It'll be Okay

Of all the terrible things that have happened this week, being barricaded in a basement against your will isn't the worst. It’s easier to cope with when you tell yourself you're just spending time with Reese. Except he's the reason you're trapped, and he's not the most reassuring person right now. He’s completely restless and jittery. That kind of unhinged, uncontrollable excitement you see people act in movies. He pretends to be okay, but he’s clearly not. He’s just witnessed a betrayal very few have to handle, and no matter how excited for the future he is, the hurt that’s happening now will take a long time to heal.

You’re not very interested in the movie you’re watching. Instead you’re watching him. His wide eyes as he rambles about the aspects of the movie. His fidgeting hands and subconscious foot tapping. His demeanor could seem impatient or annoyed, regardless of the big grin he wears. The movie isn’t fast paced enough to keep up with him. When he interrupts again with a factoid about a scene you haven’t watched yet, you turn the TV off. “A movie might be too much for you right now, man.” You answer his disappointed, questioning look. “Are you feeling okay?

"Yeah, I feel fine- great, actually! My body must be adjusting without the poison. I'm getting better, healthier! I'm doing great!" Reese responds, his words rushed. The reasoning doesn't sit well with you. The poison was flushed out within hours of not taking it? A deadly poison he's been fed for at least a decade? The body doesn't work that fast.

You frown, "Are you sure you're not like, upset? This is a lot to process, Reese, maybe you need to talk about it-”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about!” Reese interrupts you, "The doc has been poisoning me for the past decade, and I've practically been a prisoner down here for the same amount of time." He says, and his smile falters a bit. His bouncing leg is nearly vibrating, he stands up and starts quickly pacing around his room to try to calm down.

You want to drop it, but there’s this sinking feeling, something telling you there’s something wrong here, more than you know. "I just. . . I feel like your mom had to have a reason. Nothing in Scarlet Hollow seems this transparent." You’re a little meek to say it while Reese is doing so poorly. He does tense at your words, for only a moment. From where you're seated, his ears look pointier, his nails longer before he balls his hands into fists. 

"You don't have to defend her. And don’t call her that. She lost that right." Reese strains to control his anger, "I don't care what her reasons are, it doesn't change anything." He paces faster, glaring at the ground. The changes you could've blamed on a trick of the light or mind are obvious now, and very real.

“Reese?” You slowly stand up and reach out to him. “Are you-”

“Yes! I mean no- I’m-. . .I’m just mad.” He growls, and brings a hand up to hold his head. He looks taller, his skin a sort of gray color. "Everything I used to blame on my illness was really just because of her. I had to drop out of school because of her. I couldn't go out or hang out with my friends because of her. I thought I could die any day because of her." Each word is spoken with more unearthed resentment until he’s nearly yelling. All of these little changes start to come together to make him look nothing like the reese you know. His sweater tears as his shoulder widen and arms grow. His face droops like molded clay, sharp teeth poking out of his mouth. "And I'm still just trapped in her basement, waiting on her to leave. Why should I wait on her any longer? Why does she get to live when she's stolen my life from me?" His anger boils over to a snapping point. It feels like the world freezes around him as the plan takes shape, staring at the door with wide eyes and new, morbid motivation. "Stay here. I'll be right back." His voice is lower, malice. The monster treks towards the stairs, and you're mortified.

 “Reese- Reese please wait-” Your voice trembles witnessing the scene in front of you. The paintings come to life, bubbling under the surface and reaching out for purchase in this world. You try to step towards him, but you can’t move. Looking down, painted hands seep from his art to hold your feet in place. You struggle against it as Reese ignores your pleas.

“This has to be done.” He ensures. He only climbs a few steps before your struggle with the paint ends, squashing it under your shoes with a splat. You hardly think before you collide into him in an embrace. Maybe it was meant more to restrain him- a fruitless attempt against his new beastly size- but it works as a sign of affection that throws him off. He stumbles a bit, and seems to shrink ever so slightly in your arms. It leaves him speechless, frozen in place, with his long arms raised to not touch you. 

When you feel him shaking above him, you immediately think you did something wrong- hurt him or angered him- and take it as a sign to step away from him. His breathing is heavy and short, his snout scrunched up and nostrils flaring. His face is twisted in pain. Agonized and conflicted with a far off gaze. His eyes dart to look down at you, the glow in them dims, soft and glossy. One hand reaches out for you, the claws graze your arm before he pauses, wide eyes taking in the look of his monstrous appearance for the first time. "Oh... I'm-... I'm sorry-" His voice is less than a whimper as he pushes past you, stumbling down the stairs with unfamiliar legs. 

"It's okay-" You quickly say, following his path until he collapses to the floor with his back to you. "I'm alright." You ensure your voice is soft, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. 

He hides his face as well as he can in his hands, but it is clear when you hear a sob that he’s crying. "Why-" He starts, so many emotions built behind the one word. There's hundreds of things he could ask, questions neither of you have the answer to. "Why would she do this? What did I do? What's… What's wrong with me?" He asks,

"There isn't anything wrong with you. This isn't your fault." You tell him the only thing you're (mostly) confident in. 

"Bullshit." He scoffs, and his ears twist down. He finally turns to you and the anger simmers away again. "I was going to kill her. I could've hurt you." 

"But I'm fine! Not a scratch on me." You reassure him, sitting down next to him. He flinches a bit when you wrap an arm around his shoulder, removing it to not make him uncomfortable. "Look. I've only known you for like, two days. But I know that you're sweet and kind. I trust that you would never hurt me." 

He looks at you, and there's this tiny voice that tells him he could easily crush you, and he feels nauseous. "I don't like this." He sighs in defeat, hugging his arms across his torso. That voice tells him he's lying- like a constant need to be at odds with himself. "I guess… I do though? It's easier to breathe. I just don't-" When he looks into your eyes, he's at a loss for words again. "I don't..." He thinks he'll get lost in them, the nagging thoughts quieting like he's been riddled with stage fright. "I don't want to do something I'd regret." He finally pieces together. "I don't want to be a monster."

You grin softly and take his hand. "You're not a monster. You're Reese. You're human." You tell him, sure in your words. He uses his free hand to wipe away tears that were beginning to form. Finally his features start to shrink into something just more human as he tries to return the smile. A quiet sob bubbles up and he uses all his strength to not start weeping. He awkwardly pulls you into a hug, your face pressed against his chest. He holds you tight, as silent tears roll down his cheeks. 

"Thank you." He says with a sniffle after minutes of staying like this, rubbing circles into his back. He holds onto you like a lifeline, and you're not sure he ever intends on letting go of you.

The moment is ruined when you hear stomping from upstairs, and Doc Kelly yelling for Reese. He tenses and squeezes you tighter, maybe too tight. "Hey, it's okay." You mumble, soothing and softly, and his muscles relax enough for you to pull away. You look up at the ceiling, placing in your mind where the mad doctor could be before facing Reese, "Maybe I could try to talk to her-"

"No." He gasps, and you start to see his features shifting again. "Especially not without me." He spits. 

Your shoulders droop and you sigh. It was a mad idea in the first place. You decide to change the topic, hoping to distract him. "Come on, it's getting late, you've gotta be tired." You use his loose grip on your arm to pull him towards the bed. He's definitely confused; and probably disappointed you're not encouraging the fight, but he lets you drag him away. You lay down first, and scooch as far back as you can, your back pressing against the cold brick wall.

"Are you sure we shouldn't try to leave now? I don't have to hurt her, I could just like- shove her out of the way or something?" Reese shrugs, hesitant to crawl in beside you.

"I'd rather just avoid her instead of risking it. Please, just humor me? We'll get you out of here soon, safely. Just relax for now." 

Reese sighs, "Fine." And lays down beside you. "Do you have a plan then?"

"Take a nap. And at like 2 or 3 am or so we sneak back to the estate." You shrug, scooching towards him to get away from the cold wall.

"What if she doesn't fall asleep?" His voice waivers, imagining the many ways this could end with you hurt.

"We break a window or something? I don't know. At some point she's going to think you simmered down, right?" Maybe it's true your plan isn't great, but even if you're just prolonging the inevitable, it's worth it to be here with him. 

"I'm not sure. I don't remember the last time this happened. If this has happened?" He picks at his nails anxiously, remembering the logs of his "episodes" in the book he found. 

"Well, we'll figure it out. It'll be okay." You assured him.

"Thanks. For being here with me. And for not running away. I'm glad I met you." He says with a sigh, moving to press his forehead against yours.

"I'm glad I met you, too. And I'm happy I'll get to spend more time with you." You lace your fingers with his to hold his hand, closing your eyes, feeling safe next to him. "You still think you'll come home with me?"

"Yeah." He answers without skipping a beat. "What's it like in your town anyways?"

You snort, "Hm, you'll think it's boring. There's no ditchlings, or mine collapses, or vengeful ghost hauntings." You hum, amused, a small smile tugging at your lips as your eyes droop shut. 

"And no one transforming into…" He trails off, but the question is clear.

You hum a negatory. "No one like you. You've got no competition."

It wasn't what he meant when he asked, but your answer made him flush, "Oh… good." 

"But I can't stress this enough though: the cat's a complete asshole. He's terrible, you'll love him." You chuckle, and Reese reciprocates it.

"I've never had a cat, it'll be fun." Reese shrugs confidently.

"Yeah? Then you can clean his litter box. He tries to kick all of it out as soon as you're done, by the way. And when he does go he usually misses. He's a terror." You reiterate. 

"Damn. Maybe he just doesn't like you. I'm sure we'll be best friends though." He teases, and nudges your arm. 

"If he likes you more than me I'm throwing one of you out." You laugh and nudge him back. "I'm kidding."

"You better be! You can't get rid of me that easily." He jokes, comfortable silence falling over the two of you after. "I'm really excited about this. It sounds so nice to just- live and explore the city with you."

"Yeah. Wait till you try all the food you've been robbed of for years." You try not to yawn, "No more plain pasta for you. You're getting the greasiest pizza, richest chocolate cake, soda- whatever you want. I'll even make you anything you want. If you don't get a stomachache in the first week, I've failed you."

Reese laughs, "That all sounds great… more or less."

"It will be." You sigh and mutter after, "I'm just happy to be part of your new life." Your eyes are heavy, yawning again. You want to keep talking but you can't, wrapping your arm around Reese as you fall asleep. 

Sleep doesn't find Reese as easily though. He listens for any noise or indication of trouble. His eyes dart to any movement out the window, jumps at every creak in the floor boards above. But nothing happens. Even the ditchlings don't make their regular visits. He finally relaxes enough just to stare at your sleeping face, and he starts to think things will all be okay.

[wooahaes]

under the sun [the8]

pairing: non-idol!the8 x gn!reader

prompt: darl+ing inspired fic.

word count: 10.5k~

warnings: food mentions. skinship. minghao + reader have a disagreement. someone gets injured (sprained ankle). also someone gets killed in a game of mafia but it’s fun. talks of (unfounded, but it’s acknowledged as such) fears regarding another person getting hurt and/or abandonment. someone disappears for a few days.

daisy’s notes: hey i have an eye appointment in less than 12 hours and i still need to shower before i go to sleep. here’s hao fic.

summary: It all starts when you wake up in a field without a name or any memories to define yourself with. Thirteen men take you in as one of their own, and slowly you begin to wonder what is going on within this world... and between you and one of them.

< day 3 || masterlist  ||    

Out of pretty much everyone there, Minghao was positive he was the only person who wasn’t entirely warm to you yet. If he had to pick another, he’d say Jihoon--more from a lack of knowing pretty much anything about you. In his opinion, you were fine. You worked hard and Minghao deeply appreciated that. Sometimes you could be a little more quiet, too, but you’d come more into your own over the past week. He attributed part of that to Chan keeping you close by every time you weren’t doing chores and learning the ropes: Chan was younger than all of them, sure, and the newest member before you. He had yet to fully settle into this way of life like he had (but Minghao couldn’t blame him: he was uncomfortable and likely would have grown more attached to the next newest person had Seungkwan not shown up half a year later), and Minghao knew making the adjustment to living with thirteen other people must be hard. It was better that you were being more social than he had been, since he only imagined that helped the process along.

You approached him a little after you’d been there for a week while he was making soup for dinner. Seokmin was meant to be working on another part (a salad, Minghao thought, but Seokmin had gone off to see what they had available that went with the soup he was making), but maybe you’d been waiting for Seokmin to step away. Minghao was waiting for the vegetable stock he made beforehand to boil, all the vegetables he needed were already sliced and ready.

“Joshua said you could help me dye something,” you said, toying with the thin fabric in your hands. It was the blindfold you’d woken up with, same as everyone else. “Someone left me this little stuffed mouse and I think I want to give them a bow.”

Minghao didn’t know exactly what you were talking about save for maybe the one time he saw it (he didn’t leave it for you, and he assumed someone else did), but he asked what color you were thinking. He expected something like maybe a pink (which would take beets, in his experience), or orange (yellow onion skins), but you said black. He paused in his actions while you said something about how it’d contrast your gray and white mouse nicely, in your opinion, and it’d match the eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

You stopped short of saying something about how you’d show him the mouse later, if he wanted, because it was cute. “Is that impossible?”

“It’s... a little hard,” he admitted. “You have to find the roots of irises. We don’t grow any here since they take some extra care.” The pot in front of him was beginning to boil, and he looked over to the bowl of vegetables. “If you want to do it, you’ll have to help me find them. They’re hard to find sometimes.”

“I will!” You agreed without a second thought. “I’ll help you, I promise. Just tell me where to look and when we’re going.”

He... really didn’t expect you to agree so quickly. The last time he stumbled upon them by complete chance while out with Jun and Joshua, and he’d studied the picture in Wonwoo’s book enough time to know it when he saw it. “I’ll have to draw a picture for you so you’ll know what it looks like,” he said. He could always trace it. “I’ll ask Wonwoo where the book went.” He went quiet, stirring idly. He wanted this recipe, so he was put in charge of it.

You didn’t leave when he thought you would.

“I dyed mine black, too,” he told you after you continued to stand there, watching him cook.

“You did?”

He nodded. He raised his right hand where he’d tied it there for the day. “Sometimes I use it as an accessory. It looks nice.”

You noticed that Minghao always looked so put-together. Everyone did, in a sense, but Minghao had an eye for fashion. Maybe that’s why you always felt like you looked decent: Minghao had been the one who found your clothes. Or maybe it was the universe stepping in to make sure you weren’t a complete disaster.

... You thought it might actually just be Minghao, to be honest.

“What are you making?” You asked, watching the liquid come to a boil. “It smells good.”

Minghao gave you a sideways look at that. It was vegetable stock at the moment, nothing else added, but maybe that was your way of just being nice. He nodded toward the recipe book he had open and pushed away far enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about any splashes wetting it. “It reminded me of home,” he told you as you started looking over the ingredients. “It’s just a vegetable soup recipe.”

“Do you like cooking?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. You can watch, if you want to learn how to make it.”

A silence lulled between the two of you after that. You stood there, watching him work quietly--adding in his ingredients, careful with any spices he was adding. He noticed you humming after a moment. Was that one of Jihoon’s songs? It sounded like it. After a few minutes of stirring, he decided to taste-test it to make sure he didn’t need to make any adjustments. He paused after a moment, looking over to you before offering up the spoon for you to taste for yourself. No point in serving it to you later if you disliked it.

Yet you lit up once you tasted it, and it made him smile. “Is it good?”

You nodded eagerly. “It’s really good!”

Cute, Minghao thought to himself as he turned back to the soup. Then he realized... This usually took almost half an hour to fully make. Which meant it’d been almost half an hour since Seokmin disappeared into the storeroom to figure out dinner plans. It couldn’t have taken him that long--and if something fell, Minghao would have heard it. Maybe it would have taken him a few trips to get all the ingredients he needed, sure, but...

“Can you go see if Seokmin needs help?” He asked you, nodding toward the storeroom. “He should just be getting ingredients.”

You agreed and disappeared to go fetch him, thankfully not noticing the way Seokmin scrambled back into it to look as casual as he could. Seokmin made up some excuse about being really indecisive today, but enlisted you (and Minghao, when the two of you returned) to help with this portion of dinner. The soup was left at a simmer as Minghao was pushed a little closer to you. Seokmin noticed the gentle way Minghao corrected one of your knife cuts.

It was a step toward a better relationship, that was certain. It made Seokmin smile to himself as he continued to work. Good. You weren’t as quiet as you were when you first came, sure, but Seokmin admittedly worried about you the same way he worried about Minghao during his first few weeks. It was nice to see the two of you getting along better now.

You’d finished with your chores before Chan did one day, and set off to do.. Something. Anything. With Chan still busy and you not in the mood to wait, you ended up flitting from place to place to see if there was anything you felt like doing. You were too restless to fully stop in one place for too long without something to preoccupy you, and yet you managed to stop when you spotted Minghao sitting at one of the walls. It’d been painted blue and green a few days ago (a sky and a field, you thought), and he had a set of paints sitting next to him with both Jeonghan’s name and his own on the side. You’d seen the box before--you had moved it aside plenty of times while cleaning before putting it back into its spot, lest you want to hear it from Jeonghan about how they went “missing“ through being a few inches out of sight. He did nothing, sitting there with his paintbrush being passed from hand to hand as he debated what he wanted to do.

He shifted uncomfortably, looking around before spotting you standing there, watching him. He nodded toward the wall. “Do you want to help?” Before you answered, he already slid the paints a little closer to him to make room for you. “You can, if you want.”

You always assumed that painting was one of those things Minghao preferred to do by himself--or, rarely, with Jeonghan. You kneeled down slowly, nodding, though. “I’m not any good at it.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to be. Everyone’s contributed somewhere.” He nodded toward the other paintings staining the walls. “Maybe I’ll show you one day.”

“Do you remember all of them?”

You could see a little pride in his eyes when he smiled at you. “I do,” he looked down at your hands for just a moment. “Everyone also has a hand print everywhere, by the way. You should find a spot for yours.”

You followed his gaze, looking down at your clean palms. “Why?”

Minghao didn’t have an answer for that, to be honest. It started as an accident, actually. Jeonghan had pressed a paint-stained hand against something without thinking, leaving behind bright red. Minghao had said they could always paint over it, but Seungcheol was the one who liked it. It made the place a little more their own with their own mark on it. Seungcheol had left his own mark closest to the entrance, and Minghao noticed that he would gently tap it when he walked past unless his arms were full or he was too preoccupied. Everyone else did, too, actually--it became a little habit they’d all picked up over time. Almost as if saying “I’m home” to no one but themselves, even though everywhere they were could be considered home. Mingyu’s was underneath the rock they used as a dining table, and he joked that it was his own little blessing to ensure everything was delicious and filling. Hansol’s had been near Seungkwan’s, because they’d done theirs at the same time (and Seungkwan also walked away from that with a handprint on his ass, because Hansol had made the joke that it was his “favorite part” of Seungkwan--only to slightly get chewed out because they did have to wash paint out of his pants... even if it was funny).

“Where’s yours?” You asked when you received no answer. His lack of a response told you that maybe they didn’t have a reason: they didn’t really need one, to be honest.

He looked up at you with a hum. “In the main room. It’s a little hidden.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I liked the placement and didn’t think about the fact that no one would see it without looking.” He actually liked that, though. He saw the appeal in placing them in public spots to be seen and high-fived casually. After all, it was amusing to see the way everyone would high-five Jun’s mark: it was right over the entryway to the main room, and most people would reach up to tap it whenever they passed through. Minghao liked his requiring a little more effort to find and appreciate.

You merely nodded. “Then I’ll find my place,” you said. “Should I just find you, then?”

“Or Jeonghan,” Minghao said. “They’re our paints, not just mine.”

“Okay...” You looked back at the painted rock. They’d prepped it a few days ago, and you assumed that Minghao was initially going to be painting it with Jeonghan. He must not have felt like waiting, or Jeonghan gave him the go-ahead. There were still plenty of places anyone could paint anyway. “What are you going to paint?”

Usually Minghao liked to paint flowers nowadays. He liked abstract art, sure, but something about being there always made him feel a little more connected to nature. He sketched flowers and leaves and rocks on loose-leaf paper that the others found for him. Yet... He was painting this with you. How was it fair to impose his own vision onto you when he’d never even considered yours?

“I’m still deciding,” he half-lied. “What about you?”

He watched you sit back, staring at the wall for a moment, humming to yourself. “I... kinda wanna paint some ducks.”

He lit up with amusement at that. “Ducks?”

“They’re cute,” you defended your idea, no malice behind your words. “Maybe we could add in a little pond around here?” You pointed toward a spot right off center in that green space. “And I could put little ducklings outside the pond...”

He could see it. “That’d be cute,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. He was already reaching for the blue paint to open it up. “I can add the pond, if you want.”

“But what about you?” You asked. “You don’t have to stick to my vision if you don’t want to--”

“I want to,” he said. He genuinely did. “I like it.”

He liked it because it was yours and Minghao liked being able to bring other peoples visions to life sometimes. How many times had he painted his own onto those walls? Even if the others pitched in, he laid the groundwork for them. The colors could have been influenced, but what about the fruit in the trees he decided would be apples? Or the pink paint he’d slide over to someone painting a flower, uncertain of their own choice until Minghao made it for them? He wouldn’t fight back if they decided they’d rather have an orange flower, or a yellow, but he typically gave his suggestions to what he thought would fit best and the less artistically-inclined would usually go along with it because they trusted his word. A pond with ducks sounded like something so you to come up with in comparison to the places with abstract colors he’d painted on the walls.

So the two of you worked on your little scene in silence, no need to talk to one another. He painted in a pond with thin layers so it’d dry faster, adding in little rocks around the edge. He liked your little family of yellow ducklings following after a white one. They might have been a little wonky in shame, but it was easy enough to identify them once you carefully added orange bills to them. It was cute to see how focused you became, slowly painting in little details where you could. Maybe he’d teach you more one day. Thankfully, the thin layers of blue for the pond dried fast enough that Minghao could add a little yellow duckling of his own into the water. He watched the way your eyes lit up with joy at it, only to see you add another one next to it.

“So they have a friend,” you smiled at him.

(He didn’t notice until later that you painted a family of fourteen ducks in total: the two in the water with the others gathered outside it, on their way to join them. They were small, sure, but they were together. Wonwoo had been the one to point it out a few days later, calling it cute before asking whether it was Minghao or Jeonghan who painted it. Minghao was proud to say that was all you--he just helped.)

He watched you focus on adding a little lily pad in darker green to the pond, and decided to preoccupy himself with adding a sun into the sky. The two of you created a happy little scene of ducks and flowers and fluffy white clouds around these little ducks preparing to go swim. It was cute, to put it simply, and warmed his heart to see just how sweet you were.

It wasn’t until Mingyu called you to come help with dinner that Minghao realized you’d added a little frog onto that lily pad. You thanked him for letting you paint with him before you went to go wash your hands, carefully washing out your brush as he showed you earlier. Minghao mixed up a pale gray to add a tiny mouse next to the frog once you were gone.

Just so he had a friend, too.

Minghao meditated for what he considered a pretty good reason. Living with now thirteen other people could get stressful on its own, and he appreciated being able to go out and have alone time when he needed it. Even if he didn’t sit down for the minimum of ten minutes he wanted every day (sometimes he managed to net five minutes of just sitting and breathing), it helped him tremendously. He knew that you knew this, too: he overheard you quietly asking what he was doing one day when he went off to sit by himself for a while, and the way you understood after Chan explained that he liked to meditate. Minghao didn’t always meditate alone (sometimes he’d get someone like Joshua joining him), and he’d admittedly led the group through group meditation before. That second one he swore off, though, after Seungcheol and Soonyoung had both fallen asleep during it. It was close to a celebration, and therefore he found it understandable that they’d get relaxed enough to rest (they, along with Jihoon, always seemed to stress the most about making each celebration special), but they should just take a nap like normal people rather than letting him go through his whole spiel. The others enjoyed it, sure, but he wasn’t risking them falling asleep again.

“Can I join you?” You asked one day. He merely nodded and remembered to grab the egg timer from the kitchen--he’d return it later. Minghao just knew it was harder for beginners to just... let go and meditate. He found that out the hard way. The timer made it easier for people to sit still and breathe in the future when five or ten minutes passed faster than they expected that first time.

Sure, it meant his own meditation would get disturbed, but he usually sat out longer whenever he needed it. Even a few minutes every day helped, after all, and the longer Minghao had to just sit and breathe, the better off he’d be later. He let you pick the spot, though: he always thought it helped. All he told you was to pick somewhere calm and quiet where the two of you wouldn’t be disturbed. When you pitched the idea of sitting in the shade by the river, he was more than happy to let you guide the way there.

Minghao gently talked you through it--or, rather, the set-up part of it. All the two of you would be doing was sitting and breathing, but some people found that difficult. He told you to find a comfortable position, to focus on your breathing, that it was okay if your mind wandered (his did, too, sometimes)--but to just be kind to yourself and let yourself breathe for a bit. With ten minutes on the time (Minghao draped his sweater over it to muffle the sound when it’d inevitably ring), and let himself breathe, too.

He could hear your slow inhales and exhales, the sound of the river, the wind... and he was just there. Taking this little moment with you to just exist. It was comfortable. Other people might complain at some point about slowing down so much, but he was thankful you didn’t. He saw the appeal in living a fast-paced life with something to do, sure, but sometimes it was important to take a moment and be mindful. To treat oneself kindly by letting yourself breathe.

The timer went off before he knew it. He told earlier that it was important to think about how you felt when time was up, and he assumed you had decided to do it based on the way he couldn’t hear you move. He looked up, letting you know that you were welcome to leave. He’d stay out a little longer and be back up before sundown.

Yet you stayed there. You said nothing to him, just letting him go back into meditating, but you never left. There was no crunching grass or the quiet strain of standing up after sitting for so long. You just stayed with him until he was ready to return to the group. He felt no pressure to “hurry up” and stop: just the comfortable feeling that he wasn’t alone. It was nice, to be honest. You’d only been there for almost three weeks, and yet you were so mindful of him and his boundaries. If he wanted you to go, he would have said it. Instead, you let him take time for himself and stay to make sure he was okay--or because maybe you didn’t want him to have to walk back alone.

Now that he was thinking about it... you always were mindful of him. You noticed when he wanted to say something while conversation was flying, quieting down the others or making it clear that you were listening to him. Everyone always made sure he felt heard, but you? You had just shown up, and yet it felt like you’d been there far longer. He felt heard and cared for with you around, even though he knew he was equally as heard and loved by the others (all of the quieter members of the group could relate to that). Sometimes he just wanted to sit back and listen, but he could always feel nothing but love (both as someone receiving it and someone feeling it) when people went out of their way to care for him.

He slept next to you that night, and he smiled to himself when he noticed the way Jun had decided to curl up close to you. He dreamed of unfamiliarity and uncertainty in the worst ways that twisted his stomach, a gap too wide between him and the faceless, yet familiar, people that surrounded him. He tensed up, voiceless. It scared him to feel so... powerless. So weak. It woke him up, and he turned to face you. You’d still been asleep, yet your hand brushed against his just for a moment as you shifted in your sleep. Despite having Jun cuddled up close to you, he noticed the way you subconsciously tried to pull the blanket up.

Minghao fixed it for you, hesitating for a moment. He gently nudged you awake, watching you stir and answer with a quiet “Hm?” as you found his gaze in the dark.

He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. He wanted, deep down, to hold you, or maybe to be held--the way Seokmin always would hold him. The way anyone would gladly give him the physical comfort he sometimes needed. “Can I hold your hand?” He said after a moment. He was testing the waters with you, and that felt safe.

You nodded, hand sliding into his own before you settled back in to sleep. He could see where Jun had draped his arm around your waist, face buried in your back. Could he be that close to you? All you did was gently squeeze his hand, and it was enough to reassure him. Maybe someday. He instead nuzzled a little closer, forehead inches from your own as he settled back in to sleep. 

He slept better from that point on. Even if his dream felt... abrupt and out of nowhere, no one truly expected nightmares... Right?

The next day after chores, Minghao called you over to use that space between then and dinner to show you a few things. The first thing was the corner he had left a handprint in. It was technically out of sight, but all you truly had to do was turn a corner and look for it. His had been white in a stark contrast to the plethora of colors that had painted the wall behind it: blues and greens and pinks. He watched you reach up, pressing your own palm over it.

“It’s lonely.”

It was. Just a little out of reach from the others. Sure, Minghao knew that Chan’s and Soonyoung’s both weren’t too far away from it, but his was left hidden and alone. Maybe he should have placed it closer--but he truly did like it being its own little hidden gem.

He watched the slow way you drew your hand back. “Can I put mine next to it?” You asked after a moment, hand hovering just inches away. “You can say no,” you continued as Minghao looked up, trying to visualize it for himself. “I just feel like it shouldn’t be so lonely.”

He let you. He painted your hand sunshine yellow (the color reminded him of you) and watched you firmly press it against the space next to his own. Your thumb barely touched his own marks, and when you pulled away, he could see where a little bit of the paint bled over onto it. But it was sweet, and Minghao liked it.

He honestly liked it more than he thought he would. He stared at it a moment longer as you disappeared to wash your hand of paint, fingers tracing over his own dried spot. As if maybe he could feel the warmth from when you placed your hand over it. Would your hands be warm? Minghao thought they would be. You certainly had a warm heart.

He went to find his dyeing supplies, pulling out the book he had tucked away with it. A few days ago, he sketched over the iris that was in the book, and showed it to you once you returned to him with dried, clean hands. He’d sketched out a vague map next to it, too.

“I went looking for it last time,” he told you, sitting on the floor. Your knee pressed into his, and he turned his attention away from the contact. “It was out here,” he pointed to the sketch of the forest, symbolized by little trees as you’d expect it would be.

“We’re still going?” You asked, visibly confused. “It’s just... I dunno. I thought you weren’t interested in it anymore since we never really talked about it anymore...”

“Do you still want to dye it black?”

You nodded. If he wanted to tell you no, he could have. Yet..

“I’ll go with you sometime,” he said. He leaned forward, just enough to press a soft kiss against your temple. A sign that he cared. “Don’t go alone,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”

Your fingers brushed against his as you looked at the drawings. “I won’t.”

Minghao played games with the rest of the group often enough. Just because he could be quiet and valued his alone time when he could get it never meant that he wouldn’t have fun--and he appreciated the way you would always find him and ask if he felt up for a game. Sometimes it’d be one of those word games, with the tile pieces, other times it’d be cards. He never felt pressured to do it if he didn’t want to, but you always extended the invitation to him. On the rare occasion it was mafia (which apparently Jeonghan had been the one to remember and teach everyone--but that’d been before he came, once the group had enough people for a solid game), he’d usually tag along to at least watch. He liked the way you found amusement in the game, too. It was always entertaining with such a big group. Not everyone would play, especially if it was before dinner, but he was always open to join if you needed a player.

Yet... Minghao thought he might be feeling Something with a capital S for you. He sat there, cross-legged and watching you and Soonyoung argue over why you definitely weren’t the mafia (Minghao knew you weren’t: he was one of them). You tried to turn the accusation back onto Soonyoung, who openly claimed he was the police (Minghao wasn’t sure of that one yet), and Minghao suppressed a smile at watching how into it you were getting. He shared a glance with Seungkwan, who he was pretty damn sure was the doctor--he’d nod toward him when he and Jeonghan were deciding who to take out next. You openly claimed that if you were the mafia, you would have likely taken him out soon enough because he talked too much--a behavior you were attributing to him being the mafia. In the end, Seungkwan stuck up for you and said he was positive you weren’t the mafia. You would have taken out Minghao early on because he would have figured you out by now.

Soonyoung made a comment about how he thought you were definitely working with Minghao as the mafia, and that if he died in the night after letting you live that everyone should take you out immediately. The group agreed to it with the plan to let you live, and Minghao took note of the opportunity. If they took you out, then it potentially maybe shifted some blame toward Soonyoung (or someone who would want him to look guilty--they just had to find a way to spin it). They take out Soonyoung, they take out both someone who’s potentially the police as they fully throw suspicion onto you.

Minghao looked over to you when Seungkwan pointed out that Soonyoung was being extremely pushy that you were guilty. Almost like he was guilty for something like killing Joshua in the middle of the night. Minghao mouthed a “is it really you?” to you, and watched you shake your head.

“You believe me, right?” You mouthed back.

He nodded in response, hoping his smile was reassuring enough for you. He had no reason not to, after all.

Night fell in the game and Minghao raised his head alongside Jeonghan when prompted to. Wonwoo watched the two as Jeonghan immediately nodded toward Soonyoung, and Minghao found himself hesitating. If Seungkwan really was the doctor, then it was entirely possible that trying to take out Soonyoung would result in Seungkwan saving him--because, honestly, that wouldn’t be the worst play. They take out Soonyoung, he ends up saved, bam: suspicion thrown completely onto you while they still have an extra player in the game.

Minghao nodded toward you, taking notice of the way you were drumming your fingers against your leg. Jeonghan mouthed back an “are you sure?” while Wonwoo continued to watch all of this go down. Joshua sat, smiling like a bastard about all of this, completely invested in how this was going to go down. They take out you, Seungkwan could potentially blow up and out himself as the doctor...

Wonwoo made a comment about the mafia making their decision.

Jeonghan looked toward you, and he and Minghao came to an agreement. Minghao was pretty positive on Seungkwan: he correctly saved Seungcheol during that first night, after all, and Seungcheol never seemed to last too long in these games. That had been Jeonghan’s idea. Minghao nodded, Wonwoo gave the two mafia members a thumbs up, and they put their heads back down.

Soon enough, day rose and you were proclaimed dead. Just as he expected, Seungkwan gasped and immediately rose out of his spot as he stared down Soonyoung.

“I saved you because I thought they were the mafia!” He said, fully outing himself as the doctor. “You were just trying to pin the blame on someone else--”

“No, I’m really the sheriff!” He claimed.

Minghao suppressed a smile as Soonyoung continued to try and defend himself. He could hear Joshua laughing from his seat and Seungkwan grew more heated, claiming that he just watched an innocent person die, while Minghao looked over to you. You were smiling until you met his gaze, and then realization clicked.

He just looked away, still thoroughly amused at how the accusations were piling up on Soonyoung. Jeonghan offhandedly mentioned that he thought Soonyoung was acting like he usually did when he was the mafia--accusations and questions and a little too unhinged compared to his normal civilian behavior. Soonyoung was soon enough voted out (and proven to not be the mafia) as the round came to an end, night falling again. Minghao looked up to see that Soonyoung was mouthing apologies to you, almost fervently begging for forgiveness as you rolled your eyes. It was all for fun, sure, but Minghao would pay for pictures of Soonyoung’s face the moment he saw him raise his head. He instead leaned forward enough to make eye contact with Jeonghan, treasuring the smile he saw on your face.

You might be losing, sure, but at least you were having fun. He thought you were cute. Was he getting a little soft? Maybe, but then again he did just technically kill you in cold blood. The mafia ended up winning that game, and Minghao was just happy that you had fun. He was glad you included him. Everyone did, sure, but it meant a lot that you went out of your way to do it. During dinner, you sat next to him, and he felt... comfortable. That was the only way he could describe the way you made him feel.

Minghao realized he might just be falling for you, to be honest.

“About the flower...” You asked him while doing dishes that night, not looking up from where you were scrubbing a plate clean. “When do you want to go?”

After your celebration had always been his plan. Minghao had started hoping that they’d just... appear one day. Going out was one thing, but into the forest? He’d thought about it a lot more over the past few days. What if you got hurt? He wasn’t strong enough to help you back if it was bad enough. He knew the others would come looking for the two of you in time, but what about how he felt? How was he supposed to face you afterward if you got hurt? How was he supposed to face the others, who he knew would entrust your safety to him as much as they entrusted his to you?

So he started stalling a little. He mentioned having to ask Seungcheol, just in case the two of you took a few days to find it. It was an excuse, and he felt a little bad, but... He wanted you to be safe.

Minghao was not going to fall for you just to lose you.

You ended up going to Seungcheol the next day. When you explained it to him, he seemed a little wary at first. Even with Minghao, he was worried about the dangers the two of you might face. Sure, people weren’t exactly something to worry about--but what about the weather? And wildlife? Seungcheol didn’t tell you outright, but he knew that Minghao knew alternate ways to get a black dye. He’d been stubborn, though, when it came to his own attempt: the scraps of fabric he dyed before weren’t black enough. They never looked quite right, and he only had the one blindfold. He wasn’t going to just dye it and be unhappy, Minghao was stubborn. Seungcheol started to wonder if you were, too.

“I just want to make sure you both pack well,” he said. “If you aren’t back in a few days, we’ll come looking. Safety first.”

Seungcheol also knew that you and Minghao were growing closer. The looks the two of you gave one another, the way Minghao seemed to gravitate toward you throughout the day... He thought that maybe Minghao was opening up to you in ways he hadn’t with the others. He was affectionate when he wanted to be, and he talked to people when he needed to, but with you...

Things were different. Seungcheol had started to wonder whether Minghao was starting to fall for you.

“If you leave tomorrow, we’ll find you before the celebration,” Seungcheol warned you. “You can always wait.”

He could see the impatience in your eyes. You wouldn’t. “You’re right...”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe,” Seungcheol took your hands with a sigh. He chose his words carefully: “Let us all know when you two are leaving together, okay?” 

You promised you would, and then you left to go find Minghao. Seungcheol sighed, and went to check their bags. If you were going to try to go sooner rather than later, he might as well make sure that the two of you could be properly prepared. Seungcheol was positive he could keep the two of you from leaving until tomorrow morning: plan out the way and be prepared, and everyone else would be prepared to look if the worst came to fruition.

Minghao was... less than thrilled when you told him that the two of you could leave the next day and be back in time for things. It wasn’t that hard to find it, right? You had the picture, he knew the way, you two would be together. He put it off with an excuse that he barely remembered later on about something he wanted to do with Jun and Seokmin. It became a cycle over the next few days: he busied himself, claiming to be trying to map things out better before telling you he was busy. He had to cook. He was looking for another book. The day before your celebration, you were frustrated with him.

“If you don’t want to go anymore, then just say that.” You hugged your arms close to yourself, closing yourself off from him. “It’s fine if you don’t want to help me. I’ll just find someone else and come back--”

“I do,” he told you. “We can’t just go now. I told you I wanted to wait until after your celebration because we’ve had work to do preparing.” It wasn’t a full lie, thankfully: there were dried flowers and whatnot that needed to be done. The smell of them always made things sweeter. “I can’t just go when you want to.”

“Seungcheol told me that we could have left--”

“Both of us leaving would have affected the group,” he folded his arms across his chest. “It’s a lot of work, and it would have been wrong to skip out on it because you wanted to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” You recoiled back at that, brows knit tightly together. “Seungcheol told us we could have gone. You said you’d help me and you can change your mind if you want--I just wanted you to say that. I wasn’t going to get mad, Hao.”

You didn’t get it. “It’s dangerous,” he insisted.

“We’d be together! If one of us ended up getting hurt, we could have just gone to get help--”

“It’s dangerous to leave someone behind,” he said. Minghao wasn’t the kind of person who would get shouting-angry without being pushed to that limit. Instead, he was colder to you. More closed off than he had ever been with you. “You’ll just have to wait...”

You shut down immediately. “Okay.” He couldn’t detect any emotion in your voice when you agreed, nothing on your face giving away your thoughts. “Then... You can wait,” you said. “I get it. After the celebration, right? You promise?”

He did. He promised it to you, a small smile tugging at his lips when you extended your pinky. “After the celebration,” he reaffirmed. “I’ll meet you that morning, alright?”

“Okay,” you said. “Thanks, Minghao.”

When you turned to walk away from him, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d hurt you. How was he supposed to say that he was terrified of never coming back? And the idea of no one ever coming to find him? It was silly, but some fears were. He knew they’d look for him. This was his home now, and his family, too. But what about you? What if you got hurt? He didn’t know how he could ever face himself.

You were distant from him for the rest of that day. Seungcheol tried to bring up your celebration, trying to prod you to join the conversation and see how you were feeling. It wasn’t going to be much--just the normal drinking and dancing and singing. They were going to let loose tomorrow, and you eventually put on a smile. Soonyoung made the comment that he wanted to share a drink with you first, which set off conversation about how he got whenever he drank. He was affectionate, so if you needed to push him off onto someone else, just do it. They could all handle him, after all. You refused to meet Minghao’s eyes, though. Fuck, he had hurt you. He should have just been open with you: you wouldn’t have judged him. Maybe you would have called him a little dumb for thinking that no one would come find him, because all of you loved him so much, but he could live with that. For a moment, he thought he’d talk to you after dinner. But he watched how you ended up getting pulled away by Chan after dinner, going to talk about how his celebration had gone a month ago.

He’d apologize to you in the morning, and he’d tell you the truth.

You were gone.

The next morning Minghao woke up, and he noticed you were missing. At first, he thought that maybe you’d gotten up for breakfast (it certainly wouldn’t have been assigned to you the night before considering today was your day), but no one else was awake yet. You were nowhere to be found, the spot next to Seokmin and Chan empty with nothing but your mouse laying there between them. Minghao pulled himself from his blankets, going off to find where your private spot was. Maybe you retreated there for the night.  Seeing the space empty only reminded him that he saw you asleep next to Seokmin. He saw you because he knew you were upset with him for not listening, for not talking to you properly. He should have. He shouldn’t have slept on it, he should have just faced you and told you outright that he was scared and been open. He turned, not bothering to find his shoes as he hurried up the path to the church. Maybe you were in the attic, or maybe you went for a walk. He called your name as loud as he could, and he heard nothing in response.

Breakfast was check-in for the day, ultimately. Chores were assigned, everyone got to see each other before they parted ways. You knew that. Everyone knew that. So where were you? On your day of all days? Fuck, how stubborn were you?

Seungcheol met him midway on the path to the church while Minghao was making his way back. “Mouse is gone,” he said. “Did they tell you where they went?”

Fuck. Minghao shook his head. “No.”

Seungcheol frowned at him, a quiet “Hao...” falling from his lips. He looked back toward the main room. They’d all be gathering for breakfast soon and dividing up tasks to set-up for the night... or, at least, they would be. “We have to tell everyone.”

“They’ll be back,” Minghao said. He had faith in you, even if he wanted to be mad at you.

“Minghao.” Seungcheol looked at him. “Today?”

Minghao said nothing. Seungcheol was right.

“That’s if they don’t get hurt, too,” he said. “What happened?”

Minghao spilled the entire story. You’d been wanting to go on the little trip with him to find the irises you needed because they didn’t grow in the gardens there, and he kept holding off. He kept his reasoning close to his chest, though. He knew it was silly, and he knew Seungcheol would tell him that they’d always come for both of you. That they’d never hold it against him if one of you got hurt.

“We found them last time by coincidence,” he said. “What if we didn’t find them this time?”

Seungcheol saw through him. He always did, somehow. Maybe it came with watching this group come together. “Is that it?”

“I didn’t want them to get hurt,” he finally admitted. “If something happened to them and we were too far away, I don’t think I could help them.” And then it’d be his fault whatever came next. “I can’t lose them.”

Seungcheol masked his surprise well. “You won’t,” he said. “I’ll put together a search party. We’ll find them.”

Plans were canceled as Seungcheol broke the news to the group that you had disappeared. Most of the group was put to work looking for you, the only people left behind that day in order to prepare for a bigger search if they couldn’t find you. Seungcheol put Minghao in his own team to look for you, because he knew Minghao wouldn’t accept anything else. That he would have gone out on his own and searched for as long as it took if Seungcheol didn’t keep an eye on him. They make a promise to not stay out after nightfall: they’d need to regroup and prepare for a proper search the next day if they couldn’t find you.

And on that first day, they turned up nothing. It was almost like you disappeared entirely, but Minghao checked his dyeing supplies. You’d taken the entire book itself, map and drawing included. You’d taken everything because you were fed up with him, weren’t you? You went to search by yourself. What did you have to prove by doing that? By not waiting for him to be there to catch you if you fell? You’d already been gone for several hours that morning, how far would you go? He told you the path he took, where the flowers he found were. Beyond that lake Joshua had shown you. He knew the woods grew thicker after a while, and he knew what wildlife still existed there. What if you were lost? What if you got injured?

What if you were lying out in the grass somewhere, hurt and waiting for him to come find you?

He left after breakfast the next day with a bag of food and one of the flashlights they reserved for emergencies. The stronger ones that Seungcheol had found a while back, with a pack of batteries tucked into his bag as well. He was going to find you. He had to.

Minghao made it to the lake, stopping long enough to look in for a few minutes. He pushed the thought aside, and turned to face those woods that he’d gone into the day before with the others. Jun called out to him, and when Minghao looked up, he was there with Seokmin in tow. Minghao felt more at ease. He wasn’t alone.

So they went looking.

The woods were thick. Minghao wondered why he didn’t just give up on that shade of black. Why he didn’t just convince you to dye it some other stupid color. Why he didn’t just take the lengthy process of dyeing it a deep indigo and then rust red over it so it looked black. It wasn’t the same, and he knew that, but it was the safer option. If he had convinced you, you would still be there with the others. Maybe he would have woken up with you in his arms that morning. He felt guilt rise up in his stomach, thick enough that it’d choke him if it rose any higher, at how he kept putting you off. He listened out for you as best as he could: for a whimper, a groan, a moan of pain that told him that you were at least alive. If you weren’t, it was his fault and he didn’t know how he’d live with that guilt. You would have ran away and disappeared and then died because of him.

They turned up nothing. If it weren’t for the fact that your bed was there, your little plush mouse still stayed in the middle of the room--a reminder of their missing member--Minghao would have thought that maybe he dreamed you up. But everyone knew you, they knew your face, and your hand-print still stayed right next to his. The little mouse in his drawing was still sitting with the frog. Seokmin and Jun had to coax him to return and sleep that day, outright telling him he would be no use to you if he didn’t get some rest. He barely slept, though, despite the way that Seokmin had cuddled close to him. Seokmin held him through the night: reassurance that Minghao wouldn’t try to slip away and find you again all on his own. He could only dream of you broken and crying for him, and it made him want to break down.

His shoulders shook at one point as he inhaled sharply, trying to stop himself. Minghao didn’t like to cry, especially not when he could wake everyone else up. He didn’t want to talk through his feelings: he just wanted you there in front of him, holding his hand so he could sleep. Seokmin nuzzled closer to him. He was awake.

Minghao let himself break down as he turned over, getting pulled into Seokmin’s chest so he could cry. Just to get it out and clear his head so he could sleep. It helped, too. He drifted off soon enough, body exhausted from worry and guilt.

Everyone was out looking for you by that third day, bags packed and people ready to take as long as they needed to. Minghao returned to the woods with Mingyu and Jihoon that time. He thought that maybe Jihoon was making up for the way he treated you to begin with, subtly. Minghao understood that personally: he had been cold to you, too, at first. Just out of caution: everyone that came after him could recount the way he was wary of them. Seungcheol had caught up with them soon enough, saying he had a feeling about this. He didn’t elaborate on whether that was good or bad, only that his intuition was strong that you were there. The others only searched elsewhere in case he was wrong.

No one spoke that entire time. He could tell that they wanted to, just so they could reassure him that everything was going to be okay. You took water with you because several bottles had been gone. As long as you stayed hydrated, you would be okay. Minghao thought to himself that you wouldn’t last long if you were injured, especially if you were bleeding out. But he let himself believe that you were strong: he knew you were. You were kind, and there was strength in being kind. You wouldn’t have stuck around him for so long if there wasn’t.

Jihoon grabbed him by the arm, fingers digging into his skin as he pulled him to a stop. Before Minghao could question it, he heard it, too: the softest hiccup before a sob. Minghao tore his arm away, stumbling back, and he called out your name loudly. He heard you. Another cry, no syllables to form his name or a real word, but he saw that the others were alert as well. They parted ways, each calling out for you as Minghao started looking fervently. Your name choked past his lips over and over in a mantra, and then he found you--nearly tripping over a root. You’d curled up next to a tree just ahead of him, your bag hugged close to your chest. You looked fine, actually, but he collapsed to his knees beside you the moment he was closer to you. He pulled your bag away, dropping it next to you as he started to look over your face, fingers pressed into your hot skin. Your face was puffy from crying, but that was fine.

“Are you bleeding? Did you break something?!”

You sniffled, shaking your head. “Hao--” You whimpered. “I fell.”

“You... fell?”

Your voice was sharper, “I can’t fucking walk.” You wiped at your face harshly, and he wanted to chastise you--the fabric of your shirt was too scratchy. It was only going to make you more uncomfortable and mess with your skin. “I thought--” You took a deeper breath, “I thought I heard something so I panicked and I ran and--and I fell over a big fucking root and it really hurts.”

His gaze softened. Oh. He gently pulled away after wiping away your tears, pressing a kiss against your temple. “It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as he could. “I’m here.” He leaned back, looking toward your ankles. “Which one did you hurt?”

You didn’t answer, instead roughing wiping at your face again. “I’m sorry I’m being a big baby over a twisted ankle.”

He didn’t have to ask again, now that he was looking. He could see where one of them was puffy from the swelling. All he did was brush his fingers over it before you jolted, and he apologized immediately. He reached forward, wiping away your tears again. “If you can’t walk on it, it’s a sprain, my love,” he said quietly. His fingers caressed the curve of your face. He thought he would have wanted to cry, to yell at you for being stupid and at himself for being stupid, too, and not apologizing sooner, but he could to that later if he needed to. You were scared and hurt. “The others are with me, okay? Give me a minute--”

Before he could get up, your hand shot out and caught his own. He could see how afraid you were. “Don’t,” you hiccuped again. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. Mingyu and Seungcheol were both strong enough to carry you at least part of the way back. “I told you I would come get you.”

You forced a smile. “You’re late.”

“I know,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead. He said he’d be there yesterday morning.

You squeezed his hand. “Hao...” You wiped at your face once more. “I found them.”

Of course you did. You were you. He felt tears well up, though. “You’re so stupid,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours. He was so, so tired from all the worrying, and yet he broke down into a quiet laugh. “You’re so stupid,” he repeated. “But I love you.”

Despite how you thought hearing that might make you feel, you managed a broken laugh, too. “Hao...”

He could hear his name called out, and he turned away to call out an “I found them!” to sound off his location. “Let’s go home,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead. “Don’t do this again, okay? Don’t go without me.”

You’d calmed down so much since he came to you, and you nodded despite the way he pulled you closer into his chest. “Yeah,” you said. “I won’t. Let’s go home.”

Mingyu worked out for a reason, apparently, and it wasn’t just to keep up the “rugged, hot guy” appearance that he seemed to have. With a little help from Seungcheol and Jihoon, you were hoisted up onto Mingyu’s back. If he felt any strain, he didn’t say it. Minghao thought that maybe it was because Mingyu knew you were injured, and it was easier than letting you hobble your way back or he and Seungcheol carrying you the entire way. Minghao carried your bag as he lagged behind with Jihoon, listening to Seungcheol as he tried to get the story from you. You admitted to your small disagreement with Minghao and wanted to make it up to him by finding the stupid flowers yourself because you thought that maybe he didn’t want to actually spend time with you. That, despite the fact he clearly had a soft spot for you, he somehow didn’t like you. Like the meditation and the games and the painting were all things he was merely tolerating all this time.

He thought you were an idiot for that.

Seungcheol gently scolded you despite the audience he knew the two of you had. Minghao had seen him be stern with people before, and it wasn’t surprising now. If they hadn’t found you, something else could have. What if a bear got to you? Or a snake? Or something else just as dangerous? You were lucky that Jihoon had heard you and Minghao found you first. You didn’t seem to respond too much aside from your apologies and promises to not leave without telling anyone again. It was dangerous and stupid, and you knew that especially now with a sprained ankle.

Mingyu mentioned making adjustments to Seungkwan’s old crutch when they went back. He’d injured his foot a few months ago, and they could make it work for you. Someone else would break down multiple chunks of ice so that they could ice your ankle. Even when you were in trouble for your impulsive decisions that resulted in you getting injured, you were clearly being cared for. Seungcheol took over for the rest of the way back. Minghao could see the sweat on his brow and the strain on his face from having to carry another person, but he said nothing to you other than his continued talk about how they’d handle it. Just so that you were on the same page.

You asked if you ruined your celebration. Seungcheol called you dumb outright for thinking he’d just take that away from you. Minghao nearly snorted at that: Seungcheol didn’t always call people things like that, but it truly meant you were a part of the group if he reached that comfort level with you. They’d do it when you were better. No doubt you’d be put on bed rest for the next few days, just to give yourself the best chance at recovering sooner.

The others had gathered back in front of the church already, the sun setting over the horizon. Minghao could see the collective relief on everyone’s faces at seeing you again, even if you were injured. They rushed over to where Seungcheol was letting you down, supporting you as best as he could so that you wouldn’t have to put too much weight on your ankle. You were hit with question after question about whether you were okay, why you decided to leave so impulsively, but Seungcheol warded them all off. You were hurting and they needed to tend to that first. Explanations could wait: your well being couldn’t.

Minghao sat nearby as Joshua was handed a towel with broken pieces of ice inside of it. It’d been cushioned enough to avoid direct contact. Wonwoo had found this book of first aid things forever ago, and had been reading off a few things they’d already known--and Minghao suspected it was just to keep you aware of every step they were taking to make sure you would be okay. Wonwoo kept glancing up at you for a reason, after all.

Joshua looked up as he pulled out the roll of compression bandages from the first aid kid they’d managed to put together. “This is going to hurt for a moment, okay?”

You whined a little--you’d been in enough pain, thank you--and Minghao offered his hand to you. You didn’t hesitate to take it, fingers clasping tight around it while Joshua propped your leg up enough so he could wrap your ankle snug. Thankfully, you were able to put a little bit of weight on your foot, as they had found out once Seungcheol let you down. Joshua still sentenced you to two days of rest, just so you could recover faster. You hadn’t reported any pops or tears, at least, and you probably would have been in worse pain otherwise. Joshua wrapped the towel around your ankle, asking if you could feel the ice. When you nodded, he merely proceeded to readjust pillows to keep your foot elevated.

“You’re going to want to keep it elevated above your heart,” he told you. He then looked to Minghao: “Make sure they do that.”

He almost wanted to say that he wasn’t your nurse. Minghao knew he wasn’t going to leave your side right now. “Joshua...” He looked away from you. “Is Mingyu done cooking?”

Mingyu and Seokmin had opted to make dinner for everyone, making sure that they made something filling for you. You had eaten over the past few days, sure, but that wasn’t going to stop them from making sure you were hydrated and well. Minghao had heard mentions of soups and things that were heartier for you. He’d give you his own portion if he needed to.

Joshua already knew what he wanted. “We’ll go check,” he said, looking at Wonwoo and nodding to leave. They could run interference, too: Chan probably wanted to see you, as did Seungkwan and Hansol. Minghao thought it was sweet how close you were to them still. He still wanted his moment alone with you.

Soon enough, it was just the two of you alone. He sat there, still holding your hand. He’d left your bag just out of reach.

“Why?”

You looked up at his sudden question. “Why what?”

“Why did you think I don’t like spending time with you? I do.”

“I don’t know...” You frowned. “It just felt like you kept putting it off because you didn’t want to go.”

“I put it off because I was scared,” he told you outright. “I know the others would have come looking for us if we didn’t come back, but...”

If he watched you get hurt and couldn’t help you, he wouldn’t want to face you or anyone else again.

“I love spending time with you,” he said. “You always listen to what I have to say and make sure I feel heard. The others do it, too, but...” It was like you just knew how to make him feel valued and loved within your first few days there. Like you just knew him. “It’s different with you.”

“What you said before,” you hesitated for a moment. But you decided to ask what was on your mind: the things he said hours ago that still stayed with you throughout the pain. “When you called me stupid... Did you mean it?”

“That’s--” He shook his head. “I was upset--”

“Not that.” You worded it wrong. You took a deep breath. “That you loved me.”

“No,” he said, smiling at you. “I told you I love you. Present tense.”

Sunshine yellow had been perfect for you: your smile was as invigorating as sunshine itself. “You’re dodging the question,” you teased.

“Am I?” He ran his thumb along the back of your hand. “Isn’t that your answer?”

You only laughed softly in response, enamored with him thoroughly. “Maybe,” you said. “But I think you should tell me again.”

He smiled at you, only to lean in and press his lips against yours a moment later. It was gentle, partially because he was afraid of doing anything that might hurt you. He pulled away after a moment, one hand cupping your face while he held your hand tightly. “I love you,” he declared, and it felt like a promise, too. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” you pressed your forehead against his. “I love you, too.”

taglist:

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[rose-petal-ink]

Okay so, I was thinking about the post I made some time ago last month about how it’d be a game changer if Dorian told Basil about his decaying portrait and how it mentally affects him, and how they’d work on fixing the issue. I felt like writing a short fic just for fun to practice some writing and expand on a small idea I had. I wanted to pair a doodle with it that relates to the whole idea but for some reason I just couldn’t ✨art ✨and I don’t feel like frustrating myself further 😐. So now a small fic will ensue:

(Reminder: most of this isn’t accurate to the original novel. It just spans off from a little idea I had and is mostly consisted of little tidbits from my head canons for these two 💖)

🫐🍑

“We will try something else, Dorian,” said the disgruntled painter as he retired a brush to his easel.

Dorian Gray let out a half-frustrated, half-anxious sigh. He had been perched on a stool across from where Basil had stationed himself behind a large canvas and easel for hours now, sitting for a portrait that had already been completed years ago. Dorian dropped his perfectly poised self and slouched, letting his weight fall down onto the stool. He watched as Basil began to clean up his little work station, grabbing paint cans and shoving them inside of a crate.

“What else is there to try?” Dorian croaked. He brought a pale hand up to rub his tired eyes.

“We will figure something out. But for now let us settle down for the night. It’s far too late to keep you at it anyway,” replied Basil.

Dorian Gray exhaled slowly. He was about to offer his help to the painter but refrained when he reminded himself that he would instantly be denied. Basil typically never accepted help from anyone, especially Dorian—and especially when Dorian was in such a compromised state.

After sitting on the stool for another minute, Dorian decided to get up to make his way over to the divan just a few feet away from where he was. He looked at it, somewhat mapping his route there as if he were about to cross a rickety bridge over a volcano. There was nothing in his way, but he felt horrendously lightheaded and feared he would fall if he was not extra careful. Slowly he slid off of the seat. Just as he did so, he felt blood rush all throughout his head and blur his vision. He gripped the seat of the stool for a moment while he recomposed himself with a groan.

Immediately Basil turned around. “Are you alright?” he questioned.

“Yes, yes I’m alright, Basil,” Dorian murmured. He finally left the stool and inched his way over to the divan on which he flung himself. He brought a hand to his forehead. “I’m alright.”

Basil huffed in slight concern. Before picking up his paint palette, he passed the easel and stopped to gander at the portrait. Before him was the horrible picture of Dorian Gray that he painted years ago—only, he did not paint it that way. It did not look horrible when he first painted it, instead having shown the wonderful image of a young man in the prime of his youth, with a radiant smile and rosy lips and eyes as blue as the sky. Now the portrait was corroded, even down to the fibers of the canvas it was painted onto. The figure standing tall in the center wore a ghastly expression; his skin was grey and decayed; his hair was the color of hay that had been left out too long in the rain. The whole portrait looked like it had been vandalized, and it had, but not by hand. Years had passed between the completion of the portrait and that very moment in Basil Hallward’s studio, and the man seated on the divan had not aged one bit. Both Basil and Dorian very well knew the story, though, and resolved not to think about it in great detail as it brought anguish to them both, especially Dorian. Basil uttered a soft noise of acknowledgment.

“Oh stop looking at that damned canvas, would you, Basil?” Dorian groaned, feeling his friend’s worry and confusion from across the room.

“My apologies, Dorian. I just—my God, this is not something I ever thought could be possible in all my years,” said Basil. He turned away and continued cleaning up.

Dorian sighed. “It’s what I get for selling my soul, no? It was bound to happen, Basil.” He lowered himself further on the divan to lie down on his side. His head felt like a whirlwind and he tried shutting his eyes to combat the feeling.

“Don’t talk like that. You merely made the wish of an innocent boy whose mind was plagued with foolish ideologies. I told you not to listen to Harry.”

“Please, Basil; Harry hadn’t any idea what he was saying, either. After having seen me battle with this, he has completely changed the way he thinks. Trust me, Basil. I know you haven’t spoken to him in a while, but…he changed.”

Basil snorted, pushing up his spectacles with his right middle finger. He began to scrape the dried paint off of his palette with a palette knife. The sound of the knife against the palette made Dorian flinch and shudder.

“I don’t like what Harry has done to you,” Basil remarked after a moment of silence had gone by. His back was turned to Dorian.

Dorian Gray took one of the pillows on the divan and used it to shield his fragile eyes from any abrasive light shining from the ceiling’s lamps. He hugged it close to his face. “Harry did nothing to me, Basil. It was I who ruined myself. It was I who made that ‘innocent wish’ as you call it,” he said.

The painter hit Dorian with a fast rebuttal almost before Dorian could finish speaking. “No,” he said, quite authoritatively. “No. It was Harry who fed you such foolish ideas about life and youth and boyhood, and practically sold you on staying young forever as if he were the Devil himself.”

Removing the pillow just a tad, Dorian peeked at his friend across the studio. He looked at his broad shoulders, how stiff they were with concern and pummeling stress. He caught a glimpse of his frantic eyes and how they scanned over everything in the studio (especially the portrait). And he noticed, in the sea of jet black that made up Basil’s luscious curls, plentiful strands of grey hair that served as Dorian’s marker for how much time truly had passed. Basil was so youthful when he painted the portrait. It was as if whatever was happening to the portrait was also happening to Basil, not because of Dorian’s foolishness, but because of the worry he felt deep inside for Dorian Gray that eventually began to mar him physically. Anything decayed because of Dorian, it seemed.

“Basil, please,” Dorian mustered out with whatever voice he had left in him before it cracked. “Please stop it. Please come sit down. I don’t want to hear anymore talk about Harry or his ‘involvement’ with all of this. He is just as innocent as you are—as everyone is besides me. Now come sit.”

“Why, do you not feel well?” Basil questioned.

Almost instantly upon hearing his friend’s voice he was on high alert. He knew Dorian had not been feeling well ever since the portrait began to show its first signs of sin, and that no medicine could cure the anguish Dorian endured because of it. Seeing Dorian decline rapidly pierced Basil’s heart. Whenever Dorian began to feel unwell, Basil began to feel anxious. In turn he dropped his palette and knife and jumped to Dorian’s aid. He crouched down next to the divan.

“There you are,” Dorian sighed, relieved.

“Do you need anything? I could put on some tea, or see if the nighttime market is still open if you are hungry, or—“

“No. Just sit.”

Basil adjusted himself to sit on the wooden ground next to the divan.

“If I am going to retire for the night, so are you. You have been painting away at that portrait since”—Dorian peered at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room—“five-o’clock yesterday morning. It is now three-o’clock in the morning of the next day. Just relax; there is nothing more we can do.”

Basil shook his head. “We will try something else, Dorian. I promise,” he said.

With a shaky hand, Basil cupped Dorian’s soft cheek and rubbed it with this thumb. He brushed over Dorian’s faint freckles, eying them like they were constellations amidst a wide galaxy. Dorian was as beautiful as he was on the day Basil met him. He wondered how Dorian would look if he actually had aged in the years spanning between the completion of the portrait and that very moment in the studio. Probably just as beautiful if not even more beautiful.

“What else are we going to try, Basil? We have tried London’s best psychics, we have tried churches, and we have just tried painting over the impurities in the picture. What more can we do?” Dorian whispered, his exhausted blue eyes staring into Basil’s frantic brown ones.

“We will—“

“I don’t want to waste your time,” added Dorian. The volume of his voice rose from a whisper to a cracked mumble.

Bail was taken aback. “You are not wasting my time, Dorian,” he declared. “I willingly—“

“But I am. All we have been doing for months now is running around like lunatics, trying to erase the mistake I made. I should have never sought your help if it were going to be this time consuming and wear you down so much. I feel as though I have destroyed you and any beautiful thing in my path after I sold my soul away,” Dorian Gray spoke. Tears budded in his bloodshot eyes.

“You forget that you sought my help and I willingly gave it to you. You forget that I value you more than anything else, Dorian Gray. You have not destroyed me. There is nothing you could do to me, Dorian, that would destroy me. You are too much of an angel,” Basil said.

Dorian turned further in towards Basil as a small whimper escaped his mouth. He still hugged the pillow. “I am a devil, Basil. You forget that.”

“I won’t hear it. Listen to me, Dorian. I am helping you because I love you. If I did not love you, I would have never painted this portrait in the first place. I love you too much to stand by and watch you suffer under this mysterious curse. I am going to do anything and everything in my power to bring you out of it, whatever that may be,” declared the painter.

A singular tear rolled down Dorian’s cheek and onto Basil’s hand. It was wiped away immediately only for another few to follow. Dorian lied there in silence, hugging the pillow and staring down at the floor before him. He embraced the gentle pressure he felt on his cheek from Basil’s large hand. He felt safe for a split second when he gave into the feeling of Basil’s hand. But then when he looked back up at the painter and saw worried eyes, trembling lips, and grey hair, he shuddered at the wilted flower he killed.

“You have always been an incredibly selfless man, Basil Hallward,” he murmured.

“I have always loved you, Dorian Gray,” Basil returned.

The studio fell silent. Dorian turned back over to look at Basil directly in his eyes. He was a tad unsure of what exactly Basil had said, but it was no matter. He took the painter’s cheek and pulled him into a delicate yet full and ginger kiss. His hand sailed up from Basil’s cheek to the back of Basil’s head where it gently rested while their lips remained locked.

Basil was taken aback by the kiss but accepted it nonetheless, equally meeting Dorian halfway in the gesture. He found himself being unable to breathe properly but somehow managing to close his eyes and enjoy a kiss for once without being overly anxious about it.

After another moment or two, Dorian slowly pulled away, hand still planted on Basil’s cheek. He kept his face near the other’s just enough to whisper, “And I have always loved you too, Basil Hallward.”

The words made Basil melt. He smiled softly at Dorian Gray and shuddered at the sensation of his lips being brushed with Dorian’s thumb. He lowered himself down to lie his head on Dorian’s shoulder, just enough to allow Dorian most of the space but to also keep them both comfortable. Dorian’s hand ran up Basil’s back and to his hair; he played with the jet black, almost licorice-like locks, and took extra time playing with some of the grey strands he came across. Everyone he knew had grey hair for the most part except himself.

“Should I call us a cab to get home?” Basil questioned a moment later, rising from Dorian and the divan.

Dorian’s hand was still in Basil’s hair, ruffling it softly. “I am afraid I cannot move from this spot.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“I feel as though I must faint or fall asleep, one of the two. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“Alright then. I will stay the night here with you.”

A sigh escaped Dorian’s mouth. “You are so sweet, but if you must go home—“

“No, I mustn’t. I can stay the night here with you,” said the painter matter-of-factly.

Dorian rubbed his sore eyes and smiled at the man next to him as best as he could. “Take that coat off first, at least; it’s got paint all over it.”

Basil looked down at the garment he was wearing: a brown coat that was not so brown anymore, instead a mix of colors ranging from blues to purples to oranges to yellows. He shrugged it off and tossed it to the side where it collapsed upon itself into a colorful pool on the floor. Basil also undid his orange tie just so he would be more comfortable.

“I think I have a spare change of clothes in the closet over there, Dorian, if you’d like to sleep in something other than your suit. I should have a large shirt, and a blanket somewhere,” Basil said.

Dorian flicked his wrist in place of shaking his dizzy head. He then began to undo his blue tie as well. “No, no, Basil. I’m fine just like this.” He hung his tie on the back cushions of the divan. “Now, where are you going to sleep?” he asked.

“Oh, right here,” said the painter, shuffling around in his little spot on the floor. “I hope you don’t mind but I want to stay close to you tonight…considering how you are feeling.”

Dorian Gray frowned. “I don’t mind at all but Basil, won’t you be uncomfortable? I won’t have you sleep on the floor… It is far too uncomfortable.”

“I’m comfortable so long as I’m next to you.”

The painter looked at him with sincerity and nodded slightly with his head. Dorian could not help but smile brightly at his friend. It was the brightest he had smiled in a long time, considering how he had been feeling for the past few years. To have a friend that would, under any circumstances, help him and stay next to him in his lowest moments meant more than the world to him. Basil in particular meant more than life to him.

“You truly are a selfless man…” Dorian mumbled. He wriggled around on the divan. “But I’m sure I could make at least some room for you if you needed—“

Basil put a firm but gentle hand on Dorian’s shoulder, grounding him and stopping him from any more movement. He simply shook his head and insistently said, “No, thank you. I appreciate your kindness but I cannot share that space with you. You are more in need of it than I am.”

“Then sleep on a chair at least?” suggested Dorian.

“I haven’t any real chairs, only stools. Now let’s stop this banter and get to sleep, Dorian. We are both terribly exhausted,” Basil said.

Basil removed his hand and Dorian settled down into the cushions of the divan. Dorian watched as Basil reached over for his previously discarded coat and began to fold it up into a lumpy square. He placed it where his head would lie.

A hand ran through Basil’s hair to slick it back, moving it away from his eyes. As he went down to unbutton his vest he began: “I apologize that I do not have a bed or a fuller sofa in here; this divan is all I—“

Dorian took a hold of Basil’s cheek and pulled both Basil and himself into a hearty, rich kiss. The painter, startled by the swift action, uttered a noise of confusion but was soon comforted by the soft hand on his cheek that ran its thumb in a loving, stroking motion. Basil’s stiff shoulders dropped and his brows settled right above his closed eyes. His hands inched up to hold Dorian’s arms; his grip was not too tight nor too loose, just loving and full. Dorian removed his hand from the other’s cheek to push up the spectacles obstructing him from fully pressing his face against Basil’s. Their noses scrunched up against each other’s cheeks. Dorian returned his hand to Basil’s face for the remainder of their kiss.

When they separated, Basil’s spectacles fell down onto the bridge of his nose. He adjusted them along with some ruffled parts of his beard where Dorian’s hand was. Dorian pulled his sore body back onto the divan and hugged a pillow close to his chest. His pale cheeks flushed a bright rose color. It was as if the kiss had breathed a bit of life into Dorian, returning him to the youthful man he once was just for a moment.

“The divan is fine, Basil, I can make do with it,” Dorian whispered.

“I promise I would offer you something better if I had it.”

“Hush, I don’t care. You already offer me the best.”

Basil shuffled around to lie down on the wooden floor. Carefully he placed his aching head on the makeshift pillow he constructed out of his coat, and wriggled around just enough so he could have a decent view of the man lying a few inches above him. He had to keep an eye on him during the night.

Basil went back to unbuttoning his vest. “Come morning I will go to the market to fetch us breakfast. Then I will try repairing the ripped parts of the canvas, maybe even call in another psychic or priest to look at it, one from Cambridge since we have tried most of the ones in London,” explained Basil.

A sigh escaped through Dorian’s parted lips. He subtly wiped away a tear that formed in the corner of one of his eyes. “I would not worry about the last part. You already have done so much for me and it has proven a failure, so stop while you are ahead. It has made itself clear to me that I must live like this for the rest of my life,” he replied, his voice dry and low.

The painter shook his head. “I am going to try everything until I run out of things to try, Dorian. I promise you, we will try something else if another doesn’t work. You do not deserve to live under this anguish. I am going to help you out of it,” he declared, his voice propelled by the thumping in his chest. His hand slowly crept upwards for Dorian’s, whose hand he squeezed tightly once received. Quietly, almost as if people were listening in, Basil raised his head to speak solely to Dorian. “I will do anything for you, Dorian Gray.”

Hearing Basil’s statement made Dorian shudder. Many people have declared such devotion to him over the years, just to all end in shambles and ruin because of him. Dorian knew he had already ruined Basil Hallward despite the man’s countering rebuttals. It was plain to see: Basil was exhausted, his hair was greying, and he was no longer the man he was when they first met. Dorian was confused as to why Basil continued to stay devoted to him and for a moment it plunged him into deep thought, but he was pulled out of it when he felt his hand being squeezed by the man lying beside and beneath him. Then he realized it.

Basil Hallward, unlike others, saw that Dorian Gray too was struggling. He saw that Dorian Gray was in pain as well, and it only came after he had caused others pain, after he had realized that he was acting on another’s dime, whether it was Lord Henry’s or whoever got a hold of him at whatever moment. Dorian Gray became the puppet to many masters. Many saw that he had become the master to many puppets. Basil saw how disheveled the marionette had become after letting so many masters pull on his strings, teaching him to become a master as well. Dorian Gray, in a sense, was used, chewed up, tossed to the curb, and Basil could see it all. Dorian only wished Basil could see that through all of the usage, chewing, and tossing: he, in another light, became a master of puppets too.

But Dorian was done now. He had cut off all of his masters’ strings and threw away the stage on which he performed, and had others perform. Now he had to cut off the portrait’s strings. The portrait had a control over him that he could not quite identify or come to, but he tried to make sense of it many times over again in his mind. It had a grip on him like the full moon does on a werewolf, or like blood does on a vampire. Dorian wished he could understand what was being done to him that he could not see, because then if he understood, maybe distancing himself from it would be much easier.

With another sigh, Dorian squeezed Basil’s hand as tightly as he could with whatever strength he had left for the night. He kept it close to his lips, almost wanting Basil to feel his breath on his hand to ensure that he was there, that he was still alive under the portrait, that there was still a Dorian Gray somewhere. A tear had rolled onto it while Dorian lied there in silence.

“I love you, Basil Hallward,” he finally murmured after allowing himself time to put his thoughts aside.

Basil secured his grip on Dorian’s hand. He picked himself up to kiss it before sinking back down to the ground. “I love you too, Dorian Gray. Good night.”

Dorian emitted a soft whimper. “Good night, Basil.”

🫐🍑

[catgirlforkaeya]

“kiss me in the seat of your rover”

kaeya x gn!reader

hurt/comfort + college au

warnings: not proofread + all lowercase + alcohol + mentions of smoking + mentions of manipulation (?) + love confessions at the end teehee

a/n: yes this is based off wish you were sober by conan gray but it’s more so just based off the lyric in the title specifically ig 😭 also i didn’t want to use any names of characters for the guy who dips on you so just make up a name idk. this got rushed at the end i’m sorry i got tired asf halfway through but didn’t want to give up & if this doesn’t make sense 😭

music blasted throughout the house, so loud that you could barely even hear your own thoughts. multiple colored lights flashed to the beat. your head was spinning as you aimlessly walked through the halls, passing by unknown people who reeked of alcohol. the smell of smoke was fogging your head, making it a little hard to think.

you were desperately trying to find the person that brought you here, but that was like searching for a needle in a haystack at these parties. everybody was drunk or high, off doing their own things. hell even you were a little tipsy because you decided to have a drink or two.

you wanted to leave. now. you absolutely despise parties like these and were regretting agreeing to go. you couldn’t leave because you didn’t drive yourself here, and you didn’t trust ubers. you couldn’t find your friend anywhere and everyone you asked were no help. it’d be one thing if you knew more people here but you recognized absolutely nobody. you could feel a pool of anxiety begin to form at the bottom of your stomach.

as you turned to walk down another hall you felt somebody bump into you. just as you were about to tell them off for being blind, you finally saw a recognizable face.

it was kaeya, your best friend. you felt yourself breathe a little easier knowing that you finally sound somebody you could trust.

“y/n?” kaeya’s eyes widened when he saw that it was you. “what are you doing here??”

“i’ll explain but can we go somewhere quieter?? i don’t feel like yelling over this music,” your voice was already hoarse from having to shout at people during your search.

kaeya lightly grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby room. it was empty thank god, and a lot quieter. there was a small couch and a table, dimly lit by a lamp on said table.

“i thought you hated these type of things?” kaeya’s voice was written with confusion. he sat on the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“i do. one of our friends begged me to come and then completely dipped not even 30 minutes into the party,” you let out a sigh as you plopped down on the couch next to him.

“who?” kaeya cocked his head to the side a little bit, looking over at you.

when you said the name he immediately felt anger building up. kaeya suddenly remembered your friend saying how he’d managed to convince you to come to the party a few days prior, bragging about his ways that would make it even more “fun” for you. kaeya had told him it was a bad idea since he knew you weren’t a fan of this stuff, but he obviously didn’t listen.

this “friend” had been obviously leading you on for months now, making it seem like he had feelings for you but then he’d turn around and sleep with a new girl every other week. kaeya had called him out multiple times saying to cut the shit but it never worked. he was regretting not confronting you now. he was afraid that you’d think he was making it up, and he didn’t want to risk losing you. you were one of the most important people in his life.

“that son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“what? did you know about this?” you sat up quickly, feeling your heart begin to race a little. you had no idea what was going on anymore and who you could trust honestly.

“no— not really. just let me explain, you don’t have to believe me but i know the truth behind everything,” kaeya looked back over at you, positioning himself so his body was facing you.

you sat there and let him explain the whole situation. the further he explained stuff the more you started piecing together, feeling stupid as hell for not realizing but also feeling your heart shatter. you had feeling yes, but you didn’t have huge feelings for your friend. it still hurt though. to know somebody you trusted was manipulating and leading you on while doing awful things behind your back was painful.

you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at kaeya for not telling you. you understood being scared of telling somebody because they could think you were making everything up. he even went as far to show screenshots from a groupchat of stuff your friend had said.

“that’s— wow,” you leaned back into the couch, unable to find any words to describe how you felt. angry? upset? nothing at all??

“i’m sorry, i should have said something,” kaeya’s eyes stayed fixed on yours. he could see the pain that you were holding inside. eyes really do betray a person.

“no, it’s okay. i understand i’m not mad, i promise,” you gently placed a hand on his as a sign of reassurance.

kaeya nodded slightly, pressing his lips together. “do you want me to drive you home? i can tell you’re miserable here.”

“yes—!” you sounded a little too excited, you didn’t even realize until the words came out of your mouth. “uhm- yes, please. if it’s not too much of a hassle for you.”

kaeya let out a small chuckle at how you tried to cover up your action. standing up, he held a hand out to you.

“c’mon, the faster we get out the better.”

—

thankfully kaeya knew the way to your apartment. he’s came there multiple times and basically has it memorized at this point. you really didn’t want to have to explain directions right now because your mind was too clouded. between the smell of booze and smoke that you’d smelt for hours and the news you just found out you were completely lost in your head.

halfway through the drive you felt kaeya place his hand on your thigh. it was enough to make you jump a little, ripping you out of your headspace. despite the fact it startled you a little you actually enjoyed it. he’d occasionally rub small circles on top of your skin, making your heart flutter.

it didn’t take very long for you to get to your apartment building. you looked out the window to see the mostly dark building right outside of it. for some reason you were dreading leaving the car because after that you’d be alone.

“hey,” kaeya tapped his fingers on your thigh gently to get your attention. you looked over at him, his face half lit up from the streetlights. “i’m sorry about everything that happened. i know there wasn’t all that much i could do but i still feel bad. you deserve better.”

“you don’t need to keep apologizing. honestly all that i care about right now is that you managed to find your way to me tonight. i don’t know what i would’ve done,” you let out an airy laugh, an obviously forced smile on your face.

“you could’ve called me, y’know. even if i wasn’t at the party i would’ve came,” kaeya said. he slowly lifted his hand off of your thigh and cupped your cheek. he could tell you were hurting right now, and seeing you upset just shattered his own heart to be honest.

“i really don’t deserve you,” you joked, causing the two of you to laugh in unison.

you two sat there in silence for awhile, just staring at each other while kaeya held your face in his hand. honestly this whole experience was awful but at the same time it also kinda made you realize something.

this whole time you were being lead on you weren’t in love with your friend, you were in love with kaeya.

everything made sense now. you did have some feelings for your friend but looking at it now they were nothing compared to the feelings you felt for kaeya. you didn’t even know how long you liked him— probably almost as long as you’ve known each other. everything he’d do made you get all flustered. after what he did tonight though, you clearly saw why you liked him.

kaeya was always there for you, no matter what. no matter what time it was or how busy he was, he’d drop everything for you. you once called him at like 5 in the morning a complete mess because your boyfriend at the time had just dumped you and you had nowhere to go. despite the fact he had classes within a few hours, he came and picked you up and took you back to his place. he treated you better than anybody that you’ve ever had any romantic interest in combined.

“i love you,” you randomly blurted out, cursing yourself slightly because you didn’t want to say that out loud.

kaeya sat there and didn’t say anything. you knew that was a sign for you to elaborate on what you said, so you did that.

“i know it’s random and i really shouldn’t be confessing my feelings to somebody right after i just got played by somebody else, but i love you. a lot. i’ve been really blind to it the whole time a-“ you got cut off mid sentence by a kiss. kaeya had leaned across the middle console, and was now kissing you.

his kiss was soft and gentle. he kissed you as if you were the most fragile item in the whole world, if he got any rougher you’d shatter into a million pieces.

when you two pulled away, he gave you his answer; “i love you too.”

“it hurt standing on the sidelines watching that asshole fuck with your emotions but i didn’t want to randomly confess because that’d cause too much issues— i honestly thought you liked him so that’s why i held off for so long,” kaeya explained as he rested his forehead against yours, eyes locking for the nth time tonight.

you honestly didn’t know how to respond to that so you just kissed him again, a little harder this time to send the signal that he didn’t have to be so gentle with you.

“can you stay the night?” you mumbled against his lips between kisses. you’d been holding off asking this but you didn’t want to be without him tonight.

“yes, i’d love to.”

who would’ve thought your first kiss with your best friend (now boyfriend) would be in the seat of his rover.

© all rights reserved to catgirlforkaeya. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

[seraphemin]

wish I were...

after Harry kisses reader, she watches him mesmerized as his ex walks by

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST. WORD COUNT - 2,109

A/N: this is the first imagine I’ve ever posted on here hehe. but this most likely will be a 2-3 part mini series of pure angst...so yay!

____________________________________________________________

   "My goodness, I can't believe it's been a year and this is how we're celebrating it? " I take a sip from my wine glass with a raised brow towards Harry. We were sat on the floor at the recording studio, having a makeshift little picnic to celebrate a year. A whole year of a beautiful friendship. "Well I thought it'd be fitting, ya know this is where we met and stuff. Look, I even got those Korean chips that you snacked on that day!" I laugh as he comically picks up a chip and places it in his mouth, followed by an exaggerated moan. I try to hide the blush rapidly heating up my face at how much effort he put into this silly thing. It started as a little joke I brought up to him one day when we were having a lazy day, and of course Harry would take it seriously. He planned the little picnic basket after a day in the studio when everyone else left and he had asked me to stay a little longer to help him with lyrics and whatnot. It was a complete surprise and I couldn't help but adore how happy and proud he was setting this up. 

"Alright I gotta give it to ya H, you are the bestest friend anyone could ever ask for. I'm just happy that you didn't include those disgusting kale chips of yours." The smile that hasn't left his face drops into a shocked and offended look. 

"Hey, you said you wouldn't make fun of my addiction anymore." He scoots closer to me, gently poking my rib to which I immediately jump and swat his hand away. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry!" I giggled when he makes himself comfty sat right next to me. 

Subconsciously, I move closer till his shoulder touched mine. "I like this sweater, it's fluffy and keeps people warm." I say, huddling into the fabric that Harry gave me to wear when it got colder. "You know what, I like all your sweaters H, they're all impeccable."   He chuckles, "really? It looks better on you than me, bubs." I smile, using the over-sized sleeves to cover my face and faking a groan. "Oh you would with that cliché ass line."  "It's true! Beautiful in m'clothes." He mumbles and I had to only respond with gratefully lending my shoulder as a resting spot for his head. Considering he literally had to bend his whole body to do so every time he does this, I never understood how he found this comfortable. We shared a comfortable silence for a minute, sipping on our wine, the bottle nearly finished. The courage coming from it is telling me this would be the perfect time. It's the right setting to finally tell him that my feelings go beyond friendship and that it has been since the first month. The thought made me nervous at first, but there had been so many signs from him that had me thinking he's feeling the same way. Maybe those were just my expectations and how loving Harry is, but every time I look at him, I'm mesmerized. "Honestly don't know what I'd do without you bubs." Harry suddenly says and I snap out of my thoughts to glance down at him staring at his empty glass. My heart started beating fast and my breathe hitched when he pulls away only a few inches away to look back at me "This was a tough year and you've been there with me through it all, haven't been this close to someone in that short of time." He says lowly, looking right into my eyes. I take his hand in my small ones and play with his fingers in comfort, as we reflected on how this was both the best and worst year for him. While he became such a successful solo artist after the band and created the best relationships in his life, he reached a mental low dealing with his own insecurities and went through a breakup that took a major toll on him. They ended on good terms, but Harry went through the aftermath of a loss alone. I came in a month after his break up, hired as a lyricist to help him get out of this creative block but also to help him realize how much he was really worth as a person. It was a gradual slow process of friendship at the start, but it quickly blossomed into becoming best friends, growing feelings in between for me. "You're so good to me, I don't deserve it." He was so close and I couldn't tell if I was leaning in or not. My chest feels like it's bursting. "Harry, you've done so much for me, don't put yourself down like that. You deserve my love, mkay?" He looked so vulnerable, staring into my eyes as I couldn't pinpoint what emotion he was feeling right now. I was always able to read Harry easily, but maybe it was the wine that made it harder to understand what was racing through his mind. I couldn't register it. His lips on mine were foreign but felt right, like they fit perfectly. His hands cupping my face gently made me realize this was actually happening. My best friend who I've loved for so long was finally kissing me. "You absolutely deserve mine... "                                                        ***    My anxiety was getting the best of me. The party wasn't like any other rowdy and crowded New Year's Eve celebration. It was a gathering of close friends and mutual at a penthouse with just enough drinking and fun shenanigans. I knew all these people and they knew me, yet it wasn't easy to breathe regularly for some reason. I smiled and laughed along with the conversation among the circle of friends I situated myself in with Harry standing to my right, two people in-between us. I anxiously played with my fingers wrapped around a bulbous wine glass, zoned out but somewhat participating with the group. I caught his eyes, both of us giving a smile when he shot me a quick goofy face. His eyes trailed down to my hands, an obvious tell. I respond with a reassuring smile, placing my hand on my chest to which he steps outside and moves to stand next to me. I soften as he places a hand casually on my back, rubbing up and down. The nerves die down a bit. Usually, I would of been full comfortable but it was different now. After the kiss Harry and I shared, nothing had changed as much as I wanted it too. There was still the casual flirting and touchy gestures, but other than that, Harry never brought it up. "Soo, what now?" I had asked him when he dropped me off at my apartment. He gives me a tight smile and takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "Still my best girl." I was confused afterwards, not fully understanding how he felt towards me. "Hey, I kind of wanted to talk to you about yesterday... " I approached him in the studio, his sweater keeping me warm that morning. "Oh yeah, you never told me what you wanted for Christmas. And by the way, I'm gonna need that sweater back sooner or later." He chuckles, going back to writing down chord progressions. Him avoiding the subject made me think he didn't want to talk about it, so I stopped trying. It made me insecure a bit to show him any type of affection back, but I didn't have it in me to tell him when I'm engulfed in his huge frame, feeling safe and happy at the moment. What made me snap out of my thoughts was his hand leaving my back and slipping into his jacket pocket. He then started being part of the funny story Mitch was telling, including his own side and little comedic comments that made the group laugh. As much as it brought a smile to my face, there was nothing more I wanted to do than take his arm, wrap it around me and kiss his cheek before laying my head on his chest. He took a second here and there to glance at me, probably aware how tired i was getting even though it was only a few minutes before midnight. The kiss defiantly affected something here, as much as Harry was trying to show that it hasn't, I can at least appreciate the acknowledgment that he shared similar feelings towards me. Maybe this was him thinking about the possibilities afterwards, knowing Harry wasn't very much a confrontational person and has taken time to learn to process things more logically rather than pure emotional instinct. When he catches me staring and throws a knowing smirk followed by a wink, I melt right on the spot but at the same time, holding back from rolling my eyes. I felt his stare kept on me when I looked away, feeling less frustrated and more understanding of his situation. Maybe I do just need to give him time... When I looked back at him, he was now looking away at something else apart from the group. I didn't give it a second glance till I noticed he was fully distracted before Mitch kept calling his name but getting no response back. Harry was in deep trance at something more fascinating than his friend's story, and when I caught sight of what was distracting him, I fully understood why. She stood out, so it wasn't to hard to point her out. But of course she would, she looks stunning in that dress that happens to only be a different shade of color from mine. The natural glam and brightening smile on her face as she talked to mutual friends perfected her look, but it was the sound of her melodic voice that just set the deal. It was her laughter from across the room that caught his attention first, what made him break his gaze on me to her. My first thought was concern for Harry and if he was suddenly feeling overwhelmed or distraught by her presence after a breakup. But then I looked back at him and only saw longing and adoration. It was a look I only was recently familiarized with. I purse my lips to hide the frown set on my face while I felt my heart beat much faster initially, watching him mesmerized as she walks across the floor to greet more party guests. Her blue eyes wide and shining, most likely something Harry was dying to see once again as he hoped she would turn his way. Is this what hopelessness feels like? Mitch gave up on trying to catch his attention as soon as he realized who Harry was looking at, and so did the rest of the group. But here I was, desperately looking up at him in hopes that he would suddenly break away and meet my own eyes that stood right next to him. "Guys! The count downs about to start!" Someone called out, followed by cheers and applause as everyone slowly started gathering towards the balcony to see the firework show and celebration of the city below. She moves away from the crowd though, choosing to be semi alone next to the aquarium with a glass of martini in her hand. More people started crowding around us, the group disintegrated into a whole, but my focus was on Harry. As much as my anxiety and tiredness was getting worse, it couldn't compare to the ache in my chest when he takes a hesitant step towards her direction. In a second, my hand flies towards his and gently tugs to me in a last ditch of desperation while I softly call out his name. Maybe it was the way he stopped and turned his head slightly before completely pulling away and walking towards her, leaving me engulfed with the crowd alone. Or that I could picture the loving look on his face when she finally sees him approaching and gives him a welcoming smile while the sound of people counting down from 20 is muddled into the background. All I could imagine to hear was his small 'hi' and compliment for how beautiful she looks, knowing how nervous he would be. "3, 2, 1! Happy New Years!" The celebration of those around me drowned out my glossy eyes as I see Heather take Harry's hand in hers, sharing that same complete adoration look on her face that I was only just becoming familiar with.

_____________________________________________________________

part 2 A/N: feedback would greatly be appreciated :) 

[voidcat]

— fangs dipped in wine

characters: chuuya nakahara, you

info: vampire au, lowkey suggestive, 2.3k

a/n: let's all pretend for a hot second bram stoker was an actual author in bsd and that instead of abilities, there are vampires<3 I'll probably do a p2 to this in a timeskip way so itll b more fun yay,,

Several days ago, it was just an idea. A laughing matter. A ‘what-if’ to build scenarios on and giggle.

Several days ago, it was night time too, the taste of alcohol fresh, her laugh right beneath your ear, it was warm, and bubbly and there was a sense of direction, a certainty.

Several days ago your friend hadn’t suddenly announced dropping out and moving out of the shared apartment you two had yet. Maybe she had been considering for a while now but in that very moment, it hadn’t happened yet, your world wasn’t upside down.

“Just imagine!-“ her breath fawned over your ear, glasses clinking against one another. “So I’m talking to this guy, right? Like music stuff, and movies, and all. No feelings whatsoever,” you found it hard not to roll your eyes and was met with a shove. “Not like that!” she protested. “He tells me about his boyfriend, I even helped him plan a surprise party once.”

“You cannot know if he’s faking…” you remember saying, in that knowing tone, smooth like silk and lecturing. “Yea whatever. Anyways! Get this:” placing the glass down in concentration that was foreign to her, you were intrigued.

“They don’t have vampires.”

“No way.” Slowing taking another sip from your drink, it sounded like a fantasy almost. Sure, there were rumors of not every country having vampires but it was numbered, there were so little, and the vampires? They were ever present.

“So he says: ‘Hey, aren’t they all rich peeps always wanting fresh blood? What if you have lots of blood already, and make a deal? You can trick them to pay you loads for it and you’d not even have to have them near your neck!’-“ she paused to let out a bark, you’re sure she’s been doing it since she first saw the message.

“And-“ another pause, to shed a tear, “and he says, ‘and if the vampire is hot? Bonus points! They got those fancy houses, you’d no longer pay rent either.’” The mocking of the voice comes to an end. “Can you believe? A deal, with a Vampire of all people! And he says rent fixed!”

You had to admit, for someone who claims to not met any vampires, it sounded charming on paper, but in Yokahoma?, not so much. At a moment of weakness, you looked at one another, daring, and next, breaking into a fit of laughter and downing the glass in one gulp.

How many days has it been since that night? Five? Maybe seven? It was long enough to miss her presence now, but too short to be threatened by the landlord.

One night you’re at your favorite pub with your dearest friend downing drink after drink. You can remember the stars in the sky that night, you thought it was just your brain imagining it, as well as the crescent moon hanging so delicately.

And next thing you know, you’ve just left this bar, despite the temperature it was cold on your bones, and here stands the redhead, his breath fawning over your neck, mouth open, but not to tell a story for the laughs.

He didn’t bother to hide the fangs and you didn’t bother to leave the place.

An idea you called stupid few nights ago just happened to make sense in that sad sulking state. And then he had to appear, with a glass of expensive wine, locks covering his face just fine, a vest that fits his body perfectly and fangs shining under the dim lights of the bar.

“Oh-kay, that’s enough.” You push his face off with your palm in one go. The ‘thump’ of his hat falling on the floor and the yelp coming from his lips fill the air.

“You’re no fun.” he pouts as he picks up his hat.

“So, how we’re doing this? And no, you cannot drink straight from my neck!” you finish before he can raise a finger.

A moment of silence follows the two of you, it’s a nice place. Expensive looking furniture though it’s more like a house from a catalogue than a home. Still, impressive –he, ‘what was his name again?’, definitely has a taste. The empty crystal glasses sit on the table, next to the bottle, a candle close to burning out completely flickers its flame lazily as your eyes wander.

Your gaze moves onto his sapphire eyes then, watching your every move and breath carefully, but not patiently. You can hear him vibrate with every molecule in his body, trying so hard not to lunge forward or speak up, maybe grab your arm and pull you back towards his chest.

“So? Hello?..” you drag the the ‘o’ and wave a hand in front of his face, “Anyone home?”

Like someone hypnotized stepping out of a trance at a snap of fingers, he jolts, pupils narrow, then widen and focus on your face. “Ah, sorry-“ he starts walking away.

Then he fakes a cough, as if you didn’t catch him staring already… Just how the hell did you find this guy in a city filled with vampires?

He stops, turns back, reaches for your hand and you let him. “Did you drink the wine?” he walks a step ahead, still hand in hand.

“If you ask me one more time, I’ll start suspecting you added some sort of drug.” This seems to get to him, obvious from the way he almost trips on his foot and turns back in a hurry, both hands up in defense and shaking his head like crazy.

“Wh- No- No, no no! It’s nothing like that- I-“ if he didn’t look so embarrassed, you’d even say he looks flustered. His rambling stops when you snort and decide to take pity on the guy.

“Relax I was just joking.” His shoulder drop in relief. “Besides, if you put anything, it’d have kicked in by now.”

“Ah, yeah, right…” he looks down, to his right, and that’s when you see the velvet couch there. He extends his hand, in an offering manner and follows you right after.

Reaching for a pocket in his vest, he whispers to himself, you barely hear. “I just like the taste of wine in blood...”

“Weird, not what I expected, but could be worse. I’ll take it.”

Another silence follows, he avoids your gaze while your eyes never leave his eyes fumbling with his vest and cape. Maybe it’s like one of those cape like jackets, certainly matches the vibe he carries.

Under the shivering candle light, he looks so different from the bold smug suave guy who brimmed with confidence, flashed his teeth like nothing, as if the world belongs to him and anything that does not care for him simply does not exist.

And now with the same face, sits besides you someone else, eyes cast down, hands fumbling, there’s comfort in knowing this is as awkward for you as for him.

(You wonder for a second if there’s something you can do to clear the atmosphere.)

“Maybe you should be having another glass instead of asking me.” You try to say nonchalantly and it takes him a second to get what you mean. Then he smiles, and the hint of a small giggle comes out and his body seems to calm down.

“Give me your hand.” He holds out his, the palm facing the ceiling. “Well? This is the easiest way to do it without leaving permanent marks.” He sounds irritated.

“Or noticeable.” You say and he repeats, a little impatient.

Giving him your less dominant hand, you eye the dagger for as long as you can. When the cold blade meets your palm, you can barely feel its weight.

“Okay, I’ll be honest here.” He stops midway, the dagger in the air. You raise an eyebrow, signaling him to continue. “I’ve never done… this before.”

“So- uh- whatever’s the standart payment, or the whole, you know,” he waves the hand holding the dagger in the air “etiquette for this.” He sounds to be relaxing with each word. And with him, so do you. Then comes back that familiar confidence from the earlier, decorated with a hint of threat and a dare. “Just- Don’t ever try to scam or fool me.”

And goes away the determined face, replaced with surprise, as you start laughing loud, one hand over your stomach.

“Look, listen-“ you stop as you’ve begun. “Chuuya.” He fills the gap for you.

“Listen, Chuuya.” You test his name on your lips. “I’m a broke college student who can get kicked out of their flat any day now. Crossing a vampire is the last thing on my list, trust me.”

Eyes soften, a genuine smile blooms and the silence to follow isn’t heavy anymore.

When he slashes the dagger over your hand, it doesn’t sting. The blood soon reaches the surface, red thick liquid glistening in the candle’s flame, ‘life’ it says.

This is what they want, why they want it, drink it, kill for it.

Hidden in the blood, is life, with all it has seen and will see, warm, moving, trusting.

You watch in a daze as he brings your hand to his mouth. Cold lips make content with your skin, how cold and lifeless they feel against you, you see in clear contrast. The sinking of teeth doesn’t come, you don’t flinch. You can tell he’s making an effort not to bite too hard into your giving hand. Drinking the blood slowly, trying to contain himself from getting greedy, there’s no sound in the air except for your loud heartbeat, echoing in your ear and fastening with each move of his back.

The glimpse of a smile you catch in this scene before you tells, he can hear it too, and probably relish in it.

With each flicker of the flame, his lips start to feel warmer and soon he straightens up. Not a single speck of blood on his frame, he offers you the same smug smile from earlier.

Blood makes place for itself on his face, like roses blooming under the sun. His skin gains color, you didn’t notice just how dull and gray he was up until now. Life spreads so fast in his limbs, soon you can feel his warmth near you, in the air, in your hand, on the spot your knees touch. Once the base color is done, pink decorates his cheeks faintly, most likely an after effect of all that wine.

Maybe if he intervened his fingers with yours, it’d feel warmer, and in a weird way, safer.

Watching your eyes on him with amusement in his crystal ones, he seems to enjoy this, that is until his eyes focus on a spot of yours and cannot stop examining every other spot, every single pore, mark, hair and color you have, memories you carry.

The flicker of the light blends in, the warmth pulls the two of you in, time feels gone, like it never existed, maybe nothing every existed except for the two of you sitting before each other.

A sudden crash, from the outside and the magic is gone with a snap.

Noticing your hands, you pull it back to your chest fast.

His goes back to his head and he looks away, anther shy smile on his face.

“What- How should we proceed next?” he breaks the silence first, attempting to gather back a sense of seriousness to his voice. In a way, he should too, this is technically business, isn’t it?

Glancing at your palm, you open and close it few times. Not a speck of pain is there.

“Once every week maybe? If that’s alright. Although we may cancel few weeks, you never know what comes up last minute.”

The dagger nowhere in sight, probably returned to a pocket of his already, he looks pleased with your reply. “Sounds good to me.”

Without further ado, you get up to look for the door you first walked in.

“Wait!-“ he follows in a hurry, almost slipping, again, and trying to find something in his jacket.

Go you! For forgetting why you agreed to a vampire’s house in the first place. “Is- uh- is this alright? Or is it so little? We never discussed payment, y’know.” He holds out a lot more than you expected, but then again, vampires live for thousands of years. He must have quite the amount lying around somewhere after all.

Unsure what to do with the money he slips into your hand, you meet his eyes. “That’s… more than enough actually. Thanks.”

He rests one hand on hip, taking in your surprised face. “Don’t mention it. I’ve got plenty.” Touching your elbow lightly, he guides you to the door, dragging his feet. By the time you reach the door, he makes no move to open it, not that it was ever locked in the first place.

Turning of the knob, you take a step ahead, motions limited on both sides; dragging, waiting for something to happen, something to be said, for the air to be broken.

By the time you’re one foot outside, he clears his throat with a fake cough, covering his mouth. “Same time, same place, next week?” his gaze cast on the floor, stealing glances to see what you will do next.

You turn to him with a smile. “Works for me.” And tilt your head “but what if one of us cannot find the other?”

“Oh I’ll find you alright.” He chuckles with a grin. Truly a sight to sell the whole vampire image he got going, even if he hadn’t been one.

Feet standing next to each other, you’re out now, furrowing your eyebrows with a look of disapproval to match his grin, unimpressed.

“You sound like a creep. Don’t do it again.”

And with it, you turn your back to him, already on your way. The ginger left behind, an unfinished “okay” hanging on his lips, eyes focused on your form, swallowed by the shadows, waiting for the next night to be spent with you, already impatient.

[quixotic-writer]

Lesson Plans and Challenges

Summary: Q thought it’d be funny to poke some fun at his girlfriend who works as a teacher. She makes him put his money where his mouth is and challenges him to work a day at her job.

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It started as him joking around about me organizing my lesson plans for the week saying ‘what are you stressed about? Coloring book page due?’ Then I challenged him to a day at my workplace. I went easy on him though, telling him he could come during a shift at the after school program I do for extra pay and he agreed. Here we are waiting for school to get out, classroom doors open with students looking outside at us with eager smiles.

“It can’t be that hard. I mean, you just spend these few hours outside and kids are constantly getting picked up so the population is always slowly lowering.”

“Coming from the man who doesn’t know how to talk to kids. Everyone knows this Bri. It’s very clearly shown on your little show you have.” I playfully banter with him.

“I have nieces and nephews, I know how to interact with kids.”

“Have you handled 38 at once?” His demeanor quickly drops the moment I give him a number and I start giggling, “It’s a whole grade level and it’s the largest group too. Did you not take that into account love?” He shakes his head and I see his nerves rise. “I’m sure you’ll make it out alive. The kids will find you hysterical. Just be sure to watch your foul mouth. PG settings on for today.”

“No promises that something won’t slip out.” I roll my eyes and the school bell rings and a flood of students make their way outside.

“Better clean up your act then because here they come.” I say with a smile and crack open the attendance book getting my pen ready with a wide smile as familiar faces run over to greet me.

“Ms. Sparkle! Ms. Sparkle! Look I have glasses now and I can see the board in class now!” One of the young ones jumped for joy as I marked him down as present in the attendance book.

“Well careful there Micah. Don’t want to break them right after you got them do you?” He shakes his head with a cheeky grin until his eyes dart over to Brian.

“Ms. Sparkle? Who the heck is this guy?” He points over to Brian and I try and stifle my laughter. “Who are you? Do you work here now? Most helpers are young and you’re too old to be here.” I couldn’t help but laugh audibly at that blow. Brian’s eyes went wide.

“And what makes you think i’m so old, kid?” He asks in a joking tone.

“Lots of gray hair and you have a huge beard.”

“Okay Micah, go take a seat and I'll dismiss you guys to play in a bit.” He smiles and trots away to go sit down against the wall and patiently waits for others to arrive. I shake my head and smile as I continue taking attendance. The wonders of working with kids. They just speak their honest mind and have no filter. It always makes for the most interesting conversations that I treasure.

“What’s with the ms. Sparkle thing?” Brian asks.

“Oh anyone that works in the afterschool program gets their own personalized nickname. I was dubbed Ms. Sparkle. Sami, another helper who works here, is called ms. raccoon because the kids said she looks like a human raccoon since she has dark bags under her eyes and the dark clothes she wears. Can’t wait to see what the kids come up with for you.” The line of kids continues as I check everyone off in the attendance book and they all line up on the sidewalk and talk amongst each other. Every student that comes and goes looks at Brian sideways before going off to the rest of the group. Some were more persistent with questions before I had to tell them that I'll be explaining shortly. Once everyone was accounted for, I turned to face the countless smiling faces. “Good afternoon guys, how was your day?” A mixed chorus of responses flood from all of them. Brian stands close to me and all their little eyes direct towards him. “So I have a special announcement to make for today guys.”

“Is that guy your boyfriend Ms. Sparkle?” My train of thought was quickly derailed as a student blurted out that question. A chorus of ‘ooh Ms. Sparkle has a boyfriend!’ comes from the students and Brian turns red and I snicker.

“This is Mr. Quinn, he’s my helper for today. We all remember how we treat others right?”

“The way we want to be treated!” They all respond. I smile and beam with pride.

“Awesome guys. You are all dismissed!” Just like that, the kids are quick to their feet and they all take off running to the playground. Both Brian and I stand together and watch as the kids congregate into their little groups and do their own things. Some were running around for a game of tag, some sat under the tree nearby with their toys and imaginations, and some sat near their bags with their noses in a book.

“So… What now?” Brian leans in and whispers to me.

“Well, make some rounds! Scope out the scene and keep an eye on them. Baseline rules are to be kind to each other, no bad language or toilet talk, no dangerous stunts on the playground.” I wave him off and with hands in his pockets he circles around the playground looking at all the kids unsure of how to start a conversation with any of them since they all seemed occupied with their own things. Around the corner pops in my usual helper, Sami. She gives a smile to me as she approaches and places her bag down. “You got an easy day today y’know.”

“Why’s that?” She asked as her eyes naturally darted around the playground making sure all the kids are in proper order and not getting into any mischief. I nod my head over to Brian who’s talking to a couple of boys off on the side of the playground.

“Brian came in to help for the day.” Sami snickers.

“Uh huh. And what do you mean by ‘help’?” She continues chuckling knowing all the stories I've told her about Brian’s history with kids. As I look up, I see kids climbing all over Brian like a jungle gym. One is riding on his back, two hanging and swinging off of each arm, and another connected to his leg like glue. He laughs as he tries to move about the playground with kids attached to him, each of them hollering out and laughing just as loud as he tries to shake them off. He seemed to be doing perfectly fine with the kids and something about that made my heart overflow with a river of love. Sami strolls off to give Brian a hand with the kids. With a few quick words the kids peeled off of Brian like water off a duck’s back, relief washes over him as he chuckles. My attention is quickly redirected to a few girls standing before me, the cute little clique of the sassy sweet ones.

“Hello girls, how was school today?”

“Ms. Sparkle, is Mr. Quinn your boyfriend?” Had a feeling this is what they’d be asking.

“Yeah! Do you like… Kiss and hold hands.” They all lean in with eager anticipation. I wasn’t sure how to answer this. I mean, it wasn’t a bad thing to tell the kids that I do have a boyfriend, but I wasn’t sure how far or how weird the questions were going to be. Kids just ask anything without a second thought.

“Mr. Quinn is my boyfriend. I love him very much.” Short, sweet, and to the point.

“Maybe you should date someone younger Ms. Sparkle. He has too much gray hair.”

“Well I like his gray hair. I think my boyfriend is very handsome as he is.” There he was with a bright smile on his face, talking away with a kid sitting on the rock wall.

“Gross.” And just like that, the girls were off to go and gossip elsewhere. I shake my head and laugh.

Time goes on and I watch with a smile as Brian starts warming up more and more to each of the kids as the hours pass. I didn’t interfere much or bother him because I wanted him to flourish by himself like I knew he could. He had a hard time keeping up with their more physically active demands such as games of tag, Brian being a human jungle gym, and showing off how strong he was by lifting kids with little to no effort. I’d occasionally see him hunched over catching his breath or scrunched down in attempts to take heaping gulps from the kid’s water fountain. It was funny seeing him, a fully grown man, crunching himself down a few sizes in desperation for some hydration.

He’d socialize with the kids too, answering some of their strange and unfiltered questions, telling stories about when he was a kid, and just listening to kids tell him all about their favorite things. Shockingly, it wasn’t all strictly firefighter stories like I expected it to be. Of course he did have a few of those stories to share, but instead he built off of what the kids were talking about and eased into the conversation rather than redirecting it entirely.

They dubbed him “Mr. Grizzly” because apparently reminded them of a bear. Very fitting in my opinion. My teddy bear.

Of course, there isn’t a day that goes by without a little bit of conflict. Part of me wished it was just a simple disagreement between two kids, a normal occurrence that’s easy to mediate and resolve. The wails of pain distinguished this as my other fear: an injured child. Immediately my head whips around to find where the cries are coming from and I see a circle of students right next to the walkway which told me exactly where the problem was. I quickly run over into the center of the circle to see Brian and Sami kneeling down with a kid that has a nasty gash on her knee from falling over. Tears were plentiful and cries of pain filled the silence. My heart broke as my adrenaline rose.

“Sami, grab a first aid kit, some paper towels both wet and dry.” Brian quickly took charge of the situation, as he tried calming down the student with calming words of ‘hey, it’s okay, i’m gonna fix you right up.’

“What happened?” I quickly asked.

“Seems Lily here took a nasty f–” the ‘f’ was dragged out. I knew exactly what he had been planning on saying, but he quickly switched up his words back to PG family friendly mode, “fall here on the sidewalk running.” Sami was quick to bring over everything Brian had asked for and he took them all in hand. “Thanks Sami. Now, let’s get to cleaning this up, okay?” He washed away all the blood, patting it with a wet then a dry paper towel. He dug through the first aid kit to grab some neosporin and a band aid and quickly patched Lily up.

“There… We… Go!” With a smile he leans away to take a look at his handiwork. His eyes look back up to Lily’s. She thankfully wasn’t crying anymore and he took another paper towel to carefully dry up her tears. “Does that feel better now?” She nods her head, still frowning a bit. “Oh now we can’t have a sad face on you anymore. I know what’ll help though!” He holds out his arms to her and she jumps right in with a smile as he wraps his arms tight around her and rocks her back and forth, “Mr. Grizzly bear hug!!” Lily was giggling and smiling as she was encased in his arms and I couldn’t help but smile and laugh along. Soon he released her and she was back to her old self and took off running to rejoin her friends.

“Look at you Mr. Grizzly.” I tease his new name and he smiles. “You handled that super well you know. I’m proud of you.” He lights up and if he were a dog, I just know his tail would be wagging like crazy.

“Well working in the FDNY has helped prepare me for times like these. No big deal.” Kids call to him and just like that, he was pulled back in to entertain the little ones.

The day flew by a lot quicker after that. No more incidents, no more sad faces, nothing but smiles and laughter came from the kids from then on. The day came to a close and the last kid finally went home, waving goodbye to me and fellow staff members they recognized before hopping into their car and riding off home. I place my binder away and file away everything from today that I needed to. I said goodbye to everyone and sent Sami on her way. Bri and I got into the car and he eased back into the seat of the car.

“What’s wrong honey bear? Did the coloring book page tire you out?”

“You too with the bear names?” He chuckles. “You know what, I see what you mean babe. That was tiring as hell. I almost slipped a few swear words here and there. I know for sure I'm gonna be feeling it tomorrow, felt like a human jungle gym. The kids were all over me. And you do this every day?”

“Mmm, I don’t do the after school thing every day. Just sometimes because I know the after school program is understaffed on certain days. It’s easier than actually teaching. That’s a horse of another color.”

“I bet. After this, I don’t think I can imagine that.”

“But you know, I love every moment of it. Good or bad. I wouldn’t trade this job for anything.”

“I would.” We both burst into laughter.

“Well you did great today Mr. Grizzly, you did everything just right.” With that we decided to head on home. I made my point today that my job wasn’t coloring books and glitter, but I also brought out a side of Brian that I never thought I would. One that actually does love kids despite him being too stubborn to say it.

[seongsangsgf]

Ateez Reaction: Making out during a heated argument

tags/warning:suggestive, implied smut, arguments, slight angst, some reactions may be longer than others A/N:requested by @mypsh. This is so poorly written so I’m sorry if it didn’t turn out good 😭 my first reaction request. Credits to the owners of the gifs used here

Hongjoong

Hongjoong promised you that he’d be back by 10 so that he can spend some time with you for your anniversary. He was at the studio making another song for his group. It was already past 10: no sign of your boyfriend.

Now you already grew impatient, feeling like the plans for your anniversary were already falling through. You thought it’d be better to go to sleep since it was getting late. Just when you were about to sleep for the night, the door opened to reveal Hongjoong. When he saw everything that you prepared, he was heart broken.

He tried to explain why he was late but soon it led to the both of you arguing over how he almost forgot that it was your anniversary tonight as how he should’ve stayed home. That was until he saw the robe that you were wearing.

“M-May I?” He asked shyly, curious as to what you were wearing under that robe.

“Go ahead.”

When he was given the signal, he removed the robe, only to reveal lingerie that you bought just for him.

“Oh fuck…” he mumbled under his breath.

“What are you waiting for Joongie? Take me.”

“Will do.” And with that he crashed his lips onto you.

You both were in for a long night.

Seonghwa

The two of you were arguing about where to go out for your date. You wanted to go to a park while Seonghwa wanted to go to some fancy restaurant. He thought that it was more peaceful rather than going to a place where it was crowded.

You reminded me of the last time where the both of you attended a restaurant, he teased you under the table making you feel turned on. You had to admit though you did somewhat enjoyed his little games but at the same time felt a little humiliated. By then you decided to tease him yourself as payback by rubbing his crotch. He let out a low groan at the feeling of your hands stimulating him.

“What was that for?”

“I thought that I can play your ‘little game’ too. Two can play the game right?” You smirked at him.

He pinned you to the couch, making sure that you didn’t land too roughly, leaving some kisses on your neck.

“You just don’t know what you do to me baby.”

The date may have been canceled but at least something better than going to a restaurant or a park was yet to come.

Yunho

Yunho was having rough day at his job. He was caught in traffic earlier in the morning, missed the meeting because of it, accidentally spilling some coffee into one of his co-workers, which didn’t ended much well, and had to make 50 extra copies of papers.

When he came home you tried to help him out but he said that it was fine. You thought the opposite though. You told him that it’d be better if he were to talk about his day so that he would at least be over it, but he was still pushing you away as usual, leading the both of you to argue. You suddenly latched your lips onto him and eventually he gave into the kiss.

“I know you want me to help you out Yunho, I can see it in your eyes babyboy” you whispered seductively in his ear.

He nodded before letting you ‘take care of him’ for the rest of the night. By the time you two were done, he thought that you were the best stress reliever.

Yeosang

Ever since you gave Yeosang a PS5 as a Christmas gift, he had been glued to the gaming console more than ever. He’d often join group chats with his friends on there.

Eventually the two of you were becoming more distant from each other. You had to sleep on your own in your shared bedroom while Yeosang would end up sleeping on the couch in the living room due to the fact that he ended up oversleeping on there.

The two of you never spent time with each other since then. You grew tired of him ignoring you. You actually ended up unplugging the TV just when he was about to win his game of Call of Duty.

Yeosang was pissed to say the least and ended up telling you to stay away from him whenever he was playing his games. You counter-attacked his statement by saying that he hardly ever spoke to you.

When those words came out of your mouth he felt his heart shatter before patting his lap for you to sit on. He apologized for not being able spend more time with you and promised that he’ll pay more attention to you from now on.

“I forgive you Yeosangie.” You smiled at him before giving him a soft kiss.

If Yeosang had to be honest. He missed you and the way you were always affectionate to him. He carried you in bridal style to your bedroom, making sure to make up for lost time by treating you like a princess.

“Say, how about you wear that lingerie that I got you for Christmas?”

You two were both excited for this night to unfold.

San

It was San’s birthday and you were baking his cake when he ran into the kitchen and gave you a few kisses, being his usual energetic self.

San wanted to help you with the cake, saying that it wouldn’t be fair for you to just do the work all by yourself, to which you agreed. Baking a cake with your boyfriend wasn’t gonna do any harm right?

Well in the end the kitchen was a mess. Of course you couldn’t blame San for being all happy and excited during his birthday, but you wish he was a little more organized because you both did ended up in a dispute about how he shouldn’t be throwing flour at you.

The poor boy was sad. He didn’t want to make you upset and he just wanted to have some fun with you, but he didn’t think that he’d actually make you feel disappointed.

You gave San a hug and a kiss, letting him know that it was an accident and that he didn’t had the intention to make a mess in the kitchen.

San returned to his happy self until he saw some frosting on your half-exposed chest. He was tempted to have you as his birthday dessert rather than a cake, to which you insisted.

“Why have a cake when I can have you?”

God was San in for a treat.

Mingi

(this one is a little similar to HJ’s reaction) You were beginning to grow worried about where Mingi was, despite the fact that he told you that he’d stay at the studio with Hongjoong a little late. You were getting worried because the area that surrounded where the two of you live was dark.

There was a time where he almost got into a confrontation with someone in the ally and since then you became more concerned about Mingi’s safety.

When he got home the two of you went back and forth about him going home at a later time walking in the dark by himself. He thought that you were being too overprotective, reassuring you that he was strong and that he could handle it himself.

But soon he came to realize that you cared about him just like how he did. Mingi promised you that he’ll be more careful from now on.

Mingi noticed that you were still a little tensed so he decided that a little ‘make out session’ would clear your mind off of everything.

“Maybe I should make all of your fears disappear for tonight.”

Soon that make out session would lead to something else.

Wooyoung

You and Wooyoung were getting prepared for a ballroom dance competition. You both decided that it would be a sensual tango routine and there was 2 months left to prepare.

Now the dance wasn’t so easy to begin with. There was a lot of turns and lifts that had to be done for the dance to turn out good. There was a a part in the dance where Wooyoung is supposed lift you up do a 360 degree spin.

While Wooyoung tried to do his spin he almost spinned too fast to the point where he almost let go of you. Luckily you didn’t fell and he kept a steady grip so that you were safe, but of course you had to remind him that he had be more careful, only for the two of you to debate about who should’ve payed more attention and what not.

The both of you decided that it’d be better to take a break and come back to the routine later.

Luckily the argument ended when the two of you started your break and you were both back to getting along with each other, making sure to drink some water and eat some snacks.

During the break you’d thought that it be a good idea to try on the dress that you made for the day of the competition. It was a sequenced dress that had a slit cut on the right and a trail on the back. The color also matched Wooyoung’s oufit for the day of the competition.

When you came back with the dress on, Wooyoung was at a lost for words. E thought that you were looked very pretty.

He approached you in the middle of the room, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You gave into him but eventually you were the one controlling the kiss.

“Oh Wooyoungie, I think you forgot who’s in charge, do you?”

And from there on, you both would have to come back to the dance some other time.

Jongho

You and Jongho both decided to watch a movie in the living room. The popcorn and blankets were ready. Now you both just needed to choose a movie that you want to watch.

Now here’s the thing: you both didn’t know whether to watch Titanic or Fast and Furious. Both of you would claim that one was too exaggerating while the other one was too graphic. But in the end both of you tried to find for another movie until the both of you decided to watch 50 Shades of Gray.

There was a steamy scene during the movie which caused your mind to think about recreating the scene with your boyfriend.

You were too lost in your mind that you actually ended up leaving some kisses on Jongho’s neck. Jongho would give you some kisses as well and eventually the two of you ended up making out on the couch.

“Movies were never really our thing right?”

In the end the both of you continued your session while the movie was playing in the background, rather doing the actual thing than seeing it on a screen.

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Shower Friends (Miya Atsumu x F!reader)

The dorm you live in has co-ed bathrooms. Why that’s remotely a good idea is beyond you; and recently, your precious shower time is being interrupted by a certain blonde haired setter for the volleyball team. When he lies to his teammates that he has a girlfriend, somehow you get roped into his scheme.

genre(s): college!au, fake dating, angst, fluff, mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda), eventual smut (maybe)  words: 3.5k

a/n: ah the sweet sweet smell of mutual pining. also 3 more chapters are planned, not written yet though bc i just decided i’d be writing them lmao. hopefully can get started on that this weekend and post them next week 🤗

taglist:  @apollochjld @kurosarium @vicassa @carbs-need-more-love @underratedmage @idek-at-thispoint @wtfeverbrandi @food8me @yikes-buddy @ntimacy @nyxiie @oikawasbooty @chocolate3010 @sugawarabby @greenyiplier @kritiiiii @tokyosdawn @youstydiaa @h3llok1ttygirl 

one | two 

Chapter Three

“You want me to help you with what?” You ask, a bit stunned when he showed up at the door, a terribly annoying but also cute pleading expression on his face.

He groans, his shoulders hunching forward in exasperation. “Ya really gunna make me repeat it?”

You peer closer at the top of his head and see that he’s being serious. The roots of his hair growing in are a dark brown and it had never even occurred to you that he dyes his hair the blonde color you’re so used to. “No, but why do you need my help?”

This is so embarrassing. Normally his roommate or a teammate can help him but none of them are available today and he’s already let the roots grow longer than he likes. But when one of them suggested you help him out instead, something inside him rebelled. For some reason, the thought of having you dye his hair for him made him uncomfortable, like he’s showing you an intimate part of him. This hair has been a part of him so long he can’t remember the last time he’d let it grow out.

“I can’t see if I got everything,” he admits. It took a lot of pacing around his room and staring at his roots for him to get up the courage to come over here to ask you. He can’t really explain why he was so against it, especially since you don’t seem to mind after you got over the initial shock of realizing this isn’t his natural hair.

A wave of relief washes over him when you sigh, conceding, “Alright. Just let me change into something I can get bleach on. I’ll meet you at your dorm.”

While he waits for you, he busies himself with mixing the dye together so it’s ready for you, and when you arrive in a t-shirt and shorts with paint splatters all over them, he mentally kicks himself for thinking about how even wearing something so simple you still look better than anyone he’s ever seen. Crossing your arms, you motion for him to take a seat at his desk. Before he does so, he reaches behind his neck to grab at the collar of his shirt and pull it over his head.

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment, it taking you a second to process that he’s now standing before you shirtless and you’re free to ogle his muscular chest and arms to your hearts content. He doesn’t pay any attention to you, knowing if he meets your gaze, he won’t be able to stop the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. Instead, he wraps a towel around his waist to protect his shorts and sits in the chair to wait for you.  

Except now, you have free reign to stare at his back, which is just as defined as the front of him and you need a few more seconds to reel your thoughts back.

“Whaddya waitin’ for darling?” He drawls, throwing you a glance over his shoulder, not expecting you to be standing there frozen, eyes pinned to his now bare chest.

He opens his mouth to tease you further, but your eyes snap to his and you practically shout, “Do you have another towel?” He just cocks a brow and then points to his closet where another towel is hanging on a hook. Snatching it, you return to him and drape it over his shoulders, hiding most of his annoyingly toned body. “Don’t want to get any bleach on your skin,” you explain, no way in hell ever admitting to him that you’re finding it hard to focus with him on display like that.

Absentmindedly, he hands you one of the clips he bought a long time ago, one that’s almost completely bleached itself and you start running your fingers through his hair to section it. He closes his eyes, focusing intently on the soothing sensation of your fingers on his scalp, doing his best not to groan out loud at how good it feels. With anyone else, this isn’t anything special, normally he sits as patiently as he can whilst trying not to annoy whoever is doing his hair (lest they decide to ‘mess up’ as punishment). But with you, it’s a different feeling entirely.

It's jarringly intimate as you clip his hair back and reach over him to grab the plastic gloves that came with the dye. Lathering up the applicator brush, you start slathering it onto his hair, trying your hardest to make sure it’s evenly distributed and surrounding each strand. As you do so, you ask, “How long have you been doing this?”

He resists the urge to shrug, not wanting to jostle you, replying, “Osamu and I started in middle school.”

“Osamu dyes his hair too?”

“Yeah, he goes for gray. But I’d heard blondes have more fun so—here we are.”

He grits his teeth as your fingers skim over his scalp, glad for the towel you wrapped around him to hide the goosebumps skittering along his bare skin.

“Let me guess,” you muse. “You guys did it because people couldn’t tell you apart?”

“That,” he laughs, “And we thought it would look cool. The first time we did it, it looked like shit.”

Your answering laugh warms his heart as you unclip a section of hair and keep working. “I can’t imagine your mom being too happy about it.”

“Livid. We got bleach everywhere.”

You laugh, continuing to move through his hair methodically. It doesn’t take very long as you’re just dying his roots and they weren’t that bad to begin with, contrary to what Atsumu thinks. When you finish, he gives you a sheepish look and has to swallow his pride to ask you to help him wash it out. Every time he’s tried to do it himself, he always ends up leaving a huge chunk of bleach somewhere.

You oblige, following him to the bathroom, not bothering to care about the looks you get along the way. If they want to stare at a shirtless Atsumu and then glare at you for having that all to yourself, that’s their prerogative. It does wonders for your confidence, regardless that all of this is a ruse.

Luckily, the bathroom is empty and Atsumu dutifully bends over the sink to let you start washing the dye out of his hair. He’s immensely grateful his eyes are shut, and his face is shoved into the sink to hide his flushed cheeks as he thoroughly enjoys your fingers running through his hair. The sensation of your fingernails lightly scraping over his scalp makes him ball his fists as he has to bite his lip to keep from making any sounds.

You’re unbothered, until you notice the towel has slipped from his shoulders and with the way he’s bracing himself against the counter every muscle in his back and arms is on display for you to see. It’s an effort to continue your task as if nothing is wrong and force yourself to look off into the distance instead of eyeing him up.

It’s no easy feat. Especially when you finish and he rises, scrubbing at his face with the discarded towel before moving on to his hair. You press your lips into a firm line and let yourself indulge just a little bit looking at the way his muscles flex with the movement, droplets from his damp hair trailing down the planes of his chest towards the waistband of his shorts and—your attention is broken at the sound of him chuckling and you snap your gaze to his.

You find him staring at you with mischief sparkling in his eyes, so you speak before he can tease you. “Is that it?”

“We have to actually dye it now.”

“Oh.” You turn on your heels desperate to escape his gaze. “Let’s go then.” A smirk plays across his lips, but he refrains from teasing you, solely because he very much enjoyed the way you were looking at him and doesn’t want you to stop.

And yeah—sue him if he thinks about your hands in his hair for the rest of the day. In the end, he might be a little grateful no one else was available to help him.

When mid-semester break arrives, it comes as a surprise that you actually miss each other. What surprises you even further, is that he’s the one to bring it up. Within the first night, he video calls you, a sheepish expression on his face, explaining he needed someone to complain to.

“What do you mean?” You teased. “Sounds like you’re getting stuffed with good food from Osamu and you have plenty to brag about.” You winked, smiling devilishly at him and pointing to yourself. You’re only joking. Slightly. You aren’t sure what will come about if he tells his family about you, or if that’s even a good idea. It’d be much easier to break this off cleanly without the involvement of each other’s families.

He sighs, flopping down on his bed and scrubbing his face with one hand. “They’re just dyin’ to meet you now.”

Your brows lift, half-expecting him to have tried to keep this a secret. “You told them?”

“I wasn’t gunna,” he explains. “But apparently some college sports news channel caught um—,” he coughs awkwardly, remembering very vividly this day, yet the two of you haven’t acknowledged it since. “Our—uh—celebration.”

Eyes widening, you stare at him a moment before the both of you burst out laughing. Between your giggles you manage to say, “Oops.”

Laughing alongside you, he grins, despite the pang in his heart at the voice in his head desperately trying to remind him all of this isn’t real. You aren’t his girlfriend and the moment all of this ends, you probably won’t bat an eye at him ever again. He hates how much that hurts.

Forging onward towards his demise he discloses, “I am now a very proud owner of a very jealous brother now, so thank you.”

That only makes you keep grinning, setting a hand on your cheek and dramatically saying, “What? Of little ol’ me?”

He fights the urge to tell you that yes—jealous of little ol’ you. The girl who is slowly becoming the girl of his dreams. The beautiful, funny girl who deals with him and everything that comes with him. He swallows all that, keeping the mood and saying, “He refuses to let me try any of his onigiri. A crime, really.”

“Of the highest caliber,” you agree, stifling your laughter. “Though I’m sure you steal some when he isn’t looking.”

“Yeah, but he caught me and hit me on the head with his spoon.”

“How dare he. Lucky for me, my family is clueless.”

“What do they think yer doin’ right now then?”

Shrugging you say, “I told them I had a project to work on with a classmate. Which isn’t entirely a lie, I do have a project to work on. But someone interrupted.”

He smirks. “Wonder who that could be.”

“Beats me.” His responding grin does something to you that’s been happening a lot more frequently lately. Making you feel like all the air has been punched out of you and like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Though, you’ve gotten quite good at hiding it.

In the distance, you hear someone calling his name. He panics, it’s bad enough his family knows about you now, but he isn’t sure if he’s ready for them to meet you. Especially Osamu, who he has the sinking feeling is already suspicious of this. It’ll be a miracle if he can slip this by him.

“Gotta go!” He says quickly, and before he ends the call, he hears you chuckle and say, “Beware the spoon.”

Every day his situation only gets worse.

The next night he can’t get Osamu off his back. Enough that when he tries to retreat to his bedroom to give you a call, pathetically missing you again, Osamu bursts in when he’s about two minutes into the video call with you. He tries to shove him out, embarrassed and afraid Osamu will see straight through him. But Osamu is stubborn, and he hears you laughing on the other end of the call before saying, “Aww, Atsumu won’t you at least let me try to charm the pants off him?”

He grits his teeth, the thought that he wants you to charm the pants off of him, not his brother flitting through his head before he can stop it. But he relents, letting Osamu sit backwards on his desk chair to join the conversation.

He isn’t sure how, but somehow you get Osamu to believe this is real in a matter of minutes. You have him laughing and talking about culinary school and he almost feels jealous that your attention is now on Osamu instead of him. It’s a ridiculous notion, he knows it, but it doesn’t stop him from keeping the camera on him as much as possible.

When the call ends, Osamu looks at him seriously, and for a moment Atsumu thinks he’s just been pretending to believe you this entire time. However, he breaks into a smile and smacks him on the back saying, “Got yerself a keeper, there.”

Atsumu tries to grin with as much sincerity as he can. Yeah—he knows he does. But that isn’t going to stop this from ending.

That night, both of you go to bed feeling like you’re getting in too deep.

And as per usual, when school starts back up again, neither of you bring it up. You’re happy to keep ignoring it, hating yourself for liking this arrangement and him more and more every day. It sad really, how much time in your day is spent thinking about him. Wondering if there’s any possibility that the two of you could just transition to a real relationship. Because to you, that’s already what this is. Nothing would change, but at least you’d stop feeling guilty every time you enjoy his hand in yours or the soft press of his lips to the top of your head.

A few days after returning to school, you find yourself alone with him in his dorm room studying. He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over a textbook while you lay on his bed, head propped up by an elbow. You can feel your eyes drooping, the words blurring together, it becoming harder and harder to stay awake. His bed is too comfortable and smells overwhelmingly like him, a scent you’ve come to enjoy every time you’re pressed up against him. A mixture of his body wash and the ever-present faint smell of the volleyball court. Eventually you’re powerless against the solace of sleep.

When Atsumu notices you, his heart jumps into his throat. You look so serene and peaceful, your chest rising and falling ever so slightly, part of him wants to crawl in beside you and press his face into your neck and fall asleep right along with you.

But he too has begun to feel like this game has gone too far. The moment he had to tell his family, lie to Osamu, he knew he’d crossed a line. It isn’t fair to you. No longer does he need to pretend for his teammates that he can have a serious relationship, there isn’t a reason to torture himself and keep you tied to him anymore.

Yet, thinking about not being without you, no longer eating lunch together, studying together, or having you in the stands at his games wrenches his heart in such a way he actually feels like it’s crumpling inside his chest. He hasn’t been able to admit it, but at some point along the way, he thinks he fell in love with you. And it just hurts too much to keep pretending. Especially when you’re only doing this for peace and quiet during your showers.

For you, he shouldn’t drag this on any longer.

So, a couple days later, you texted him telling him you were in the library and can join him anytime if he wants. A harmless text, one you’ve sent him many times since this whole thing started, but this one makes his heart sink. Knowing this is the opportunity he’s been waiting for to talk to you. He tries to not think about it, trying to let volleyball take over his thoughts, but it’s futile. All he can think about is saying those words to you, and how it’s quite possibly going to utterly destroy him.

But you take it well, as he expects, squashing the hope that you might feel something for him too.

That night in the library feels particularly lonely. There’s no quick-witted remark from the boy who carved himself a place in your life, no one there to make you laugh when you’re struggling with a problem. Instead, you’re met with nothing but the darkness and silence of the library. It’s almost too much to bear, and once the silence starts closing in on you—you force yourself to leave, refusing to let yourself wallow.

The next weeks are hard. He never imagined that he’d think that after all of this was over. He keeps showering in the mornings to avoid you and uphold the deal you two struck months ago. He ignores the empty hole in his chest when he eats lunch without you, or studies late alone. The most jarring thing is your absence at his games. He constantly finds himself searching the crowd for your face, before remembering you won’t be there. He misses that intense gaze he could always feel on his back, the one that kept him awake at night when he let his thoughts run wild.

He feels as though something has been ripped from his life, leaving nothing but a gaping hole behind that seems intent on devouring him whole.

The same can be said for you.

Who knew you’d ever miss his teasing remarks while you shower? Or miss how you could complain to him endlessly about classes and then have him comfort you in the warm solace of his arms? Even the little things like walking to class together, now that you do it alone, it feels like there’s something missing.

The two you go on like that, thinking of the other every night before sleeping, tossing and turning with the thought of what could have been.

And eventually, you reach the point where you’re over it. Over pining after him day after day, peering out your door to make sure he isn’t around, or taking detours just to avoid him in the hallways. You’re over it. Enough that you’re willing to swallow your pride and confess to him, even if he doesn’t feel the same way—maybe you can fucking move on then.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you stomp to his dorm room, his roommate opening the door; his eyes widening upon seeing you. Immediately, he grabs his keys saying into the room, “I forgot I need to go to the store Atsumu, see you later.”

He leaves no time for Atsumu to protest, out the door in a matter of moments, leaving you standing in the doorway. Atsumu is just sitting in his desk chair, looking dumfounded at you, having fully expected to never see you again.

The gears in his head grind to a halt as you say, “This is stupid.”

He gives you a bewildered look, unsure what exactly you mean by that.

You steel your courage and press on. “I like you. And you like me. I think. And all this pretending that we don’t is stupid.”

After a few moments, his lips curve into a smile, the mischievous one you used to hate but now feel relief seeing. He can’t help the joy building in his chest at your confession. How many sleepless nights thinking about this very moment did he endure?

“You said it,” he teases.

Despite giving him a look, you do nothing to stop the grin rising to your lips. “Well, it didn’t seem like you were going to.”

His smile only widens, and he motions you into the room. “Get yer butt over here already.”

You move on instinct, striding into the room and climbing into his lap, settling your legs on either side of his you wrap your arms around his neck. The overwhelming sense that yes—this is exactly where you want to be, washes over you. He smirks up at you, his large hands resting at your waist, waiting for your next move.

“I can’t believe I actually missed that stupid smirk,” you say, lowering your lips to his, fingers slipping into the short hair at the base of his neck.

His smile hasn’t faltered, muttering against your lips teasing, “Does this mean I can shower at night again?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, but he smothers it in another kiss and refuses to let go.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Rekindled

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco has many hidden passions, but there’s one he loves more than all the rest.

Warnings: post war Draco, fluff

Despite being so outwardly confident for most of his life, Draco Malfoy is a fairly closed off person. He quickly found that keeping the things he truly revels in to himself is the safest place for them to be. Because if anyone had found out the true joys and interests the head Slytherin held, he certainly would be vulnerable to some choice remarks from his peers.

The only person to have ever known such secrets is you. He didn’t know what it was about you. Even before your friendship had flourished into something romantic, he found himself to be more open, knowing you wouldn’t poke fun like others might. Maybe there wasn’t one specific thing, he thought, maybe it was everything about you.

One of those well kept secrets, and perhaps the one he held onto most dearly, was his affinity for the piano. He took a liking to the elegant instrument at the young age of eleven upon hearing his mother play so effortlessly, as if her fingers were merely floating over the keys. But he only saw her play just once and never again after that.

Naturally, he became interested, taking a moment to press every key from left to right just to hear the pitch each of them produced. And from there he’d begun to teach himself, only ever stopping when his father scolded him for being too loud. Over time it seemed as though he mastered it.

However, the passion for it rapidly dwindled in his sixth year when more pressing matters came to the forefront of his mind, remaining there for a long while. So it sat in its rightful spot in the Manor’s study to collect dust.

Now, it had been eight years since he’d last played, or even looked at it for that matter.

You’d just signed off on your very first home, a small house on the outskirts of town. Built from slabs of stone on the outside, all varying hues of slates and lighter grays, one never the same shape as another. Wildflowers dotted randomly about the unmowed lawn and maroon colored shutters surround every old window, paint worn around the edges of the wood. Though with a simple twitch of his fingers the color was changed to a golden yellow. A single chimney stack adorned the left hand side of the roof, sending puffs of charred smoke into the sky. All encased by a short and slightly rusted wrought iron fence, the numbers of your address permanently inscribed in the metal. It was yours and it was home, just the right fit for the two of you.

Once fully furnished with books lining shelves and tea mugs stacked in cupboards, it was quickly realized that this would likely be your home for as long as it’d have you both. But one thing was missing, something his mother had been in agreeance with the moment you mentioned it to her. So she set out to make it happen unbeknownst to Draco.

You woke that Sunday morning, a delicate patter of rain washing over the house as droplets trickled down the arched windows of the bedroom. The spot next to you had been empty for some time, no longer warm but you had felt a whisper of a kiss pressed to your forehead earlier. That’s not what had woken you up, though, what had woken you was the gentle sound of an unknown song filling the entirety of the first floor, emanating up the stairs.

Pulling yourself from the mismatched blankets draped over the bed you wrap your arms around yourself, following the melody until you reached your beau. He sat on the sleek wooden bench in his plaid pajama pants, back to you. And there it sat, the familiar ebony colored piano in the once vacant corner of your living room. It had been freshly polished for such an occasion, seeming as though it belonged in that very spot from the moment it’d been crafted. It added something special you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He wasn’t aware of your presence just yet and you smiled softly, the muscles of his shoulders flexing under his pale skin as he played, his hair an absolute mess. And after a few fleeting moments you padded over to him, filling the empty space on the bench. His cheeks flush a pale pink, traveling to the very tips of his ears upon having an audience. But he soon settled, slender fingers dancing over ivory keys with a practiced ease. Keys that were slightly worn from his use as a child.

It was almost as if he’d never stopped playing for all those years, the soft smile gracing his face wordlessly telling you just how much it meant. But he knew that there weren’t words for how grateful he was, there couldn’t possibly be. It’s as if you’ve sparked up a flame within him that hasn’t been lit for years, a missing piece of him put into place. You always seemed to do that to him.

Minutes pass and he’s slowly stopped, releasing a contented sigh as his eyes bounce over every inch of the beauteous structure. “How’d you manage this, love?”

He was breathless, running his hand through his hair and down his cheek.

“With a little elbow grease and a whole lot of magic,” You smile, reaching up to brush a few strands of platinum out of his eyes. “Call it a housewarming gift, if you will.”

He laughs softly, the warm glow of the fireplace giving way to the tears beginning to gloss over his gray eyes. The look of adoration on his face was something you’d never forget, not for as long as your memory will allow. He leans in and kisses you softly, and another with more vigor, the lingering taste of his morning tea still on his lips as his fingers splay across your cheek.

No matter how hard he tries, his smile cannot be contained as he parts from you, feeling like a kid on Christmas Day. “You always manage to light up my life. You enchant me, darling.”

Now it was your turn to blush, cheeks flooding with heat as you bite back your ever growing smile. “There’s one more thing, Draco.”

He raises a brow in silent questioning, as if beckoning for you to go on. Though he thought, how could there possibly be more? You’ve just bestowed upon him one of the most precious gifts he had ever received in his twenty-four years of living, and yet there’s more? He almost couldn’t comprehend your level of generosity, leaving him to wonder how he had gotten quite so lucky.

You reached forward and grasped the edge of the smooth wood, pulling the curved cover out to rest over the keys. There it was. Engraved with a gentle precision were three elegantly curled letters, D.L.M. His eyes widened slightly as his fingers brushed over it almost in disbelief, glancing to you and back to it.

“I was unsure of the placement at first, I thought maybe it should have gone up here but—”

You’re cut short by a firm kiss, one that uncaged butterflies in your stomach like it was the very first time. You were sure the color in your cheeks deepened by that point as his hands tug you closer. When he pulls away, he doesn’t stray far, forehead rested on yours as the tip of his nose presses against yours gently.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers with an awestruck laugh, a quiver in his soft tone as he fights to conceal his emotions, “it’s absolutely perfect.”

After years and years it was his, finally his. And it was to reside in that very corner to be played for many early mornings and late nights to come.

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #12

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Suit Story

If you went through Ginza’s Main Street from 7-chome to 1-chome, the change in the city’s atmosphere would shock you. Bulgari, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Chanel. Felt like you could play shiritori with these high-class brand names. It was a fun neighborhood to stroll around during Christmas season, as all the stores would come up with elaborate plans for the decorative lights, but it was currently autumn. The store most closely related to me in these vicinities was the long-established stationery store where I went to buy stationery. It was, however...

“Please raise your arms a little more.”

“All right.”

“Pull your chin back a bit. Yeah, that’s great.”

“Haah. Is this really right?”

“Of course. Might be hard, but please do relax.”

For whatever reason, I was across the street from the stationery store, practically in front of it, on the second floor of a branded men’s fashion store originally from England. On the walls of this mysterious-gentleman-themed space, which housed a bar counter and even a huge aquarium, there were clusters of business suits, pants and waistcoats with basting threads attached to them in conspicuous spots.

It was a place for taking measurements for custom-made stuff.

I couldn’t get over the feeling that this was some kind of mistake. Wasn’t this the stationery store? The place where you could buy vanilla-colored envelopes for 30 yen each? Or illustrated writing paper with seasonal vibes, or pens.

“Seigi, you are too nervous.”

“Nakata-san is such an imp, but so are you.”

Leaning against the bar counter, Richard shrugged his shoulders, indicating possibility.

Today was Thursday. Having been called by Richard, who said he wanted to ask me to do some odd job, I went over to the front of Etranger, and then we came to this store in the green jaguar. Just when I thought he was gonna make me hang with him for shopping, the man on the driver seat hastily took out his phone, showing me a video letter from my dad, Nakata-san.

“Seigi, congrats on your graduation. I wanted to go suit shopping with you, but I’m in Jakarta, so I’ll be borrowing Richard-san’s assistance for that. Seems like people are getting them custom-made lately. Make sure to buy a good one. Well, see ya.”

Richard had watched over me in the passenger seat as my eyes got wet, but the tears drew back in when we stepped into the store.

While talking lightheartedly about the difference between English and Italian suits, the young clerk, who wasn’t all too apart from me in age, smoothly took my body measurements with a measuring tape and showed me countless textures.

“You can also choose the lining. What should we do about the pockets?”

When I started getting dizzy, said man, who was like a page of suits, began giving me suggestions from behind. I had nowhere to run. I was really going to have my suit made here. As I picked a charcoal-gray suit with blue lining, Richard quickly told me that tanzanite cuffs would look very nice in it. Of course, I was thinking the exact same thing.

By the moment that the Onii-san finished the measuring and disappeared into the back of the store to take notes, I heaved a deep sigh. “This kinda stuff’s been happening a lot lately. All I ever do is receive.”

When I said that, Richard laughed, giggles ringing up his throat.

Richard had two types of smiles, and whenever he raised his voice while laughing, if I refused to back down, he’d often give me a word of advice of some sort. When it was a silent smile, I’d feel like he was telling me in some way to “reflect about myself”, which would make me a bit anxious, but I liked both.

Walking up next to me as I stood in front of the mirror, Richard grinned. “It is no longer guaranteed that your body will grow out of your clothes. Isn’t it fun to sometimes purchase slightly larger clothes and try to wait for your body’s growth?”

“Feeling like this talk doesn’t have the ‘sleep well and drink milk’ kinda nuance to it.”

The reply was a smile. How strange. Richard’s face was right at my left side, but the smile in the mirror was looking directly at me. Clad in a double-button slender silhouette suit, his figure was perfect no matter from what angle I looked at it, like an extraordinarily fine jewel, so my own figure as I tensed up beside him appeared even weirder.

“Hey, Richard, I kinda have the feeling that suits are like the base metals of jewelry.”

“Are you referring to the foundation parts of rings, earrings and such?”

I nodded. The base metal was the metal part that formed the foundation for attaching gemstones to jewelry. In stores, people would often memorize the materials and call them by their names, such as gold base metal or platinum base metal.

It was a part that never played the leading role in Etranger, which handled accessories with gemstones on them. But it’d be hard to wear jewelry on the body without it, and it was also a part that allowed people to express their particularities regarding the materials, durability and design. Whether they would be prominent or not depended on the basis. Erm, this was probably what a jeweler from Kyoto that I was acquainted with would say. The contrary was also possible.

“Gotta psyche myself up. If I don’t become someone that won’t lose to this suit, I’d feel bad.”

“This is my personal opinion, but there is nothing more tiring to look at than a jewelry in which the gem and base metal are at rivalry with one another. What you should emphasize is the harmony. Just because you use the finest high-grade eggs and milk as ingredients, it does not mean you will create the best pudding – is that not the same thing?”

“Ah...”

When I replied that, indeed, high-end ingredients were often strongly in demand, the beautiful man nodded with an “exactly as you say”. By the looks of it, those were the sweets that he was into lately. I hadn’t been able to take time some for it at all due to being busy, but I decided to make pudding again one of these days and offer to him. Despite having a wallet that enabled him to eat as many high-grade desserts as he wanted, Richard would always be delighted anew no matter how many of them I made, which made me believe that, as one would expect, he had a talent for pleasing people. I was grateful for his existence.

“Both suits and jewelry are goods that exist for the sake of their owners. The initiative is clear from the start. You must handling it skillful and comfortably, not fight against it. That is why it is custom-made.”

“So you’re also ‘skillfully handling’ the clothes you’re wearing right now?”

“Evidently. Enough that I do not know anymore at what point it ends and I begin.” With that said, Richard sleekly patted his suit. I wanted to try saying that too someday.

We exchanged glances not through the mirror but directly.

When the clerk Onii-san came back, the measuring recommenced. I got kind of embarrassed as he praised me, saying I was well-relaxed.

   “Seigi-kun, good work! Wow, that suit looks really great on you.”

“Thanks, Tanimoto-san. Uh, this print on your furisode, could it be—”

“I was told it’s a modern type of print, but yep, it’s kinda like...”

“It looks like a bismuth crystal!”

With a face that said, “I know, right”, a dandy crease formed under her eyes, which were just a bit more on-the-mark than usual. Her bob-cut hair was the same as always, her cream-colored hakama paired with a yellow-green and dark blue furisode, which bore a mysterious geometric pattern print. On top of being cute, it was unique. She said it was rented, but I got emotional upon finding out there was a furisode that was so much like her.

As for me, I was wearing a double-button English suit that fit my body extremely well. It was a little embarrassing, but the creatures called college boys were more or less the same kind of individuals as myself, so they weren’t too mindful of their male friends’ clothes. Only one of them, who had found employment in the apparel industry, said that “the suit Nakata’s wearing is so nice”.

It was the graduation ceremony of Kasaba University. We gathered in the excessively large auditorium for all but an instant, and once we had our diplomas in hand, it was the beginning of a rapid shooting party, where we took pictures with our preferred friends in spaces near the auditorium. Tanimoto-san came running over to the spot near the central library, where we had decided to meet up.

“Seigi-kun, really, congrats. Things might get hard from now on, but if it’s you, everything will definitely be okay.”

“Thank you. I’ll do my best. I don’t think I’m that big of a deal, though...”

“That’s not true. I know very well how awesome you are.”

I played around a little and bowed my head, also congratulating Tanimoto-san for her graduation, she laughed with a “huhuhu”, looking happy.

She had passed in teaching and she would officially be a middle school science teacher starting this April. She fulfilled the dream that she had told me about when we were in our second year of undergrad. So cool. She had laughed when I said I wanted to take her classes if it were ever possible, but now I knew her video communication address, so it might be that I could actually get to attend her lectures at least once. Even if I were no longer living in Japan.

“Tanimoto-san, the school you’re assigned to is...”

“In Okayama Prefecture. It’s famous for the Katsuta Group of vicarya fossils. Compared to you, it’s next-door.”

In a few days, my address would change from Japan to Sri Lanka. I was going to be a jeweler apprentice. I had been told that I would often have to move around in rough dress, so sure enough, I was going to dedicate myself to wearing formal stuff for the time being. It was a bit of a waste, but Nakata-san and Richard had probably given me a chance to wear this kind of thing because they knew about that.

I could hear a voice in the distance calling, “Shouko~”. It was apparently a friend of Tanimoto-san’s. She waved at them in response.

“Seigi-kun, y’know... I think I was very lucky to meet you in this university. Literally thank you. Thanks to you, university was always fun.”

“Those are all my lines. But Tanimoto-san, I only ever gave you trouble.”

“If you’re gonna say that, same goes for me. I feel like you’ve granted me many opportunities. Seriously, thank you.”

When she smiled, saying she was going to do her best, she looked really cute. Neither of us had any familiarity with Okayama, but surely, she would actively pave the way with her own strength no matter where she was. And on her days off, she would go out to the Katsuta Group to dig up fossils.

“From now on too, if there’s anything I can help you with, I want you to tell me. I’ll do anything. If you run into any weirdo, I’ll get on a plane and come give them a beating.”

“Me too; if anyone ever messes up with you, Seigi-kun, I’ll take my crack hammer and go finish them off. Look forward to it. Ah, Aki told me that a sniper rifle suits me better, apparently?”

“I-I wonder.”

After that, we talked for a while, seated on an inconspicuous bench, and when it was finally time, she told me to at least take care of my body, offering me her hand. I nodded and squeezed it back. Her hand was small but very strong.

“Take care of your body, at the very least. May the blessings of the stones fall upon you.”

“Thank you. You too.”

We bowed deeply, taking pictures with each other while we were at it, and once we were done with the commemorative photoshoot, in which the two of us kept a moderate distance from one another, we parted ways. Students here and there were hugging intensely and wailing, but neither she nor I were that type, and I didn’t think this would be farewell for a lifetime. We would definitely get to see each other from now on too.

However, this was our last time seeing each other while we were students. After the handshake, my angel waved her hand with a “see you”, even more brightly than an actual angel.

Later on, having finished looking around for the friends that I could call friends and going on a tour to tell them “thank you for everything until now”, lastly, I sent a brief text. Not to Richard. To Nakata-san and Hiromi.

“I was able to graduate from university without problems. Thank you very much, truly. I will be in your care from now on too.”

Rather than a greeting, it turned into a notice to announce my renewed determination. The stylish suit indeed gave off an extraordinary feeling of fittingness, but I couldn’t think I was fully used to it. Obviously. It finished being made just a while ago. It would start from here. If it would take on my shape the more I wore it, then I would make sure to wear it steadily to my own liking.

What mattered was the harmony, he had said.

While smoothly stroking the suit, which I still couldn’t deem as anything other than formal wear, as if I were stroking my favorite gemstone, I seared the contrast of cherry blossom petals against the blue sky into my eyes.

[oh-boy-me]

Casual Outfits Discussed

@themarchinghare Ok >:3c

These hot takes analyses and opinions are based entirely on the concept art of the demon brothers’ casual outfits.  So any in-game features not present in the concept art aren’t discussed.  We’re looking at the outfit as a whole, but occasionally we do talk about individual features.

Also please don’t take this seriously, we just had a lot of fun shitting on the Seven Power Avatars of Sin, Rulers of Hell Itself™’s questionable fashion sense.  I would still die for these boys, terrible taste in shoes or not.

Participants in the discussion were

Jo ( @jodaneko ), my roommate and an art major with storyboarding and character design experience

Justin ( @justinlester0629​ ), my go-to fashion expert for at least a decade and very possibly a future male model

Noodle (Me), untrained eye and resident fashion decade disregarder

With the exception of a few choice quotes, our thoughts and conclusions are all mixed in with each other.  Quotes are mildly paraphrased.

Lucifer:

The colors are good; the blacks and grays are all in the blue-gray family, and there’s a pop of color with the gold belt and red vest.

But he paired a black suit with brown shoes????  SIN

“You should always match your belt with your shoes and those shoes are not gold.” —Justin

Justin on the coat: “I love it, the pattern of the inner lining is throwing me off but it’s not bad, and the fur is perfect because it’s associated with power.”

Me on the coat: “I don’t know about you but I bet that coat looks dumb as shit if you put your sleeves through it.”

WITHOUT the coat though his cuffs scream “I am dealing for blackjack and rolling craps.”  Lucifer looks like he could walk into and out of a casino whenever he pleases and everyone would assume he works there.

“Dress shirts don’t work like that.  He got a size too big.” —Jo

The belt isn’t doing anything functionally, but it’s very important because it balances things out from being too top-heavy.

Out of the belt, shirt cuffs, and coat cuffs, two of them should have matched.

We’re nitpicking because in general it’s a good design.  Lucifer has no taste in shoes but that aside is capable of dressing himself.

Mammon:

“That’s western Danny Phantom if I’ve ever seen it.” —Justin

Very nice coat 10/10 would wear.

The colors are odd, he mixes black and brown too, but the other colors mixed in makes it work in a cute way.

“The only things that clash are the shirt and jeans, he could replace the gray shirt with either a black one or a lighter one to match the boots.” —Justin

He’s got a cat toy on his belt.  I admire his preparedness for feline encounters.

The cat toy also balances out his rings nicely, since the toy is on his left hip and the rings are on his right hand.

The yellows in the shades, belt, and cat toy are placed very nicely and are the best part of the outfit.

Honestly except for the shirt color and the fact that fur-lined boots are out of style we don’t have much bad to say about his design.  Mammon’s casual outfit lives up to his model career.

Leviathan:

“Ugh, god.” —Justin

The headphones don’t match with anything, and ever color he’s wearing is so bright they REALLY don’t match.

Headphones aside he chose ok colors to supersaturate, but also like, supersaturation is very very loud.

It kind of looks like he bought two different tracksuits and forgot they were two different outfits.

The pants don’t match themselves.

“He color coordinated his pant cuffs and his shirt and thinks it makes it ok.” —Jo

The jacket itself is nice, the pins are really good and I appreciate that they’re opposite the stripes in his shirt.

Justin hates the gray stripe though because it looks like either part of the jacket or a girl scout sash.

“That shirt should not be collared.” —Jo

“The shoes look like what Kanye West would design but if they were sold on Wish.” —Justin

It’s kind of just… he took the RGB color wheel and went with it.  It’s just loud.  If he just changed some colors he’d be fine.  Leviathan please I have hope for you.

Satan:

“He looks like a gay prep school person.” —Justin

Satan wore 100 shades of green and said “yes this is peak fashion.”  And you know what, it objectively sucks but I’m kind of living for it?

Rip off jeans that can’t actually be ripped off because of the VERY stylish belt?  Iconic.

Green deep v-neck sweater over a gradient t-shirt and a jacket with the sleeves too short, this man only shops at Goodwill.

The one-shoulder jacket look gives the outfit some personality and I’m really glad he isn’t wearing it properly because looking at it alone I wouldn’t be caught dead in that jacket.

“While good for the design, it’s a mix between business and athletic and I’m not sure how I feel about that.” —Jo

(Jo also said some jackets are designed with sleeves like that but with the color choices it’s just… not good.  Justin pointed out that the sweater and jacket do match though.)

The chocolate loafer-style shoes take away from the rest of the outfit.

“Any other shade of green besides Crayola green would have been better for his nails.” —Justin

Listen it’s so bad it’s good, Satan’s fashion sense is “blue-green.”  We basically ripped into it the whole time but I’m pretty sure it was the universal favorite.

Asmodeus:

“Just from the back he looks like a cool dude and then the front of him screams douche.” —Jo

Asmo’s outfit is actually ok, but he has one fatal flaw: If he takes off his jacket it’s way too plain, but with the jacket it’s kind of too much.

It’s also kind of confusing, because it looks both casual and formal from different angles.  “I’m not sure I like the cut in the front with the t-shirt showing underneath.” —Justin

The shirt is nice but a color that contrasted his skin more would have been nice.

The pants are killer, and the white stitching matches the jacket really well.

The gold accents on the jacket are also good and would match the belt really nicely if the belt wasn’t some ugly mustard color.

This boy is wearing mustard belt and ketchup pants.

Inoffensive shoes which is really the best I can ask for with these boys.

“The scarf.  I like it, but I’m not sure how I feel about it because there’s just so much going on with both it and the jacket.” —Justin

“That’s not a scarf, it’s too long.  It’s like.  A really long strip of cloth.” —Jo

Anyway all in all there’s a little much going on in the front but it’s one of the better looks, good job Asmo.

Beelzebub:

Justin looked at the picture and immediately put his phone down.

“First impression is he looks like Naruto if he got his head lodged in Doritos.” —Justin

“He looks like he’s the carpet of the arcade portion of a skating rink.” —Jo

“He shouldn’t be wearing orange tones.” —Justin

Legitimately we were at a loss for words for a considerable time.  We just kept staring at it.

To start he’s got a lot going on but it feels like he looked in the mirror before leaving his room.  Not saying he did the best job but at least he looked at himself.

The jacket alone is great, but why is it fur-lined?  It throws off the urban design.

But finally some good fucking shirt.  We have mixed opinions on the triangles (I like them, Justin doesn’t but appreciates that the pattern continues on the back) but all like the cut.

Living for the necklace-bracelet combo.

Jo says the biggest problem is that there’s color-matching but in weird places and not enough of it.

Jo hates the pink belt and Justin hates the green suspenders; we concluded that one of them should have been excluded.

His choice in sneakers is not as bad as Levi’s but still not very good.  The laces shouldn’t be green.

This sounds like a lot of complaining but if he cleaned up the belts and ditched the fur it’d be a fine look.

Belphegor:

“Oh shit oh god.” —Justin

“The top half is for sleeping and the bottom half is for riding.” —Jo

Absolutely disgusting, mustard yellow pants tucked into brown lace-up combat boots?  Disgusting.

The shoes alone are nice but the mustard pants don’t work at all.  There’s no cutoff between blue and mustard.

Also he has really broad shoulders, just noticed that looking at this.  That has nothing to do with this but it does affect how his cardigan sits on him.

I personally would wear that cardigan, a hooded cardigan?  Everything I’ve ever wanted.

Justin pointed out that the button lining is weird, and the inside is a weird contrast with the pocket.  He’s right, but I think it’s an endearing mess.

Why do I look at him and feel like he needs to do laundry?  I think it’s the t-shirt.  It would have been better as a collared shirt, taking the hood off the cardigan in return.

You can’t convince me the avatar of sloth laces those boots every day, he sleeps with his shoes on and that’s a worse sin than sloth.

“The pillow’s not part of the outfit?  Oh thank god.” —Justin

Jo said we were being too mean and that it’s not the worst outfit out there, and from the waist up they’re right.

But damn Belphegor the condiment war called and they want the bottom half of their uniform back.