#digital painting remains a Struggle

[droppingartintotheinfinite]

i just think she’s neat

[ophelian-darling]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami - gn reader.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Their Obsession was too much to handle, and you find yourself growing impatient with their acts of dandling, till you had enough. 

TW : Implied Kidnapping, Physical and Verbal/psychological abuse, Blood & Injury.

enjoy ♡

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 :

Days passed like a vision through the glass, slow to come and quick to go, without even a faint image of them or a smallest fragment of memory, as if you were looking into someone else's life, not your own. The horizon blended now into Satoru's eyes- you were no longer able to see the real extension of a natural blue, instead looking through his irises, faux felt and fake friendly, non-stop and ad nauseam. a smile would paint itself across his features and a kind touch would cosset your hands, attempting to mimic a color of romance.

"Whatcha Thinkin' of, Babe?" He asked, a honeyed voice softening his words, already knowing what was in your head; wanting a sweet lie out of your tongue. You hated his voice- no, everything about him, from his stares, the contorts and shapes of his face and the many shades of his affection; one minute, sugar and honey drip off his tongue, in Hopes of aiming at the moon and winning your trust, the other all of his sweetness is poisoned and laced with venom, intentions of wounding your ego into submission. At times, to him, you were Valentine, Babe, Love and Dreamboat; just as you were the useless, pathetic, whiney and liar, depending on his mood.

The horror of him was his eyes, they were softly in a cruel way, no effort of smiling or laughter could coffin the rage and Mania you were too aware of. You were always on alert, counting your sins and thinking of ways to redeem yourself, mentioning Kissing back, twisting your lips with pink lies, thanking him for his gifts and wearing a gleeful expression on your face. 

"Aww Satoru! you spoil me, I don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't around!..." 

You felt maggots crawl under your skin, rushing forth to your brain while you struggled to keep your smile. The more the hours fly, the more your cover of ardor cracks. a thin string of bitterness lining from beneath your nail right into your heart, stitching more into a scornful crimson slowly. 

Just how dare he- take you against your will, fondle and caress you as if you were a mere housecat and call himself a saint for bothering to look after you, while you don't remember asking or consenting for any of his attention? During so many times, including the moment as of now, you'd imagine him bleeding, cascades of red contradicting his snow complexion, pieces of glass needling his eyes that you hated with all Satan's grudge to heaven. You are sure no single speck of a tear would warm your eyelid if he dies, it was what he deserved.

"You okay, Love? something is off with you" Concern painted his face, while his blues remained ever unsettling. 

Your mouth clinged into a straight tight line, no longer able to remember the supposed smile. a harsh retort died on the tip of your tongue, leaving the room to even a harsher, short-lived silence to stretch. 

His thumb traced on your cheek, before he stood up "I'm gonna make you a cup of coffee to lift you up a li'l, stay here while I'm in there" 

Of course you're staying here, where else would you go?! Moving an inch without seeing his face was less likely than seeing a green sky.

The string of your heart sewn itself thicker. As memories of him puppeteering you flashed unwelcomed, the scornful thread darned into a ferocious rag, veiling any sense of your heart, caging it with a hating aviary. You carried yourself up, heading to the kitchen absentmindedly, guided by the heavy feeling in your chest. He didn't tire himself to look around- not like you could do anything, wrapped around his digits to control. 

An unknown tune he hummed caroled the small kitchen, his hands moving around to prepare the mugs and the coffee, too immersed in his own realm of thought to discern your motives. 

If you ever got the chance to recount this exact moment, you would say that it happened so fast that your mind didn't settle on one image: did you shatter the mug on the top of his head or the back of his neck? You don't remember, yet the anamnesis of your muscles retained the surge of Adrenaline, a slow motion second of your hand grabbing the porcelain cup and breaking it on his skull. you do recall he said something- things. a series of slurs that were too filthy, every curse and insult in the scripture. 

The crimson rag was torn off from your heart, a delicious feeling of revenge drugging you in a lucid Catharsis. your fingers twitched, your body braced itself for whatever beating it was about to receive. Oddly enough, he continued groaning and grunting, holding his head in both his bloodied hands. 

Dark red seeped through his white locks, oozing down his neck, sullying his shirt and tinting his fingers and hands. For the first time, his strange blues held an emotion different from insanity, a glassy layer over them, just a tad bit up from his usually static stare. his eyelids wept with red as he stared at you for a moment, saying nothing, before heading -as it seems- to the bathroom, a trail of red spots on the floor marking your deed.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 :

In your dreams, the sunrises and sunsets were sin crimson, dark as Abel's blood. You'd see Suguru and yourself, sitting on a shore, its sea so transparent, hued with the cinnabar rays casting from a cloudless sky. You often look forth into the puce red horizon and not to him, rarely ever locking eyes with his. One time, as you remember from a shattered vestige in your awakening, you rotate your head to the side to see him staring at you; a half erased smile contouring his lips, Black eyes mirroring the skyline that stretched to no end in sight. Twice or thrice, he'd say something, a trail of meaningless letters sliding down his composed voice. You don't retain on his words exactly, but your name was amongst them; during a glib talk of his, your name rolls down his tongue with his usual calmness, scripting your dreams as such almost always ever since you were tied to him.

"Something in your mind, Dear?" The calmness- you can hear the smile in his inquiry without looking at him, drumming through your skull in an image of him in your dreams. You looked up from your lap, noticing that he was stitching something up, the needle struggling to remain still in his fingers. Of course, he was anything short of a tailor as much as he was short of a lover, wanting to be something he can't be but insisting anyway like the stubborn cockroach he is. 

You rolled your tongue across your teeth, only to let out a muffled 'nothing' as a response. you were really trying hard to not hurl at him, he was getting on your nerves for just his existence.

He chuckled, digging the needle into a red fabric "Something is in your mind indeed. I don't know what it is and why you look so upset, but I promise I'll make you feel better" 

You'll only make me feel better by choking on a dagger, Suguru.  you wanted to say, yet being completely aware that it'll have consequences- ones you were needless for. The numbness on your face is constantly pricking its presence across your flesh, swells and mounds that remind you of his black eyes losing their serenity, metamorphosing into a brutal night dark. His hands slapped and punched as equally as they billed and cooed, and your skin has grown hateful of both.

He does not appear as a human at all. in a vast space of thinking, you would theorize that he was not much but a parasite that sucked life out of everything beautiful, including love. his version of amour was twisted, burying care under Control and killing fondness to revive fervor. Cords you couldn't see snaked around your heart and soul, burning as they got tighter, paralyzing you with apathy that was leisurely altered to a pale hue of resentment, until it fully discolored to a dim rage.

It creeped its way to your fingers. you could hear Satan's whisper, planting the vilest of ideas in your mind; at least you had the luxury of hiding your thoughts and making them behind an expression you can't feel now- you're becoming him, a hollow shell of one face and multiple voices, already sensing the stitches of a mask, a dull one that a death face left more lineaments to remember. you were blessed with emotions unlike him, there's no way you'll melt into Suguru. 

"Darling I have a surprise for you, look!" He announced cheerfully, bringing the piece of fabric he's been working on to your attention. 

He raised the Obi belt in his hands, proud of his handmade sewing. you scanned it carefully: the silk is red candy colored with few golden flowers orienting it, not much skill or talent radiating off of this mimicry of a cloth.

"I intended to offer you this as a birthday gift, but I preferred giving it to you now. maybe it'll cheer you up a little, you've been really quiet lately…" the damn calm smile decorated his face again, this time a drop of what sounded like concern is mixed with it.

You took the thing from his hand, acting like you're inspecting it but in fact holding a cackle. how in hell's seven circles he expected you to wear this?! If Suguru thought with that little sense he always prides himself of, he'd see that he wasted such a gorgeous material on such a failure of an accessory. 

"Do you like it? I hope so…" there's an octave in his voice translated as 'please tell me it's the best gift you ever received', too bad it's ugly to give him the pleasure of hearing a compliment. 

"I've been working on it for weeks. I had to choose between red or pink, deciding to pick the former because I thought it would look better on you… I'm nothing of a tailor, but I did my best" he rubbed his palms together, as if an imaginary balm coating them. he laughed a little "I gave myself a lot of needle pricks, but it was worth it-" 

"It's awful" 

You didn't have to look up to see his face.

"What?" He muttered, completely not seeing this coming. 

"It's terrible, I hate it" a joyful spark twinkled throughout your body as you said so. the smile that you tried so hard to repress curved itself on your lips. you felt you could add more fuel to the fire.

"The color is dull and this silk looks cheap, but that's not why it's ugly. I bet a child can sew an Obi belt better than you do. this thing should go back where it belongs, the trash." 

The silk wasn't cheap at all. you silently praised whoever produced it as the fabric resisted between your fingers. for a second, you considered just throwing the belt at his face, but you already teared it up a little, imagining that you were tearing Suguru apart between your fingers, the very same Suguru who was standing in front of you, ghostly pale and owl eyed, uttering not a word.

Red ribbons rippled through the small space between your hands and feet, forming a pile on the floor and resting in place. your heart clenched in excitement, a reaction that replaced the usual fear of him beating you senseless in such situations. you awaited for his hand to fly, for his voice to raise, but none came. 

His gaze froze. He apparently couldn't contain how his present ended up being nothing more than some piece of garbage that had to be disposed of. Suguru opened his mouth then closed it before turning his heels around and exiting the room. bringing back your eyes to the remains of the belt, it now jumped to you that there was something written on the back of it. 

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 :

It is agreed upon as a human truth, that Shackles do not necessarily form as chains- For it merely requires a key to be freed from. but in most absent minds, the understanding of captivity and freedom were abridged in crime and punishment or torture (always coming first as physical in most thoughts), yet there is a sort of abstract bindings; way more restraining than tangible ones and with no limit of their ability to fetter the prisoner regardless of how strong is their will to break free, or how far their access to the key goes. mind games have proven themselves to be more effective throughout history, even in the simplest circumstances. What is more, playing on the strings of sentiment: romanticization of bonds -no matter how abusive they were- such as parenthood, friendship or more formally formed ties; marriage. 

There is this magical thing about marriage : it is a golden cage, a caressing shackle perceived as a warm nest in a vision of a romance, colored as red and pink, planted as roses. a cuff that priests call matrimony, poets call union and goldsmiths call rings- you name it; it's still a menacle, whether spouses consented to it or not. 

Kento was the typical man with the ordinary ambitions of immersing in a job (best if it paid generously), owning what is enough and settling down. To him, marriage was the ultimate expression of love, more than a mere ring, a wedding or flowery vows.

"I do have for you a love so dear that I drink from what your lips touch, I breathe when your lungs exhale, I slumber on where your skin embraces the mattress; one of both life and death."

- Your adoring one.

Engraved in red, the words slided over your heart's veil, forgotten in a memory of a cold rib. Satan lured Adam with an apple, so how would sugary words find any trouble deceiving? 

"You're making me worried, Sweetheart…" sotto voce in the nature of a Dove's coo; disgustingly fondling. 

Of course, a silver tongue cuts sharp in the same way it pours coquetry. life with Kento was seeing a moon and its dark side. under the beam of light, his lips mulls everything on you; kisses on your lips, cheeks and forehead blossomed, full rainbow ray of flowers were gifted to you, mostly red, attached to them little cards and billets-doux that enveloped letters of dalliance, arranged together and too sweet to the point it sickens you. The irony of his dimness was that he's more tolerable when he gnashes his teeth; wounds at your skin and soul, scolds and punishes in a parental manner. even for days, you'd hear the beast howling in your ear, ringing through the corridors of your head and it hurts to think.

Your eyes reflected in his figure, kneeling in front of you, not meaning they were drinking in the sight of him.

His thumbs brushed across your palms "Can I see your smile again? you look beautiful when you smile, you already are no matter how your face appears" nothing stirred up in you, emptiness of a blind man's face swam through the void.

"Please… sweetheart.." your composure nearly broke; a laugh dwindled within your throat. Does he think that you were a sole toy?! there to be played with, clothed and stripped to the colors of his whims, put on a pedestal at dawn and degraded at dusk?! it gnaws now on the branches of your chest, melts in your heart and fills your brain with a spiteful flow. 

"I've got something nice, just for you, I'm sure it'll make you happy" with that, he left quickly and returned just as, something in the outlines of a large flower bouquet behind his back. no surprise, he had a proclivity for flowers; for how red are roses, for how fragrant was jasmine and for how innocent were lilies. 

"I love you Sweetheart, never forget that!" as expected, roses. a pink posy of them.

You took the bouquet from his hands, glaring at the flowers in a burning grudge. for a flash of a glint, Medusa's serpents coiled between your digits, circling wrists, their skin flaying with yours. a bottle of somber tears shattered, impuring your core with loathing never imagined to be stored in your soul. With the swiftness of a sword out of its sheath, your hand flew high, landing the thorny plants across his face, over and over again, no drop of fear in you. Kento succeeded in grabbing your hand- not the one attacking him, squeezing your wrist to make you yield, but to no avail. your blood rushed hot through your veins, carving your mind with screams of violence and to hurt him more, that is when your fists balled and your ankles rose up sharply.

"Stop!" 

You would never. your hands had their own mind, they scratched and punched and grabbed to your heart's content, avenging you after so long of a macabre suffering. your shackles started to unravel, each movement of yours freeing the hollowness outside you. short minutes stretched forth like long hours until you were done- or like you were over with him for now.

a blur on your vision subdued, the faint image clearing line by line. Kento was on the floor, leaning on a chair and balancing his weight on a knee, right hand shielding over his face. you couldn't see the damage well through his fingers till he got up, still holding his face in his hand, silently giving you his back and leaving you to your own devices. as he left, you noticed red across the sides of his hands and arms; few cuts and swells distorting the fabric of his pale skin. 

[cheollipop]

HIII :D

Can you write a little drabble about dom Yunho and fem reader ignoring eachother after an argument and so y/n comes up with a plan to tease Yunho while he’s busy ignoring her and playing video games and then he ends up getting worked up and it then leads to rough sex 🙈 (sorry if this is too much lol)

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

hi anonnie!! this... thisssssss egsjbks omg gamer bf!yunho AND mad!yunho?? yummy YUMMY- ahem, this was very fun to write, and i may have gone a bit overboard with it oopsie. also, been in a playful mood lately, so you get bratty!reader~ happy reading ^^

pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader

w.c.: 1.6k

tags: smut, oral (m), make-up sex, lots of cum talk bc... teehee, yunho's kinda mad but turns soft, reader's a little brat ><

nsfw under cut—minors dni!

Eyes trained on the screen before him, spattered splotches of red masking his point of view as his player failed to block the incoming stream of bullets, his fingers stuttering over his keyboard as loud yelling blasted into Yunho’s ears, his friends’ voices contained within the worn-down cushions of his headset. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, partly because of the insults being thrown his way as he struggled to aim his sniper, but mainly at his inability to recall how the argument he’d had with you a couple hours ago had even started. He wracked his brain for an answer, but all he came up with was the menacing smile stretching your lips when you walked into the room hours after he’d stormed off, opting to bully eleven-year-olds online with his friends, camping at their spawn point and watching them grow frustrated with his unfair tactics.

The situation flipped, though, once your smile disappeared underneath his desk, your body hidden under the polished wood, and Yunho nearly cursed at the missed view of your delicate hands undoing the strings of his sweatpants. He wasn’t mad at you, he could never be, even more so when you had your fingers wrapped around his cock, tongue drawing circles around his head and collected the occasional spurts of precum as he grew harder in your grasp. He shuffled in his seat, containing a groan before it could leave his lips when you took his length down your throat, your lips meeting the digits wrapped around his girth before pulling off for air. Yunho wasn’t sure how many games he’d lost so far, only that his friends were growing frustrated with his silence, but he didn’t dare speak, knowing his voice would give away the nature of the situation he was in.

Brushing off the blonde locks obscuring his vision, he attempted to return to his position at the enemy’s base, only for you to flatten your tongue along the underside of his cock while sliding him back into your mouth, waiting until the tip prodded at your uvula before swallowing around it. To his luck, the startled grunt drawn out of him aligned with his teams’ nth loss, and his friends returned to their endless berating.

You pulled off him again, resting your head high enough on his thigh to stare up at his flushed face over the edge of his desk—eyes glazed over and unfocused as they gazed back at you, his lips bitten raw and a pretty rose tinting his neck and the sliver of his chest peeking at you over his collar. Your hand remained on him to smear your saliva down his length, squeezing at his base and back up to twirl around his cockhead, all while watching his composure slowly breaking down and his impatience seep into his features. With hesitation, you moved your eyes off him and to the pretty, bright pink painting his angry tip while it leaked translucent liquid that mingled with your spit, leaning forward to lick a stripe over the throbbing vein decorating his shaft.

You heard deft fingers pressing over the keycaps followed by the loud clang of his headset hitting the wooden desk, his thighs retracting as he rolled his chair back, and his hands squeezed around your biceps to hold you up. Forcefully pulling you to your feet with him, the snarky remark died on your tongue as he pushed back onto the bed, a sudden exhale blowing out of your lungs when you landed under him.

“Had your fun?” the deep baritone sent a shiver down your spine. Looking up at him, you took in the sweat pilling on his forehead, and you unsuccessfully attempted to wiggle out of the grasp he had around your wrists.

You bent your knee enough to dig into his hanging cock, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards when he jerked back. “Seems like you did too.”

You saw his eyebrow twitch again before a firm hand grabbed at your jaw, his other hand working your bottoms down your legs, two fingers pushing between your walls before you could even think of a retort. But you simply giggled, amused by how worked up you’d managed to get Yunho. You pecked the palm covering your lips, breathing out airy moans as he repeatedly pressed his fingers into your g-spot. He scissored his fingers, watching hot arousal dripping out of your cunt to seep into his duvet, cursing under his breath while using it to lube himself up.

“Can’t believe you,” he mumbled after releasing your jaw, leaning down to press himself flush with your chest, hands on your hips while he sunk into you, a melody of grunts and moans bouncing off the walls as he ground into your pussy, making sure you took every last inch of him. “Fuuuck, so fucking tight for me, aren’t you? Even when you’re being a brat,” he pressed his lips to the smile stretching yours.

Your smile wavered, playfulness fading away as you held his face to gaze into his hooded eyes, “are you still mad?”

Your whisper halted his insistent grinding, sparing you from the delicious glide of his cockhead over your walls to press a kiss to your forehead, “I could never be mad at you, sweetheart. I’m sorry it seemed that way,” the hands holding your hips wrapped around you, one cradling the back of your head and the other on your lower spine, holding you so close you could hear his racing heartbeat.

You knew this didn’t solve the problem, and that you’d have to sit down and talk about it again soon, but Yunho’s hold—so warm and tender—set a veil of tranquillity over your moving bodies and erased any significance tied to your previous argument.

But Yunho was still desperate, brimming lust mingling with his desire to make love to you, his hold gentle and yet his hips were merciless. He slammed his cock into your cunt, breathy ah's blowing over the side of you neck while he drew out orgasm after orgasm from you, his length pulsating within your heat as pleasure seared through your bodies. Your thighs trembled around him, and your hips ached when he flipped you over, grabbing your ass to pull you back onto his cock while his other hand pushed your head down into the mattress, taking what he needed from you and revelling in the sweet moans he got in return.

Overstimulation mingled with pleasure, and you tuned out your surroundings save for the choked grunts Yunho blew against the shell of your ear, the flesh of your ass growing raw with his repetitive thrusts, the back of his thighs slapping roughly against your skin.

“gonna come,” he panted, “gonna fill you up all the way, yeah baby?”

You rambled incoherently into the sheets, the hand holding your head down tangling into your hair until dull pain shot through your scalp. Moaning a succession of “yes” and “please,” Yunho held you in place while he emptied thick ropes of his cum between your fluttering walls, doing just as he said he would: filling you up all the way, until the heat spread into your womb.

Yunho brushed the hair off your face to watch your pupils disappear, rutting his softening cock into you to push you further over the edge, aiding you down from your high with skilled rolls of his hips and kisses peppered over your skin, groaning at the tight squeeze of your cunt around him. When overstimulation jerked your body away from his grasp, you reached back with heavy limbs to push at his hips, sighing once his thick length slid out of you, and you missed the string of cum connecting his cockhead to your leaking hole. But Yunho eyed it until it broke, sliding his hands up your spine and flattening his body over yours, his weight held up by the elbows digging into the mattress by your head.

Pressing kisses to every patch of skin he could reach, yunho brushed away your tears with the plush of his lips, kissing over your shut eyelids while breathing in your uneven exhales. His pretty angel, he couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, especially after you’d milked him dry, always so beautiful when you were stuffed full of his cum. Covered in sweat, shirt sticking to your trembling figure, your cunt oozing the translucent liquid while it clenched uselessly around the chill air.

You craned your neck to look at the man hovering over you, clothed chest brushing over your back with every breath he drew in. He looked just as ruined—a pretty flush painting his cheeks, eyes soft and brimming with adoration as they mooned over your expression. You wondered what face you were making, and why it seemed make him so starstruck.

“We good?” You breathed out into the air between you, a hopeful glimmer in your eyes.

Yunho focused on the spit drying over your lips, the line of drool going down to your chin reflecting the light from his monitor. His cock twitched in interest where it lay snug between his lower belly and your ass, and he rolled his hips experimentally, your sweet arousal around the hardening length gliding smoothly over your skin.

He hummed, meeting your hopefulness with an innocent smile, though the hint of slyness hidden within the gesture did not go unnoticed. Rolling his hips once more, he enveloped your body completely, resting some of his body weight over you while he whispered in your ear, a dribble of his cum seeping out of you as you squeezed around nothing.

“I think I might need a little more convincing.”

[stuck1nthelimbo]

[ sound ] * fushiguro toji x f!reader // 0.6k, 2nd pov, edited repost, no beta, smut, covering mouth, tent sex, semi-public, protected sex || ✨m.list✨

You never imagined how this massive man could squeeze through the tent door so inconspicuously that you’d be none the wiser. Until now, when the bulky arm wraps around you, a large open hand clasps over your lips and silences you before a single word escapes. This giant lies on top, trapping you under himself.

With a quiet shushing, he tries to hush you as his free arm wriggles under, the middle and ring fingers firmly pressing against the soft fabric of your panties. A low muffled gasp slips through the thin cracks between long fingers while you struggle to free yourself, which in contradiction, irritates him, and his body sinks yours farther into a slim mattress.

Your eyebrows knot together, creasing the forehead between and contorting your face with a troubled expression. The hand down the panties messes with it further, stretching the fabric to the side and plunging his middle finger between puffy pussy lips.

“Damn, you're fuckin’ wet,” a low, breathy baritone voice groans near your ear; You crook your neck to face the man behind, only to catch a glimpse of a vertical scar running down the right side of the grinning lips. You hold your breath as something stiffer jabs the inner side of your upper thigh, whilst his two digits stir the walls of your cunt. You wince once alongside the two fingers, the male's thumb harshly brushes over the swollen clit.

After what feels like hours, the intrusion halts and your inner walls clench around the emptiness. However, not long after, you feel the tip of his cock shoved inside you without an ounce of consideration. If it wasn’t for his large hand, everyone would discover how loud you can be. The clutch of his palm around your mouth tightens while he inches his girth inside your sopping cunt until his groin presses against your ass. Whilst the pain dissipates into toe-curling pleasure, you manage to pry his middle finger off your lips.

“You're so big, Toji,” you incoherently mutter, but it must've reached his ears and is such an ego boost for him as his cock noticeably jerks against your twitchy walls. The rough and erratic rutting drives you to see stars over and over again, rolls your eyes back into your skull. He groans and pants beside your ear, hot, steamy breath dampens your neck, and occasionally his teeth sink into your shoulders, painting the skin with sharp violet nicks.

With him pinning you in one spot and using your fluttering cunt like a fleshlight, it doesn't take far too long for either of you to reach the desired finish. One hand that isn't stuck under the crushing weight of Toji, sneaks to his navel, your digits reaching the base of his cock. But before you can reaffirm your doubts about whether something felt off, your fingers cramp, and ball up in a fist while your soaking inner walls clamp and desperately cling to his fat cock throughout the orgasm. The remaining coherent string of thoughts snaps in your head, making you miserably cry into his hand while he senselessly fucks you through your and additionally, his climax…

“Tojiii, you're wearing a condom~” you mewl, protesting as his weight shifts off of you; He slumps beside you, and without glancing, slips the ragged latex condom off. You still feel gentle waves of pleasure in your lower stomach.

“I'm not makin' another baby, dumbass,” he scoffs. You puff your cheeks like a little spoiled brat. Toji rolls his eyes in both disappointment and amusement.

© stuck1nthelimbo; do not redistribute, repost, modify, or use in any way, form, and/or shape.

[ahhhwomen]

hellooo, i wanna request some story, this is kinda dark so basically, Agatha H meets Reader by chance and is very attracted to Reader. Reader doesn't know that Agatha has powers. Reader begins to feel watched and then Agatha kidnaps her. Reader is only conscious from time to time and Agatha is like "Everytime you struggle I will numb you with more magic”... so that's it... add some smut if you want 🫣🥹!!

Pairing: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

A/N: Is this anything like you asked for.... no. Is it also over a month late... yes. But hey, i added smut :) Also, I made this fem reader since you didn't specify, if that is wrong don't be afraid to tell me and I will change it!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

Warnings: Dark, kidnapping, use of magic for restraint (*cough* and smut *cough*), smut, edging, smoking, swearing, dub-con  Minors DNI 18+

Word Count: 2.1k

The fabric dampens as your tongue pushes against it, your teeth clutching the white material tightly, and your eyes scrunch as you push down the desire to scream in frustration.

You are going to kill your neighbor.

With one last clench of your jaw, you release the wet fabric of the pillow and sigh.

The digital clock on your left tells you it’s way past your bedtime. Yet, the booming from the redhead’s loud friends makes it sound like you are in the middle of a frat party.

You drag your hands over your face, the pads of your fingers digging into the skin beneath your eyes and pulling. The hackle of feminine laughter echoes throughout the streets of your little town.

It had been like this for hours on end.

With a huff, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, and your right hand delivers a quick slap to wake yourself even more.

If this is how it is going to be; then you might as well make the most of it.

Curling your toes as the surprising electric shock of cold wood quirks your system, a chill creeps through you, settling deep in your spine. The duvet calling your name must be ignored for now, and with that, you make your way to the kitchen.

Smoke tendrils float among the remaining cloud of puff as deep amber lips pull in another sharp inhale. The hot air burns like a delight through her as she sits in her own bubble.

She was so over it, sitting on the porch with her shoulders leaned back and her cigarette resting easily in her right hand was the first break she had gotten all night, these girls are loud. And not the fun kind.

Hyena cackles pierce her ears as one of Wanda’s many friends tells another miserably boring joke on the other side of the, thankfully, closed door.

“For fucks sake ladies, it’s not that funny” She mumbles to herself as the rest of the women join in on the animalistic laughter, this is the downside of having ears and eyes everywhere, she supposes.

Her right ring finger taps the side of the burning stump, the texture familiar and soothing. Pieces of ash fall like snowflakes, clustering in a pile beside leather boots.

She is just about to stomp the thing out when one of the neighbor’s front door opens with a little too much force. Wood crashes against wood, the planks behind the heavy thing indenting and chipping the paint, as the door slams into the sidewall of the suburb house.

A young woman curses herself as she looks at the damage she caused while trying to balance the multitude of trash bags she is clutching.

With an amused smirk, the older woman leans forward, tilting her body to get the best view of the younger thing. Her blouse shifts and bunches where the silk is hastily stuffed into dress pants worth half of your rent.

You groan as you feel a pair of eyes study you from afar. People these days.

With a puff of air, you blow away the small whisk hairs that cling to your sweaty forehead, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to help a girl out.” You turn around to what you assumed was going to be just another one of Wanda’s familiar friends.

She had people over almost every weekend, so some faces were hard to forget, however, when you finally lock eyes with the rude woman, she is nothing like you expected.

With her head thrown back in an almost cruel laughter, you can see the wide expanse of her neck, dark hair falls freely in subtle waves. In one of the hands, the older woman clutches the outer plank of the porch, while the other one grips an almost burned-out cigarette.

You shift from one foot to the other, the weight of trash in your hands almost forgotten as you can’t help but admire her for a moment.

Yeah, she is nothing like the redhead’s other friends at all…

You almost startle as a teasing voice responds to you with delight, “Oh, you are a fun surprise sweet plum.” The woman crushes her cigarette under sturdy black boots, the sizzle of burning leaves dying out much like the flame.

You simply stare at her, even her voice is so different from the other women around these parts.

She struts toward you with confidence even a man couldn’t muster.

Frozen on the spot you would barely notice when she takes two-thirds of the bags if it wasn’t for the way her fingers so deliberately brush against yours. You don’t dare look down, but as you feel cool metal against your warm skin, you know her fingers are decorated with only the best.

“Excuse my bad manners, let me get that for you, honey.”

Her lip lifts into a mean smirk, and the hint of wrinkles just makes her all the more alluring. You can’t tell if you want to drown in her eyes or run away from them as fast as possible.

She is already halfway down your driveway before you can get a peep out, and you follow with haste.

Throwing both yours and her trash into your big bin at the end of the driveway she asks you if you would like to join her for a smoke, you can tell by the repressed giggle that she doesn’t think you will take her up on it.

Which only makes it all the sweeter when you get to surprise her with an easy, “Yes, I would love to.”

For a moment she is the one frozen to the pavement as she studies you, her eyes squinting as if she believes you to be joking. Her eyes travel up and down your younger frame, pausing for a moment on your chest, but you decide that you probably imagined that bit.

Wishful thinking or whatnot.

A soft tongue swipes across dark red lips before the mysterious woman regains her composure and laughs with mirth, drowning out the other ladies, you can’t help but think she looks beautiful when she laughs like that. All, carefree and happy.

She tilts her head toward you, her hands letting go of the bin´s handle and instead reaching out for you to take,

“Well then sugar, I'm Agatha.”

You take it with as firm of a grip as you can manage, “Y/n.”

That’s how it started, with a cloud of smoke surrounding the both of you while you share silly stories from childhood.

And that was the end of it too, she was funny and sassy, but she never came over much to the Maximoff house, so you figured that would be the end of your little connection.

How naïve you are.

There is audible whining as the deep magic slides against your body, it holds your torso and legs tight against the comforter. You try and free yourself with grasping hands but with a quick turn of the older woman’s delicate wrist the magic shifts and turns until it takes ahold of your wrists and pins them down beside your head.

“Don’t be like this baby…” A smooth voice slithers itself into the vast expanse of your mind, almost like she never said it out loud, just forced it into your thoughts.

The sheets rustle as you wring and struggle. The purple void closes in, tightening around you, forcing you still.

You feel numb as your limbs give in to the older woman.

“Good girl. That’s it, baby…” Your eyes feel heavy, and you can’t seem to keep them open. You feel a warm breath against your midsection as the words glide over warm skin.

Before you can comprehend who, the voice belongs to, the tendrils vibrate against you in excitement, and you gasp for air as they close in on the delicate spot between your legs.

You can’t help the moan that escapes you as one of the stronger tendrils drags itself in an up-and-down motion against your sensitive clit.

You can’t even recall when you stripped your clothes, but the purple sorcery delights in it. The feeling is almost like pure lust submerging itself within you.

It crawls up your body, one sticks to that sticky spot between soft thighs, while the others spread against you. Like wildfire, they spread and absorb your every thought. One of them settles like a set of warm hands against your bare chest. Teasing taught nipples.

Another one forces your mouth open, and slides against your tongue, firming into the feeling of ghost fingers. They drag gently over your lips when they are coated enough.

Then it drifts lower as the one against your clit speeds up.

Your back pulls like a taught string, if this doesn’t let up, you will break soon. The purple tendril against your pulsating weak point hardens. You gasp for air, and finally, you can breathe, the continuous assault against your body is now over, and you relax a little into the sheets.

“Oh fuck!”  Your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

You let out a breathy whine as the purple mystery is replaced by the feeling of wet fingers pushing into you. They force their way past your lips and enter you without any problem.

Another moan fills the heavy air, but this one isn’t from you. It’s deeper, passion laid within it like an accent.

“That’s it, honey, hop like a bunny for me.” When the feeling of cruel eyes prickles the back of your neck, you finally make the connection.

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutching the sheets like your life depends on it.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as you huff in annoyance, if you were going to keep having these dreams, they may as well let you finish. With your eyes still closed, one of your hands releases the smooth silk and glides down your bare stomach, then you stop to a halt.

Placing your hand back on the soft material you open your eyes in wonder, you most definitely do not own silk…

The first thing you see when your senses return to you is expensive sheets, in a deep purple shade, then as your eyes wander your heart races.

This is not your house.

“Ah, you are finally awake.” You startle as the feminine voice calls out to you from across the room.

“That was a close one wasn’t it honey? You are dripping all over the sheets.” Agatha sits in the armchair in front and center of where you lay gasping.

Her legs crossed; she cradles a cup of tea in her left hand. Narrow eyes study you as you scramble to cover yourself only to find that you can’t move any longer.

The deep purple is back as your wrists get pushed back into the bed. The mattress hugging you close as the purple weight of restraint takes hold of you yet again.

The chuckle that escapes Agatha is cruel and unstoppable, it builds within her, crawling up her stomach until she can’t help but voice it. She can see the realization dawn all over your face, the feeling of eyes in the back of your neck, the strange dreams, the never-ending teasing of naughty dreams for her own pleasure.

The lack of memory, the restraint deep within your bones, all because of this woman.

After your little meeting all those weeks ago you had heard stories about her, the rumors, the purple aura that seems to follow her everywhere she goes. However, not once did you believe the petty gossip of the redheads’ other friends, that was your first mistake.

Now you understand, they were all true.

After all…

It was Agatha all along.

And as she pushes herself into your mind yet again and forces you into yet another dream that will keep you just on the edge, Agatha Harkness is one wicked witch.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Raven Crowley Platinum Jacket Doodles + Interview

It's that time of year again! Cat and bird double birthday, wahoo :v

First comes the vignettes (this time featuring Silver~), then at the end I’ll go over the details of Miss Raven’s Platinum Jacket design. I’ll also go into some of my thoughts when picking the paintings. And once again, I was too lazy to do digital artwork for this—

Let’s be off to the Land of Dawning’s National Museum of Art now!!

Happy Birthday 100th Anniversary!

Raven: Waaah~ This is amazing! So many works of art, each piece entrenched in rich history and lore… There’s much to spark inspiration here. It’s a writer’s dream come true!

Raven: Let’s see the next one is… Oof!

*Dull thud sfx*

Raven: ?!

???: Zzzz… ?!

Raven: Wh-Who erected this brick wall in the middle of the museum?!

???: Hm? You’re…

Raven: Eh, i-it’s Silver-senpai?

Raven: I apologize for bumping into you. I hadn’t realized you were also around to glimpse this part of the exhibit.

Silver: It’s fine. I apologize as well for obscuring your path. I should have been more vigilant of my surroundings. Instead, I dozed off while standing up.

Raven: What is it that you were looking at before you lost yourself? I was meaning to get a glimpse of it.

Raven, smiling: It’s the famous hornbill from Sunset Savanna!

Silver: You’re familiar with him?

Raven: Of course I am. I’ve looked up to him for a long time. He’s an exemplary avian!

Raven: He served as an advisor, chamberlain, and even chaperone to the royal family, including the King of Beasts himself. There were several attempts to usurp the throne, and it is said that the hornbill remained dedicated to the King of Beasts through each of those fierce struggles. Quite the resume on him.

Silver: Yes, he is very influential and accomplished. Malleus-sama has an entourage of nobles in the capital city who serve a similar role as the hornbill.

Raven: Insider knowledge on the ins and outs of court life… I envy you. I’d love to be a fly on the wall and absorb all that intrigue.

Silver: Actually, I’ve never actually been in that that environment myself.

Raven: You haven’t? That’s a surprise. I’d imagine you would have to be physically by your liege to protect him.

Silver: I’ve spoken at length with my father about this, but he is stubborn. He says the capital city is no place for me.

Silver: “It will take your light, chew it well, and swallow it up.” He never explained more than that.

Raven: Hehe, it sounds like your father really cares about you.

Silver: He does. I just wish he would let me do more for Malleus-sama and for him.

Raven, more serious: I understand your frustration. When you feel like you’re ready for more, but the world denies you of it… It leaves a tight feeling in your chest.

Silver: Like shortness of breath when you’re in an intense workout?

Raven: Er, sure. Let’s go with that.

Raven: There’s also a kernel of truth to what your father said. The world of bureaucracy and politics isn’t for everyone, even if one is only present as an observer.

Raven: Lies, flattery, personal gain, manipulation, deals, backstabbing and double crossing. Such things are commonplace when policy and governance are involved—at least, that’s what I gather from my writing research.

Raven: It can be so oppressive and isolating. One has to steel their wills for these things. It must have been difficult to do, even for the hornbill.

Raven: I think your father wanted to protect your eyes from clouding over from the darkness of that world. He probably still does.

Silver: !!

Raven: Wanting to protect the people you hold dear is a natural instinct, just as wanting to grow up fast and fill in that role as the protector is.

Raven: One day, you’ll be ready to leave the nest and be a part of that world. And when you are, your father will see you off with a smile and tears in his eyes.

Silver: … Yes, one day.

Silver, closing his eyes: …

Silver, opening them: Raven, I’m sure your guardian, the headmaster, feels the same way about you.

Raven, to herself: (Is this Silver-senpai’s way of returning the advice…?)

Raven, to herself: (Thinking about it though, Uncle is more of the type to chuck someone out of the pan and into the fire than to keep them from the stove altogether. Ah, but Silver-senpai is staring at me with such hopeful, expectant eyes. I-It’s fine to play a little into it, surely?)

Raven: A-Ahahaha… Yup, that sounds like Uncle alright…

Raven, to herself: (LIKE HELL IT IS!!)

Silver: You refer to him as “Uncle”, so is the headmaster related to your parents?

Raven: Oh, no. We are not related by blood. “Uncle” is a term of endearment. It would be more accurate to say that he is my guardian, not father or uncle. Still, I recognize him as a father all the same.

Silver: I see. I apologize for my misunderstanding. So you are also adopted…

Silver, smiling: It sounds like we’re kindred spirits.

Raven: Eh, are we…?

Raven, to herself: (WE’RE NOTHING ALIKE THOUGH?!)

Silver: Yes. I also know you are a kind and hardworking person, just like the headmaster.

Raven: (How is it that the longer he talks, the more strays from the truth?!)

Silver: So I think… one day, you’ll be just as revered as the hornbill advisor you look up to, or the advisors in Briar Valley’s court. I believe in you, so please believe in yourself.

Raven: O-Of course I will.

Raven: (How can I say I don’t believe you when you’re looking at me like a baby deer?!)

Raven: I’ve never seen creatures like this before. They’re depicted with the Lord of the Underworld, so I assume they must be his servants.

Silver. They are his retainers.

Raven: Oh, that makes sense. You put two and two together so fast. I guess it must be that retainers recognize other retainers.

Raven: I had trouble coming to that conclusion. When I think of a retainer, a very different image comes to mind.

Raven: Someone tall, muscular, and intimidating! With a mean glare! One look at them kicks your body into fight or flight mode! … Something like that.

Raven: In other words… JUST LIKE SEBEK-SAN!

Silver: …? Is Sebek like that? I know he can look scary, but really he’s a good person.

Silver: But in any case, he is also good at what he does.

Silver: There are other kinds of security personnel too. Ones that serve more covert roles.

Raven, eyes sparkling: Like spies and assassins?! They specialize in sneaking around and collecting information or getting kills in quietly.

Silver: Those are some. You’re surprisingly knowledgeable on this matter.

Raven: I-It’s something I’m interested in. Intelligence and the element of surprise, if wielded correctly, can be their own weapon.

Raven: Hmm… Unfortunately, these two do not strike me as spies or assassins either. They look more like children’s mascots—but I know that looks can be deceiving.

Silver: You’d be right. They say the Lord of the Underworld’s retainers had the ability to change their forms at will. They used that power to make quick work of those who posed threats to his rule.

Raven: Change their forms at will! Such a thing would be highly regulated these days.

Raven: For fair reason, I suppose. It would be easy for anyone to deceive and to commit fraud if they could borrow others’ faces on a whim.

Silver: Do you really think people do that, just going around pretending to be someone else and spreading lies?

Silver: The Lord of the Underworld’s retainers only ever used that power to enact justice and to right wrongs.

Raven, to herself: (S-So pure!!)

Raven: Wh-Who knows? That magic has also been used to do a lot of good.

Raven: Merpeople are able to vacation, work, and study on land thanks to the transformation potions the government distributes. It’s a wonderful system.

Raven: And Jack-san has a unique magic that lets him transform into a wolf. He used it to stop a scuffle at shortly before the interdorm tournament.

Raven: So I think it depends a lot on individual intention.

Silver: I remember that. I appreciate his help with that.

Silver: Raven, you can shapeshift into an animal too, can't you?

Raven: Well, yes. I was originally a real raven, after all. Right now I am a "human" girl though.

Silver: Do you ever have times when you return to your original form?

Raven: I don't do it often. I've found it's not as suitable for my current environment at school.

Raven, sighing: Sadly, it happens involuntarily when I'm experiencing periods of high stress. It becomes bothersome at times.

Silver: That sounds difficult.

Raven: You wouldn’t believe!! S-Some of the students are quite crude and make a game of provoking me and seeing who can make me turn the fastest.

Raven: And then when I turn around and scold them for their poor attitudes, they mock me and tell me to ‘fly away and go cry to uncle’!

Raven, angry: What nerve!! I swear to the Seven, I can’t have a moment’s rest around here!

Raven, under her breath: I may just peck at them one of these days to punish them for their behavior…!

Silver: That’s not nice of them.

Silver: If you ever shift and you need help, come to me. I can speak with the students who were rude to you. You can also rest at Diasomnia until you feel better. I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe.

Raven, panicked: You’ll do WHAT?!

Silver: …? Keep you safe, you mean?

Raven: D-Do you even realize what you’re saying, Silver-senpai?! (H-He’s sounding like a knight directly lifted from a fairy tale!!)

Silver: Don’t worry. I know many wild birds on campus. I can ask them for advice on how to best care for a raven.

Raven: S-Stop talking! Just please STOP TALKING!!

Silver: There is another bird here.

Raven: This one is the parrot belonging to the Sorcerer of the Sands. It's a scarlet macaw, a bird that is skilled in the art of imitating human speech. A highly intelligent being worthy of being the familiar to one of the Great Seven!

Silver: I didn’t know there were so many kinds of birds. Each of them so different than the last.

Raven: The variety among birds is also seen in humans, beastmen, merpeople, and fae. I was very surprised by the revelation when I first came to Night Raven College.

Raven: Truly, this is a place that brings together people from all walks of life. I don’t regret coming here. There’s something new and interesting to see every day.

Raven: … For better or for worse.

Silver: What do you mean?

Raven: When a flock grows, aggression happens. It’s true of both birds and of us.

Raven: There doesn’t seem to be a day that passes where a fight doesn’t break out or someone has to step in to diffuse rising tensions.

Raven: One bird—one person—is manageable. 800? Not so much.

Silver, thoughtfully: I wonder what it would take to help everyone get along better. What do birds do to repair relations after a fight?

Raven: They don’t.

Silver: … They don’t?

Raven: They keep fighting until one gives up and leaves the other alone. Then the victor claims whatever it was they were fighting for—food, nests, territory, a mate.

Raven: But obviously, that doesn’t work for us. The school would never sponsor battles outside of what is necessary for classes.

Silver: That’s…

Silver: … a great idea!

Raven: It is?!?!

Silver: There’s no better way to bond than through training and trading blows. Sebek and I have formed a strong friendship thanks to our own experiences.

Raven: Er, I’m glad that worked for you and Sebek-san but don’t know if that’s such a good idea for everyone to follow…!!

Silver: We can talk to Vargas-sensei about implementing a new P.E. event with a focus on combat. Maybe it could be tournament style with lots of activities. Sprinting, biking, swimming, jousting—

Raven: JOUSTING? In this day and age?!

Silver: Or make it a big game like Beans Day. Would it work better as a new course? That way, it’s longer. Even a club. A Fight Club.

Raven, looking tired: (I forgot how big of a musclehead Silver-senpai is!!)

Raven: How did you even come to this conclusion based on birds fighting for limited resources in the wild…

Raven: Your mind works in mysterious ways.

[Interlude]

Silver: Please consider my proposal. I think it would be a golden opportunity to unite everyone.

Raven: Sure, I’ll pass along the idea to the headmaster… (No way, not happening!!)

[…]

Raven: In any case, I’m off to see the rest of the exhibit. I’ll see you later.

Silver: Yes, see you then. Take care.

*Walking sfx*

Raven: Let’s see what else the museum has to offer 🎵

Raven: …!

Raven: This is…

Raven: Oh, how interesting. This painting is stylized to resemble a stained glass window.

Raven: According to a placard, this is meant to depict the moment when a beggar woman revealed herself to be the almighty Enchantress. Seeing that there was no love in a selfish prince’s heart, she cursed him to become a beast most frightening.

Raven: An enchantress and a curse, hmm?

Raven: …

Raven, turning away from the painting and leaning against it: … Hah.

Raven: I hope he eventually made peace and found his happily ever after.

***BONUS***

More about her Platinum Jacket design + author’s notes on writing the vignettes!

Here is a more detailed look at Raven’s design and full body pose for the initial Platinum Jacket artwork! Her top and shoes are basically the same as any other student's Platinum Jacket; the devil is in the details!

Starting with her hat, it's inspired by a combination of elements from Minnie Mouse. The general shape is borrowed from an old design of Minnie, which features a daisy sticking out of it. Including a flower might have looked out of place here, so I substituted tails with pearl-like beading. The big bow is inspired by a modern design. You'll also notice that Miss Raven's skirt sort of flares out like Minnie's. I figured if there was any design to pull inspiration from Minnie, it should be the one celebrating Disney's centennial.

ashdbudbpfqb I'll be honest, I hate the design of the neckties they went with so I changed Raven's to a cravat. Her sash is a style unique to her and it closely resembles the look of the sashes from the Birthday Boy series of cards. It's secured at her waist by another big bow.

Instead of pants, Miss Raven has some greyish stockings. She tends to prefer skirts and dresses to pants since she's used to her legs being "bare" in her old life as a bird. I think the most unique part of this look is her skirt. In addition to having the shape resemble Minnie's, the skirt is also supposed to resemble a cake with frosting "drapes". The dots along the skirt are meant to look like sugar pearls. You know, because you'd usually have cake for a celebration!

Now let's talk about the Disney images I picked for the card + vignettes www

I chose Silver to be the "interviewer" this year. (It may or may not be because of my recent fondness for the guy/j) Their dynamic is ironic because usually Miss Raven is the "good" person (9 times out of 10 she is dealing with someone way "worse" than her)... but in the presence of the shining beacon that is Silver, she suddenly seems like the snarky and sarcastic one by comparison. They're such a strange mix of grounded and yet also sort of spaced out. I feel like they're totally missing what the other person is saying every other exchange.

At first, I had no idea what to really include for Raven's initial card art frames. I was just going to leave them empty so you could project whatever you wanted onto them, but ultimately I slapped Diablo and the Evil Queen's bird onto there (because I found funny images) and called it a day. Diablo looks like he's about to steal some cupcakes, and the Evil Queen's raven/crow looks hilariously terrified of an apple.

For the vignettes, I chose two bird characters (Iago and Zazu) because I felt Raven could have some insight on them. Pain and Panic were also included because I felt like they needed more attention 🤣 Besides, I can't make ALL of the paintings Just Birds... I tried to stick with movies featuring the Great Seven, but decided to be unconventional for the Groovy artwork. The painting you see there is, in fact, from the opening to Beauty and the Beast. I thought it was very fitting for Miss Raven to see it, given her own background. Like the light trio, she has a unique expression as opposed to the rest of the cast (who look devious in their Groovies). Her look is more resigned and a little bit sad. Sketching her Groovy made me really appreciate just how much work must have gone into each of the official Platinum Jackey Groovies... Those angles and perspectives are so complicated!!

Anyways~ Another year, another Miss Raven birthday done and over with...! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[rawmeknockout]

Let's turn that one ask that one time into a request! Megatron fucks the readers face while Cyclonus pounds them from behind!

It's ridiculous to expect them to be gentle; not for lack of trying. They're just far too big to be careful enough, no matter how they try. The eagerness with which you threw yourself between them, throwing caution to the wind in favor of instant gratification, also didn't help. You gag on Megatron's spike when you move too quickly, not even a third of the way down the length and wide enough you can hardly fit your hand around it. His huge, blocky digits cup the back of your head, helm tilted back and optics shuttered. The furrow of his brows only further accentuates the aged lines in his faceplate. The discomfort from his spike is bearable at least, as you pull back to pepper kisses over the tip.

Cyclonus bears down on you with berth-shaking force, his clawed servo holding you against him with little effort while the other tears into the mattress. Unlike the mech in front of you, Cyclonus is eerily silent. The most you hear from him is the rumble of his engine, the occasional grunt when your body squeezes around him so tightly he has trouble pulling away. Trapped between the two imposing mechs, bookends of purple and grey steel. Your body rocks between them, your open mouth pushed further onto Megatron's spike as Cyclonus thrusts into you. Your moans are muffled by the Captain's mesh, segments catching on the tight seal of your lips.

When your small hand strokes over the remaining length of Megatron's spike, his hips lift from the berth and his knees furl towards his chest. He struggles not to fuck into your mouth, mouth open around his in-vents and hushed groans. His large servos are heavy against the back of your head, nearly keeping from you pulling off his spike just in time for him to overload. His transfluid paints your face and neck, too much for you to have swallowed it all. You weren't really looking forward to drowning in robot alien spunk, anyway.

Cyclonus gently tugs your head to the side, leaning down to lick away a dribble of Megatron's transfluid. Said mech lets out a strangled sort of noise from his chest. You feel more than see Cyclonus' slight smile against your cheek, body curled close over you despite his massive size. Oh, this mech is going to kill you.

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 1 - Dream a Little Dream of Me

Y/N has nightmares of a winged man haunting her dreams. When her dreams become reality, her world changes completely.

(1.3k)

The sound of wings rustling, knife slashing, and faded screams echo all around. The stink of metallic blood and rotting corpses burning my nose. I’m choking on the thick air, and it feels like my chest is caving in as my breathing gets shallower by the second. There's blood everywhere. My eyes widen as my gaze falls on the mangled corpses upon the forest floor, each one twisted and bent in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Rays of moonlight pours through the trees, dancing across their mangled remains like some twisted classical painting.

I sink to the damp forest floor. There’s no escape.

In the blink of an eye, a large ominous figure towers over my shaking form. His short dirty blonde hair and strong hands are covered in fresh blood splatter and pieces of sliced flesh. His striking eyes glow a dark red, reflecting the color of blood painting every surface. But what I truly could not take my eyes off of is his large white wings that block out the view of everything around it. His intimidating wingspan wraps around us like a dark feathery blanket, reminiscent of a night sky with no stars.

        “I promise I will never let anyone hurt you, never let anyone come between us,” he says in a surprisingly soft voice. He flashes me a smile that’s intended to be comforting, but it comes out sick and twisted. He pulls me close and wraps his muscular arms around me, a low buzzing feeling humming between the two of us.

I can hear his heart beating in his chest, slow and steady, far too calm for a man that just slaughtered a dozen people with ease.

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

        I bolt up out of bed, nearly falling off completely, but I catch myself at the last second. A cold sweat clings to my skin and the worn-out sheets, my breath coming in heavy and ragged. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of the winged man, in fact it seems to be the only consistent thing in my hectic life as of lately, but waking from the dreams never seems to get easier, always a struggle to shake the sinking feeling.

It takes a few moments to remember where I am, the crappy motel room I rented for the night, not so different from the countless other run-down motels I’ve stayed in across the Midwest, all with the same stingy smell.

Obnoxious yellow floral wallpaper lines the wall, caked with dirt and God knows what else that’s been accumulating for years. Ceilings spotted with black mold and blotchy water stains. An outdated box television plays the local infomercial about some miracle cleaning product, but it all sounds muffled and far away. The digital alarm clock on the bed stand reads 2:00 AM flashing in big red bulky numbers.

        Just a dream, I remind myself with a relieved sigh. I swing my feet out of bed, throwing on some jeans and my signature leather jacket, scuffed and torn in various places. I need some air. Just need to get out of here.

I recall the rundown bar I drove by just down the street. It’s a good way to kill some time. Plus, I could really use a drink right now. The bitter taste of alcohol is the only relief I get from these nightmares that torment me at night and haunt me during the day.

The cold air bites at my skin, but it’s surprisingly pleasant, grounding me back into reality and away from the painful dreams. It's the twelfth dream I’ve had this month and they only seem to be getting more intense, more real. They always end with the same winged figure. The same demonic, yet charming smile. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to shake that haunting face.

        Entering the bar, it’s nearly empty with a few patrons here and there. Most of them are older men wearing bulky leather jackets, a bit rough around the edges, perhaps a local biker gang. Some of them playing pool, others chatting about their glory days over a bottle of beer. The sound of the jukebox in the corner playing the best of eighties rock drowns out their conversations. It's apparent there’s not much of a buzz going on, unlike most bars at this hour.

The voices and music around me fades to background noise, it feels as if the rest of the world has disappeared, that I'm the only one left on this miserable planet.

I slide into a worn bar stool that’s certainly seen better days, taking off my worn leather jacket and placing it on the sticky wooden bar. I sigh and halfheartedly raise my hand to get the bartender's attention.

“What can I get you, hun?” A nice older lady asks, shining a glass behind the bar.

“Just a whiskey please. Jack Daniels if you got it,” I give her a weak smile, trying to blink the tiredness out of my eyes.

She nods and pours me a generous amount of light amber whiskey in a fancy glass, sliding it over to me.

I take a swig, the warm liquid slides down my throat with a pleasant burn, already giving me a sense of calm. These days, whiskey has been my best friend and I’m okay with that. People just disappoint you.

“Make it two.” A large figure takes the seat next to me.

My body stiffens. I recognize that voice from somewhere. I slowly turn to face him and see him staring back at me with those intense red eyes and intimidating wings that I’ve come to know all too well. My stomach drops. It's the man from my dreams. I freeze, my body going into fight or flight mode. In a matter of seconds, I decided to take my chances running. I leave my drink and jacket behind, making a beeline to the door, slamming it closed behind me, giving me any sort of advantage to get away.

He doesn’t follow, but that doesn’t stop me. I run and run and run until I physically can't anymore.

The streetlamps and apartment buildings around me turn into a blur and my head starts to feel dizzy. The world spins around me, clouding my vision. The cold air feels like it's burning my lungs as I struggle to gather oxygen. My legs feel like jello, ready to give out any second. I’ve lost track of how long I've been running, maybe minutes? Maybe hours? Everything in me is begging myself to keep running but I physically can’t force myself go on any further.

I tuck myself into an alley, leaning against the ragged brick wall that painfully digs into my back, yet it barely registers in my brain. My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath.

God, please let this be another bad dream.

“I was going to pay for your drink, and you just ditch me like that? Rude.” The man scoffs.

My eyes shoot open to see the man from my dreams less than a foot away, arms crossed, looking nonchalant as ever. My blood turns cold.

How is that possible? He couldn't possibly have run that fast!

A knot twists in my stomach. Deep down I know. This man is not human, and he certainly does not have good intentions.

“L-leave me alone!” I try to sound brave, but my words come out a sloppy stutter. I hold my arm out in front of me, as if that will deter him in any way. Stupid. This intimidation tactic is clearly not working.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic Y/N.” He rolls his eyes, then presses a gentle finger to my forehead.

The world goes black.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[tatarella]

Eugavus Angst AU - Gavus „The Mourning Mage“ Re-Awakening / SSP

Putting the pictures behind the cut due to potentially triggering content, please mind the tags if you are uncomfortable with mild(ish) body horror.

This is based on some light lore theorycrafting spun up by users on the GaGene Nation Discord server after discussing what the new hero Adrian might have done or not have done with his partner, Elyse. How would the dads react in a similar situation?

For some reason I wanted to do a fun little concept for a corrupted Gavus based on this and got way too into it. ����

Scenario: Eugene passes away and leaves a mentally broken Gavus and his cube behind. Knowing that the cube offers endless possibilities in the hands of a capable holder, Gavus tries to use it to bring Eugene back from the dead. Due to his incompatibility with the cube‘s power however, his already fragile mind and body get corrupted, turning Gavus into a Hypogean abomination with just one goal in mind: finding a way to return his love to him.

Initial sketch:

„After having no tears left to cry, he sought to become one with what remained of his love. Maybe with this newfound power, he could bring him back?“

The idea was that Gavus body struggled to contain the power of the cube, hence his skin slowly cracking like porcelain. Behind it is a black void with the red markings of the cube swirling within.

Costume/Weapon concept (including a full version without the noisy background):

The red scarf is Eugene‘s cape which Gavus took with him after Eugene died.

He embedded the Trickster‘s Cube into his chest where his heart is, hence the corruption spreading.

His Celestial body and clothes are incompatible with the magic of the cube, this is why it corrupts his limbs and burns his clothes. Eugene‘s cape is not affected because it still has Eugene‘s compatibility. (I found out that the program I‘m using for digital art actually has a very neat brush for a cloud/stain effect AFTER painstakingly painting the burn marks on his clothes by hand. 😂 )

SSP Gavus‘ weapon is a merged version of Eugene‘s Weapon and his own, broken SP ring. Including more cube corruption, OF COURSE.

Gavus actually succeeds in bringing Eugene back from the dead, but at the cost of his sanity and becoming a Hypogean himself.

Eugene is NOT happy about what Gavus did and somehow finds a way to wake Dura (and in the progress ascending as a Celestial himself), just to ask her to return his husband to the status as Celestial.

Bonus picture: Celestial Eugene (whom I accidentally outlined on the sketch layer because I‘m very slow of brain, so you gotta live with my red sketchy lines 🥲).

I took the chance and gave him a cute little low ponytail!

Now I need some fluff.

[belgianreader2]

Heya! I’m Bel, an artist from Belgium. I have been drawing traditionally since I was 12 and I also now paint digitally, and love to explore different media, including watercolour, oil paint, coloured pencils etc.

I recently graduated uni and while I'm trying to figure out what I want to do next and remain unemployed, I've dived deeper into art, which unfortunately also means that the tools I've been using so far need to be replaced and I can't afford to.

If you're interested in a commission, click here for my T&Cs and my Will/Won't draw, and if you're ok with them, DM me!

If you like my style, or would just like to help out a struggling young artist, consider signal boosting this post, or if you can afford it, buy me a coffee or buy one of my art prints. Thank you!

Find me on: IG | Twitter

[danddymaro]

Handsome | Revenant x Reader

Based on one of his new skins

Word count: 981

Handsome

He'd caught you by surprise, your eyes skimming over him at first before they took a long pause, one that lasted long enough for him to notice and feel tense.

He's always been one attentive to his surroundings, - having so many enemies did that to him.

And as the assassin he was now and had been for centuries, he couldn't overlook the feeling of being watched.

Much less, with the intensity in that look directed at him.

"What are you staring at?" said his artificial voice, the underlined threatening tone always present in it, even if you two were fairly accustomed to each other by then. 

It's not like you were friends, but you did say hi every now and then, to which he occasionally offered you a dismissive wave, a little acknowledgment that encouraged you to keep greeting him.

It took you a moment to answer, and during that short pause you continued to stare, your eyes wider than they'd ever been as they resumed staring at him and his new attire, which wasn't a simple paint job. 

There was a more human touch to his appearance this time, even if it was the smallest bit, and for whatever reason it had you staring. 

Slowly, your eyes trailed down, skimming his entire form before your sights fell to your hands and the over-excessive way your fingers toyed with each other, which further surprised you. 

You hadn't even realized it. 

 'Do I always do this...?' you wondered idly before you remembered he'd asked you something. 

Shaking your head fast, you choked out a response, "Nothing!" you insisted, peeping out the response. 

"I was just...thinking," you added and before you could finish he was already on his way, brushing past you with something close to a grumble, an annoyed one.

After all, idle chit-chat wasn't something he was accustomed to.

His clear bother made you feel somewhat guilty because you weren't doing it to be rude, and you wondered If he got the wrong idea.

You could feel a thick lump in your throat as you swallowed down and he continued on his route, leaving you staring at his back. 

'That's not what I wanted to say,' you lamented as you trailed behind him, something he noticed. 

Your mirroring steps had him seconds away from snapping at you, from asking you what had gotten into you because it wasn't like he invited you along.

Nor did he imply you were welcome. 

Meanwhile, you struggled, wondering Why it was so difficult to offer him a simple compliment. 

Sometimes you even stumbled to thank him for proper teamwork, which hadn't happened with anyone else, even when you'd been new.

It's not that he terrified you, entirely, that is. 

There were other Legends that sometimes intimidated you, all for different reasons, and yet you remained composed.

"-I meant to say, you look nice," you corrected yourself, your voice softening down right from the start of your praise. 

Slowly his steps stalled before he took a pause, while you felt your heart pick up its pace, suddenly feeling excited. 

Why? You weren't sure.

But it was enough so, that you hadn't had much time to really think over what you were saying as you stood right behind him, at arm's length. 

"You always look good, but today, it's diffrent. Today, you look..."

'He looks...' So many words hit you at once, but only one left you. 

"- Handsome," the single word escaped you, and when it did, he finally looked back at you from over his shoulder. 

You watched as he looked back at you, the bot taking in the slow realization that shifted your features to a more timid expression that reflected your immediate regret. 

Your hands had even moved up, fingers brushing over your lips as you covered your soundless gasp. 

Beneath the digits, your lower lip found itself captive between your teeth as he continued to look at you and that endearing face you continued to make.

-Handsome?

Were you teasing him?

He wondered if you were, but judging by the way your eyes looked over at him with helplessness, the consideration didn't last long. 

You wouldn't do that, even if you had decided to tease him in some way, it wouldn't be like this.

This wasn't planned at all.

"Is that so?" he asked simply, and you nodded shortly, 

"Yeah," you breathed.

Even if it had been so sudden to say so, it was true.

Even if you felt your face nearly melt, you owned up to it.

"hm..."

It took him a while to respond with anything more, inwardly musing over all the diffrent things he could say, ultimately deciding that he'd leave it at that for now. 

Mercy was his form of gratitude, and as amusing as it was to watch you look so helpless, he'd grant you that.

Much more, he wouldn't put you through hell for complimenting him. 

He'll take the praise, and with a bit of satisfaction too considering that you weren't hard to look at.

'I suppose... there's something about her,' He thought dismissively before he dropped his shoulders with a bit of defeat as he corrected himself on the matter because you weren't just easy on the eyes. 

He actually viewed you as quite lovely. 

He rolled his shoulders back and he stood tall before quietly turning back with a little, amused hum. 

As you watched him leave, you felt your body shrink with relief, your hands slowly falling to your side as you let out a tired sigh, 

"What was that about?" you wondered, asking yourself what had gotten into you. There was leftover tension in the air and you sighed at it.

And his response was just as questionable.

Which, while it had been nothing but a simple glance and humored sound, left you feeling nervous, the knotting in your stomach unbearable. 

[buccaneeering]

Anyway, un-proofread writing under the cut.

Featuring a poor attempt at digital art. Erik was made in the animal jam masterpiece game, and Julien was on my phone 🥲 with one layer.

The head of the scenic department was a stern and strict man.

His eyes were small and beady, almost like two little lumps of coal staring back at him with overwhelming disapproval.

The man cleared his throat and spoke in an impatient tone;

"You are the artist they hired, correct..? You will be tasked with painting the walls for "Le Cid". The colors are mostly beiges, browns and reds. If you finish early, you will help with the backdrop. I'm SURE that won't be too much for you.." The head had a sort of cruel glint in his eyes.

"I believe myself to be entirely capable, Monsieur." Julien offers the man a chipper smile... But it leaves his face with an awkward laugh when the man looks more frustrated than before. He scampers off for the paints required.. Beiges.. Browns.. Reds.. Likely some golds..?

He wanders aimlessly for a bit, never having been in a place so large as the Opera before.

It must've taken ten minutes just to find the dusty little closet, and more to get the lantern in the closet's center lit so the paints were decipherable.

Julien sighs exasperatedly as the match, from the box in his breast pocket, fails a third time. "He isn't a very paitent man, you know?" He whispers to the match, "I need this job.. And to keep it, I need you to work with me."

As if that worked. The next time he tried, the match split in two.

He retrieves another, growing more panicked by the second, but, thankfully, this match heard his pleas and did its job.

Conveniently, for once, the paints he needed were all in places that were easy to gather, and he walked out with a stack of paints about as high as his head.

He heard a voice, though from exactly where he couldn't tell.

The closet? No, he was just in there. Surely he would've noticed another man in the closet...

It was a charming sort of voice, the type one finds himself deeply lost in, and Julien was no different.

"Hello?" He calls.

It spoke once more from a bit closer; "Hello, Monsieur.."

He was taken aback by the formality. He never saw himself as a formal person.

"Hello!" He says again, then facepalms.. That was stupid! I already greeted him..

In an attempt to move on, "May I ask where you are..?"

Could the voice see him? He hoped not, the stress must of done a number on his rather plain appearance.

"Ah, yes you may ask, but I will not tell you.."

The voice's response was almost playful, with something of a tease in it's tone.

The voice seemingly came from every corner of he looked, and it left Julien spinning in circles, struggling to balance the cans of paints, which he eventually set down.

"Oh." He manages a laugh at the humor, but his face felt uncomfortably warm, and it grew more so with every sentence the voice spoke, "Okay.. Uhm, may I know your name?"

He looks around the dimly lit hall for signs of movement, but finds nothing.

The painter is quiet for a moment.. "Mine's Julien." He hoped introducing himself first comforts the stranger into doing the same.

The voice giggled, finding humor and something perhaps endearing about Julien.

"What, have you gotten lonely? No, I will not share my name with you, not yet at least."

"Maybe I am lonely." He admits, eyes trailing across the floor.

"I doubt it's me you are lonely for."

"Oh, maybe not.. But your voice is company enough, Monsieur."

I can't believe I said that outloud.

"You... You can keep your secrets.. I don't mind.." He looks around again, now taking a seat on the floor, criss-cross applesauce.

"May I really not have a name to call you by?"

The man remained silent for a moment, then asked questions of his own:

"Why, are you so eager to know my name..? Is it that you have grown fond of me this quickly..?.."

A soft breeze washed over him from some place unknown, almost as if the wind itself was whispering to him, caressing him from the shadows.

It sends shudders down poor Julien's spine.

"It's... Your manner seems familiar, is all. You speak like the notes I've been reciev--" Had he said too much?? "-- I, I do try to be cordial with everyone." Had he said too much?

"And what did these notes say...?" The voice asked, curiosity still lacing his tone.

His mouth opens to reply, "... It was just so--" he heard his name shouted by the stern man from earlier.

"JULIEN DE AUCLAIR."

That jolted his mind from anything he planned to divulge. He scrambles to gather the paints, and then hastily makes his way down the hall.

"I'm sorry. I have to go!"

He was entirely oblivious that the charming voice he had just spoken to was the one writing those notes.

Julien could hear a faint goodbye of sorts from the voice.

Oh, he hoped they would speak again.

He hurries out of the hall and back into the auditorium, where he is met with an angry face..

"I'm so sorry, monsieur.." He says: the cans of paint wobbling in his arms and brain wracking for a reasonable excuse.

No one would believe him if he said the walls were speaking to him.

"I.. It took me a while to navigate, and.." He swallows, "..The uhm.. Paints were a bit hard to find aswell..? I'll get to work immediately, I swear it." He knew that bit about the paints didn't sound confident.. But he hoped it wouldn't catch the man's attention.

"Fine then, I suppose." He says with a glare. "But do refrain from taking so long in the future, Auclair."

"Yes. Absolutely." With that, he hurries to the stage. It takes him a moment to get into his element, but, once he has found it he works for hours.

One hour become two, and two became three.

By hour four, two eight by fours were almost entirely done, he'd gotten so caught up in the task he hadn't considered eating..

He wipes the sweat from his forehead, which leaves a smear of red paint in it's place.

But what struck him as he returned to his senses was how quiet it all was.. And dark.

How late was it? He had surely worked overtime..

Had no one bothered to tell him?

His heart sunk a little.

No, he tells himself, I probably just dismissed them, is all... Even if they did leave me to do the work, I shouldn't mind. It's best I be useful if they plan to keep me here.

He turns to reseal the paints. After this, he would return to his room, not only to rest, but to see if O.G. had left anymore notes.

[aspenwritesstuff]

Part Three

prev | masterlist | next (soon)

warnings: angst, feelings of guilt and isolation, misplaced anger, scars mention, language, mental health struggles, very brief mention of institutionalization

wc: 7553

"You told them about Hyunjin, the beautiful boy you were charged with transferring the remaining shreds of the dream you’d always dreamed to." "You told them how, despite your disdain, teaching Hyunjin forced you to make an effort to be human again. To be alive. To wash clothes and wear them clean after taking a shower. To leave your apartment."

“You told them how, your own trauma aside, Hyunjin wasn’t all that bad.” "You told them how, in a way, it was because of Hyunjin that you’d finally broken your silence today. How wrong it felt to be better for a stranger when the two of them had been waiting for so long."

a/n: hey, hi, hello. I'd like to thank any of you who are still around to read this. From the bottom of my heart. I know I've been very inconsistent, and for that I apologize. I'm trying to pace myself, and slowly return to writing. Updates will be happening with more regularity now that I'm back to it! Comments, reblogs, asks...all of those things really light the fire in me to write, and are very deeply appreciated! So please let me know if you enjoy my work. Enough of my prattling, please enjoy part three!

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann

permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts @notastraykid @abiaswreck

Gray clouds and the distant call of thunder encased Seoul today, despite how nice the weather had been the day prior. It was days like this that were meant for staying in, avoiding getting caught in the inevitable storm, filling your time with something mindful.

Days like this had once been reserved for painting, locked away in the studio as the sky bellowed its approval over each brushstroke. Days like this meant the completion of a work that had been left unfinished, allowing motivation to come from the weeping sky. Days like this, and the work that went into them, had only been allowed interruption by one thing - your friends.

Changbin and Felix, the sole bearers of the right to break your focus whilst poring over a canvas. 

Days like these were once reserved for them, too. Movies that none of you really watched, talking over them about anything and everything. Laughter regardless of what was playing. Comfort regardless of the impending downpour.

What were days like this supposed to be now? When the thought of a brush in your hand was enough to bring about the ache in your heart that you couldn’t quite get used to, despite its frequency. The longer the monochrome sky loomed overhead, the longer the obvious answer hammered at your psyche.

They were the only thing left meant for days such as these.

You could call them. You could reach out in hopes that they hadn’t quite given up, despite your prior avoidance. It would be easy, just the tap of a few buttons on a screen. A child could do it, and yet you found yourself struggling to get past the menu.

Guilt has a funny way of complicating things.

Prior to the accident, and the subsequent lack of contact, reaching out to Changbin and Felix had been effortless - simply a part of your day-to-day routine, requiring little to no forethought. 

Now, however, you were terrified.

Your phone felt much heavier than it should have in your hands as you stared at the long-neglected group chat on your screen - the accompanying double digit number next to it taunting you with its reminder of just how long you’d been absent. Just how long you’d avoided speaking to the two.

How long was too long to ignore somebody before they’d stop considering you a friend?

Talking to them meant facing the possibility that your actions - or, rather, lack thereof - could have destroyed the only two friendships you’d ever cared to maintain. 

Until you actually spoke to them, you could live in ignorance. 

Until you actually spoke to them, you could assume they still wanted you around. 

Until you actually spoke to them, they were the only thing that hadn’t changed.

That just served to make the notion of finally reaching out absolutely petrifying.

These were the same boys you’d stay up laughing ‘til sunrise with, so deliriously tired that everything had become funnier than it should’ve been. The same boys that, rather than letting you fend for yourself, allowed you to follow them around like a duckling as they showed you the ins and outs of Seoul. The same boys who’d all but drag you from your studio when you’d forget to eat in the midst of a big project, bringing you to the diner for your favorite burger.

These were the same boys who brought new flowers to your bedside every week, even when you wouldn’t so much as look at them when they did.

You tapped the thread, swallowing both the lump in your throat and your pride as you read the messages you’d missed - maintaining your composure up until you got to the most recent two, sent only a day ago.

Felix: Honey, please talk to us? We’re really worried about you. Your mom said you’re home now, so maybe we could come by? I miss you a lot. 

Changbin: We could go to the diner if you want? I’ll pay even though it’s your turn. Nothing feels right without our favorite girl, okay? Love you.

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest as you hiccuped, unsure if it was shame that you’d doubted they’d stick around or relief that you were wrong that finally broke the dam - but broke it did as hot tears blurred your vision. 

So many things had been ripped from you - violently, remorselessly, suddenly. Your future, your outlet, your joy, all gone in a terrible symphony of metal against metal. Your dreams snatched away by the malicious hand of fate, dangled above your head - just far enough away to taunt you, to remind you that it still existed, just not for you. Reminding you that everything had changed.

Everything, it seemed, except for Changbin and Felix.

Undeserving didn’t even begin to cover the way you felt. After all of this time, receiving nothing at all but radio silence from you, these two men had been contacting you - at least one of them, at least once a day - since the accident. 

You scrolled up, noticing that they’d never once gotten angry. They’d never once blamed you. They’d told you about their days, their lives, what happened at work, changes to the diner’s menu, and - always - how much you were missed. Not once did either of them condemn your behavior. Not once did either of them criticize you.

And you’d ignored them. Treated them as if they, and their unending support in spite of your withdrawal from them, didn’t matter. As if you didn’t need them. As if you were better off alone after suffering loss. 

All it took was shame weighing down your shoulders to remind you, though, that you weren’t - and never would be -  better off without Felix and Changbin.

How inexcusable it felt to have left them in the dark made your thumbs difficult to move. Two simple letters turned into near-impossible hurdles. The level of anger you’d expected to have to face from them had significantly raised your expectations. 

You had been ready to beg, to offer anything to make it up to them when the gloomy skies forced them into your mind. You were prepared to listen to lectures, to agree with them had they called you a bad friend.

You had been ready to face the possibility that they’d lost faith in you completely.

So, how were you supposed to just say, “Hi.” 

How could you simply address them casually as if you hadn’t neglected them? Hadn’t deserted them? Hadn’t forsaken them in the name of sorrow, shunned them for your own selfish pity?

How absolutely wrong it felt to simply greet them as if nothing had happened. How slimy it felt not to apologize a million times over, sinful not to grovel at their feet for forgiveness.

How heavy two little letters could become.

Yet, despite the painfully slow rate at which your trembling thumbs tapped against the glass, they were suddenly there. Sitting plainly, four lines and a dot - “Hi” - black against white. It waited, just as the long-neglected curves and lines of another word had - send - white against blue.

You suddenly understood why minimalism paintings were regarded in such a profound way, as everything inside of you screamed at the sight displayed on the screen. No longer did you question how a few strokes of a brush and a signature could justify more than a glance. Gone were your bitter thoughts over the success of such seemingly simple works. Four lines and a dot, black against white. Curves and lines, white against blue.

Hi. Send.

They were not as simple as they appeared on their own. Together, they were complex.

Complex enough to paralyze you.

Hi.You never used to find it this difficult, not once. The luxury most had when facing the unfortunate drifting from friends was not yours to have. You couldn’t simply exhale a plaintive sigh, asking forces unseen what had happened to what once was. It would be ridiculous to even entertain the notion. You knew what had happened and you bore the angry, red reminder of exactly what spurred the change.

The reminder that things would never be the same.

You never used to care for minimalism paintings. How could you have? They were just lines before. Just haphazard shapes pointlessly ruining a perfectly good canvas. Cruel irony, realizing the potential of the style now that your talent had been reduced to nothing more than fond memories that pained you to recall. Harsher still was the realization that the closest attempt you’d ever make at the style was staring at you from a screen dimming from disuse. A strange medium on stranger canvas, the credits for which would certainly raise brows: 

Eclipse, Hi, 2023, 6”x3” Thumbs on Glass. Your heart dropped at the use of your old habits from your days of gallery submissions. Despite barely qualifying as a piece of art, you’d gone ahead and planned out the label for the four lines and a dot, black against white. Despite your wounds, you’d forgotten the pain for just a moment - losing yourself in the meaning of curves and lines, white against blue. 

Forgetting, for a moment, that everything had changed.

Perhaps it was the surge of adrenaline that accompanied your panicked realization, maybe even a brief stroke of inspiration from your inadvertent first-attempt at a style you’d once hated. Those two little letters were no longer the heaviest thing on your heart - and, in comparison, were suddenly light. Before you could talk yourself out of sending those lines and dots off, you tapped the blue that housed curves and squiggles. Send.

The cartoonish whoosh carrying those two heavy little letters felt starkly out of place amidst the rolling of thunder and the thrumming pulse in your ears. Your legs bounced, anxious feet filling the silence with muffled taps as you waited. All you could do now was stare holes into the screen and hope. Hope that, despite your certainty, you were wrong. That everything hadn’t changed. 

That, if nothing else, this could be the same. They could be the same.

It felt like a form of purgatory, staring at a screen filled with tiny bubbles of even tinier lines, dots, and curves. Time seemed to me moving in strange ways - seconds felt like their own small eternities as you stared at your underwhelming message. 

You wondered if Felix and Changbin felt this way, too, during their admittedly much longer wait for a reply. Certainly they had. It would be difficult to imagine otherwise. If ten seconds felt this long to you, how long had these months felt for them? Your heart dropped at the thought, but rose quickly along with your pulse at the sight of three little dots moving at the bottom of the screen. 

Those three little dots disappeared and reappeared once, twice, and three times before a few sentences appeared on screen. You saw that it was Felix who’d answered first, but couldn’t bring yourself to read it for at least a minute. Although these two had constantly been checking in on you, despite your lack of answers, it was hard to completely let go of the possibility that they would be angry. Hurt.

They had a right to be, after all.

Once your nerves allowed you to skim the message, a melancholy calm washed over you. In typical form, Felix was perfectly understanding - and sweet - with his reply.

Felix: Oh my god, hi! How are you? I miss you so much.What you had done to deserve such an immediate and warm reaction to your return was beyond you, having fully expected at least a bit of resentment sent your way - yet there was none to be found. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised though, seeing as neither Felix nor Changbin had ever given you a reason to doubt the depth of their care for you.

Recalling that brought the ache of guilt - having gone hand in hand with the thoughts of the two for months now - back to the surface. The shift back from your cautious optimism nearly knocked the wind out of you in its abruptness.

Guilt, and its funny way of complicating things, resulted in paranoia at Changbin’s lack of response. Maybe you were foolish to feel hopeful at the warm, brief, comfort of Felix’s kind response. The lack of discontent Felix expressed at your return held no guarantee to extend to Changbin. He could very well hold onto an indignation towards you for trying to simply slide back into their lives after so long of icing them out. What if he wouldn’t forgive you? What if, due to this, your closeness with Felix - in spite of his unabashed eagerness - too, would lessen? What if..? Changbin: Never disappear like that EVER again, stupid.You couldn’t even find it within yourself to feel a shred of irritation at the insult, a buoyancy you’d nearly forgotten was possible surrounding your heart as it thudded hard in your chest. You weren’t sure where to go from here. Of course, an apology was in order, but beyond that…you were clueless. It felt shallow to apologize over text, though, for something as grievous as the vanishing act as you’d performed. You stared at the screen for several minutes, thumbs trembling over the keyboard projected against the glass as you held the phone in both hands, before you finally decided. 

You: Come over, please?

You’d been spurred into making your appearance, after all, been spurred to finally make an appearance by memories of stormy days spent together. Hoping the nostalgia was hitting the duo, too, was all you could do - eyes glued to the dancing gray circles at the bottom of your screen. Felix: Not gonna lie, I was running to my car the second your name popped up on my screen sweetheart.

Changbin: I’m quite literally already on my way.Felix: Thought you didn’t text and drive? Your principles, or whatever.Changbin: These circumstances allow exception.Changbin: And, for the millionth time, it’s JUTDAE.The ghost of a smile graced your lips as you witnessed their usual banter unfold - something you hadn’t realized you’d missed in your numbness. The shape of your lips felt foreign, though not uncomfortable, on your face. Your lack of reply was largely attributed to knowing Changbin would likely look away from the road to read whatever you would contribute to the conversation - but, it would be a lie to say that was the sole reason. Their imminent arrival gave you an unpleasant reminder that, aside from your sessions with Hyunjin, you hadn’t left the house - and cleanliness wasn’t typically associated with apathy.

From the couch alone, the mess was impossible not to notice. A lump of unwashed laundry could be seen from the cracked doorway of your bathroom, left there despite the hamper being in your bedroom one door down. The coffee table was littered with unwashed dishes, wrappers, and empty plastic bottles, and the blankets that you’d typically kept folded neatly were all strewn about - discarded on the floor or left on whichever piece of furniture you’d decided to brood on that day. 

You rarely went into your room when the boys were around, so you weren’t too concerned about the clothes and items littering the room’s floor and your bed. Your studio was, for obvious reasons, another room you didn't need to worry about...but you didn’t even want to think about the mess in the kitchen. You knew for a fact you hadn’t bothered soaking - let alone washing - any pots or pans you’d used. The murky dishwater in the sink - clouded by the few dishes you had picked up - wasn’t forgotten either. You scrambled to your feet, grabbing empty water bottles from the coffee table in front of you - stumbling in your rush to get them into the recycling bin before returning swiftly to the living room to gather the dishes you’d left behind in your indifference. You set them on the counter, having to use a bit of force to squeeze them into an open space far too small initially, before plunging your hand into the sink with a grimace and pulling the plug - draining the stagnant water from days ago. 

With the plug replaced, soap added, and the faucet turned on at a scalding temperature, you hurriedly put the dirty dishes in - grabbing the pots and pans to fill with a bit of water to let them soak in hopes that it appeared as though you weren’t living the way you had been for so long. A whispered curse left your lips as you abandoned the still-filling sink to make your way towards the bathroom - pulling the large pile of clothes into your arms with a soft grunt before trudging into your bedroom and tossing them into the hamper.

You had just gathered the wrappers from the table and thrown them away, on your way to pick up the blankets when you heard a rhythmic knock on the front door - there was no mistaking the one-three-one pattern as Changbin and Felix’s signature, seeing as you’d jointly decided as a group that this was how you’d all make it apparent who was visiting in case of a spontaneous drop-in.

Elation and panic weren’t necessarily an easy pair of emotions to blend together, but that didn’t stop your instant stiffening as your head spun to stare at the rich mahogany - knowing that, for what felt like the first time after an eternity, your friends had arrived.

Kicking blankets towards the corner as you crossed the room hurriedly, you turned the deadbolt and grabbed the knob. Goosebumps covered your arms as you held the cold metal in your hands for a moment - though you’d be remiss to blame it all on the chill - hesitating before turning it and pulling it open. “Hey,” you began before the door was even fully open, your anxiety apparent in the way your voice quavered on such a simple word, “Thanks for coming, I know that–” You were cut off by an abrupt, tightly set pair of arms wrapping around your body as Changbin, standing in front of Felix, crossed the threshold in one long and impatient stride. He didn’t say a word, simply crushing you in what could’ve easily been mistaken as a restraining hold rather than a hug. He was soon joined by Felix, who approached much more slowly and opted to hug you from the side - enveloping you between himself and Changbin with a sniffle that, despite being unable to see his face, made you absolutely certain he was crying.

“Don’t you ever disappear on us like that again,” Changbin muttered against the top of your head as he placed a chaste peck atop your unbrushed tresses, earning a nod felt against your shoulder as Felix silently agreed, likely afraid to speak considering his likelihood to sob the moment he made a sound.

The guilt you’d grown so accustomed to when you’d think about the two of them lurched in your stomach at the way relief had audibly invaded what you were sure Changbin had intended to be a scolding tone.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out, joining Felix in crying as you spoke the only words you could. The only words that felt proper, considering the circumstances. The only words appropriate after snubbing the only people with the potential to understand you during your darkest time.

“Changbin, don’t make them cry!” Felix reprimanded with a sniffle, squeezing you tighter as he shot his best attempt at a glare Changbin’s way.

“I would’ve cried anyway,” it was true, your response. If the guilt on its own wouldn’t have been enough to rouse your emotions, the relief that they came after all this time was.

Felix nodded, but sent Changbin one last playful glare as you were guided inside, making your way to the sofa in tandem, settling in to wait out the storms; raging outside and in your mind.

As the crying ceased on both Felix’s and your end, he and Changbin had questions. You’d been absent from their lives for so long, after all. It was only natural they wanted some answers.

You told them. You told them every unpretty detail.

You told them about your hand, and how despite the effort you made in rehabilitation that it would never be the same. 

You told them about the scar, and how sometimes it would hurt as if to taunt you, to remind you as soon as you thought that you were maybe, possibly okay that you would never be again. 

You told them about your solitude, surrounded by the company of dirty dishes and overfilled hampers. 

You told them about your mother, and the ultimatum she gave you regarding the way you were living. 

You told them about Hyunjin, the beautiful boy you were charged with transferring the remaining shreds of the dream you’d always dreamed to.

You told them how, despite your disdain, teaching Hyunjin forced you to make an effort to be human again. To be alive. To wash clothes and wear them clean after taking a shower. To leave your apartment.

You told them how, your own trauma aside, Hyunjin wasn’t all that bad.

You told them how, in a way, it was because of Hyunjin that you’d finally broken your silence today. How wrong it felt to be better for a stranger when the two of them had been waiting for so long.

You told them how deeply, painfully sorry you were.

And, when they told you not to apologize and that they were never going to leave you behind, asking if you’d go shopping with them tomorrow?

You told them nothing would make you happier.

When the two of them left, you felt lighter. As though a great burden had been lifted from your shoulders…or, more accurately, distributed between three sets rather than being carried by you alone.

Changbin and Felix had only been gone for about an hour when the buzz of your phone alerted you to a message from an unfamiliar number.

???: Hey! I hope this isn’t a bad time. Ms. Park gave me your number!

???: This is Hyunjin, by the way.

You knew now who the messages were coming from, though more questions were acquired than answers. 

You typed and deleted several responses ranging from, “What do you want?” which you decided seemed a bit too rude, and “Why are you contacting me?” which seemed the same, only stiffer. You finally decided on a tried and true, much more casual:

You: What’s up?

It took only a few seconds for him to respond with a simple question that - from any other mentor - would seem reasonable. Yet your heart, once lightened by the reunion with your friends, seemed to gain several pounds as it plummeted uncomfortably into your stomach.

Hyunjin: Would you be willing to come with me to the art supply store? I’m new to oils and really don’t want to grab the wrong brushes.

Technically speaking, you were perfectly capable and more than qualified to fulfill this task. In fact, at risk of sounding vain, you may be one of the best people to help him out. If he’d have asked you prior to the accident, you’d have jumped on the opportunity to help an aspiring artist purchase their first set of oil-appropriate brushes.

Under different circumstances, you’d have found great joy - fun even - in browsing an art store with someone who wanted to be there. You’d often found yourself wishing for exactly that when you’d notice the bored expressions on Felix and Changbin’s faces on the rare occasions that you’d managed to convince them to tag along. 

This, however, was not under those circumstances.

You were not excited. You were not looking forward to it. You would never have wished for this in a million years.

And, despite the fact that Changbin and Felix were; you were not the same.

You debated ghosting him, acting as if you’d perhaps dozed off or set your phone down and lost track of time. You considered telling him to ask the clerk for help instead, despite knowing that they probably knew the bare minimum and were only working there for a paycheck, not passion, and would likely encourage him to buy the most expensive option rather than the most effective. You even considered simply saying, “No.”

You likely would have gone with any of these options had it not been for the way he’d grown on you. 

Perhaps it was his apologetic nature during last week’s lesson, when you’d displayed an unexpected level of emotion following his innocent query regarding you painting. 

Or perhaps it was the ease with which he offered to drop the subject. 

Maybe it could even have a little bit to do with the warmth of his work, and the way it made you feel something other than empty or angry - however briefly, before jealousy took over - for the first time since the accident.

Regardless of why, you did not, in fact, choose any of your reflexive responses. Instead, you agreed, telling him to meet you in about an hour, cleverly choosing a shop other than the one you were once a regular at despite the further distance. 

You simply couldn’t handle the barrage of questions Hyunjin would likely have should you be recognized; should it come to light that you had lied to him. That you were, in fact, a painter once.

Once.

The reminder, though self-inflicted, still stung as you gathered your bag and jacket, a pit in your gut still present even as you locked up and made your way to the roadside to hail a taxi. The drive did little to remedy it either, and you found yourself unable to match the smile you were greeted with as Hyunjin spotted you exiting the cab.

“Hey! Thanks again for agreeing even though it was last minute!” he called warmly, jogging up to meet you halfway.

You simply nodded, adjusting the bag over your shoulder and gesturing towards the shop in an attempt to occupy him with something other than expressing his thanks.

There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that if it weren’t for the way the brightness of his smile only seemed to accentuate the shadows of your envy, allowing it to grow and fester despite your intentions to be a good teacher to him.

Luckily, he took the hint without breaking stride, walking a few paces ahead of you as you entered the shop. You watched as he paused, eyes wide and curious, until he smiled once more upon spotting the aisle labeled brushes. You followed along at your same slow pace even as he rushed ahead towards it, finding him with two different sets in each hand as you caught up to him.

Reading the furrow of his brow as an internal debate over which was better, you spoke up from behind him, “Neither of those are what you want.”

He jumped, as if the few second gap between your arrivals in this aisle were enough to startle him. It was endearing, in a way, and you couldn’t help but let out the tiniest laugh in the form of a dry scoff.

Setting both sets down, Hyunjin chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head as he turned to face you, “Which ones then?” he asked, choosing not to acknowledge his brief moment of fright as he gestured with a grand sweeping motion to the display racks.

“Let’s see,” you murmured back to him, letting him off without any teasing, instead taking a few strides forward with your eyes on the rack and skimming each set for a specific logo - a simple white outline of a lily - belonging to the brand you preferred.

Used to prefer.

A pause imperceptible to anyone but yourself made itself in your stride, but you focused on the task at hand. You could handle this. It was just picking out brushes. It wasn’t a taunt from the universe, despite the way it felt. It wasn’t a cruel joke. It was just picking out brushes.

So why was your heart racing like you were about to get thrown into a pit of lions?

Swallowing your own nerves, you reached out to sift through the rack, finally producing the same set of brushes you’d once started with on your own journey, before it had been cut short, and handed it over to Hyunjin.

“These are gonna be your best bet,” you supplied, hoping he’d leave it at that.

Whether it was luck or a bit of intuition on Hyunjin’s part, he did just that.

“Thanks, I would’ve been staring at the rack like a fool for at least twenty minutes if not for you,” he said with a quiet laugh, tucking the set under his arm.

“Think of how many people could have startled you in that time,” you gave an attempt to banter, at which his quiet laughter exploded into a bright, vibrant cackle - out of place both from someone as beautiful as he was, and someplace as quiet as this.

He quickly smacked his hand over his mouth, eyes widening as he continued to snicker, “Since when are you funny?” he asked between subdued snorts.

“There’s more to me than you know.”

What a double-edged answer, considering all that you were actively hiding from him.

“Besides,” you began, keen to distract your mind from the discomfort of dwelling on secrets you kept from Hyunjin, “It wasn’t really that funny.”

A shake of his head prefaced the assurance you hadn’t asked for, “Trust me, I don’t laugh like that often! In fact, believe it or not, I try not to be noisy in quiet, public spaces.”

“Oh, is that so?” you responded with a laugh that felt foreign falling from your lips, shaking your head, “In that case, I will do my utmost to keep my hilarity to a minimum.”

Hyunjin exhaled a small snort from his nose, giving an over-dramatic bow - complete with a flourish - before speaking in an deliberately ostentatious tone, “I am most grateful.”

You shook your head, shoving his arm playfully to spur him back into standing, “Ready to check out?” you asked him, hoping the answer was yes. You wanted - no, needed - to leave. 

It wasn’t Hyunjin, by any means. If it were anything but art supplies, you’d actually have quite enjoyed this outing. Hyunjin was good company, once you’d given him a chance. You’d smiled more today than you had in a long while, your cheeks hurting from the lack of use prefacing today.

Hyunjin was warm, bright like the sun, perfectly good company. He was funny without being a tryhard. He was unabashed in his individuality, from the way he bantered to the guffaw you could still hear echoing in your mind.

It definitely wasn’t Hyunjin.

Despite not being your old favorite, being inside of a supply shop still gave you an unwelcome feeling of nostalgia. The scent was the same, regardless of what shop you went to, and you could swear the once-comforting aroma was now a foul stench, something you’d likely shower away when you got home.

“Just about, I need a couple canvases and a few tubes of paint,” he answered absently, blissfully unaware of just how dire of straits you were in.

You nodded, waving him away playfully with your hand in hopes he’d gather what he needed quickly, walking up the aisle to wait near the register for him. You weren’t about to abandon him here, now that the job of finding brushes he’d spontaneously tasked you with was complete. You weren’t that desperate.

It was close, though.

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter. A scoff was earned from the cashier, but you were more than used to ignoring people after your recent experience, allowing you to stay put without so much as an apologetic glance. 

You shuffled, growing antsier with every moment you waited for Hyunjin. You weren’t exactly spatially aware, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a clatter following the brushing of your bag against the countertop.

“Sorry,” you muttered, ignoring the way the cashier rolled their eyes at you as you bent down to pick up what had fallen. 

It was obvious that it was a set of brushes, considering the shape of the package. As you lifted it, something possessed you; whether it be curiosity or masochism, you turned the set around in your hands to get a good look at it.

The first thing you noticed was a simple white lily.

What were the odds? Of anything you could’ve accidentally bumped, it just had to be something you were intimately familiar with? You shook your head, fighting the urge to roll your eyes before you realized that perhaps you weren’t as familiar with this set as you once thought.

Next to the logo was a small, ornate ‘7.’ The last you knew, there were only six sets from this brand. 

For the briefest moment, excitement coursed through your veins. Your eyes lit up, your lips twitched in anticipation of a smile. This brand always had such great improvements with every set they released, and you weren’t sure they’d ever release a new one. You owned all six prior sets, and wouldn’t part with them for anything in the world. 

And then it hit you.

And the smile that had begun forming dropped.

And you felt sick to your stomach.

Because you would not use these brushes. You no longer used the other six sets.

You would never feel the difference in the improved handle shape, how comfortable it would feel in your hand with the carefully formed grooves.

You wouldn’t buy them without a second thought, as you once would’ve. You wouldn’t rush home to lock yourself away until someone came to check on you; because you wouldn’t need checked on, considering you’d never get so sucked into painting that you’d forget the outside world ever again.

“Hey! Sorry I took so long!” Hyunjin chirped from behind you, making you jerk your head up towards him.

“Oh, uh, no problem,” you managed, though you sounded more robotic than you’d intended. You set the brushes down on the counter, quickly enough that you nearly knocked over the rest of the display, “I’m gonna wait outside, okay?” 

Confusion furrowed the man’s brow as he tilted his head, inquisitive gaze locked on you as though he could find the answers he sought in your face if he stared long enough, “Uh…sure. You okay?”

Damn him. 

Damn his earnest concern and his functional fucking hands. 

Damn his too-loud laugh and his ability to get so lost comparing sets of brushes that your return after only a few seconds startled him.

Damn his drive to improve, damn the way he made you smile, and damn the universe for bringing him into your life now; when you’d lost the ability to fully appreciate him.

“I’m fine,” you lied with a forced smile, nodding your head quickly, “Just need some air.”

“Oh…sure,” Hyunjin answered slowly, returning the smile - though the furrowed brows remained, betraying the concern he still felt. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“Take your time,” you called over your shoulder, having already been walking as fast as was socially acceptable indoors the moment you’d heard the first syllable of a positive response. 

Your chest felt tight, your heart in a vice as you gritted your teeth, forcing air into your lungs in short little gasps. The doors seemed so far, and your steps felt too slow…but you did eventually make it outside, sitting down on a bench as you ran a hand through your hair and stared up at the sky, focusing on getting your breath under control before Hyunjin was finished.

God forbid you give him yet another reason to worry. It was ironic that, despite becoming his mentor to avoid such a fate, you didn’t doubt he may be wondering if you should be institutionalized considering your proclivity to lose your composure around him.

By the time he returned, you were as composed as you’d get considering the thoughts swirling tumultuously in your mind. A tight lipped smile from your end was returned brightly by Hyunjin, all traces of furrowed brows and concern completely wiped from his now elated face.

“I didn’t take too long, did I?” he asked as you rose from the bench. 

“Not at all,” you shook your head as you spoke, silently grateful that he’d taken as long as he had. You didn’t want to imagine how he’d look right now if you’d still been struggling to breathe upon his return.

“That’s a relief,” his voice sounded…excited somehow. Like a child eager for praise - his eyes wide and bright and his lips still upturned happily. You wondered what, exactly, had brought him into this state of mind…though you didn’t need to wait long.

He reached into the white paper bag, his slender fingers grabbing something out and lifting it.

The first thing you saw; a white lily. The second; the number ‘7.’

Your stomach sank. Was this a joke? You already struggled to teach him, considering his ability to do what you no longer could…and now he was going to use the brushes you never would? Internally, you wondered if rage or sadness would  be more appropriate - despite the answer being neither, considering he didn’t know any better.

Damn him.

Damn his –

“I noticed you were looking at these when I came up to check out,” he began, cutting off your internal rant, and earning a disconcerted tilt of the head from you.

“And?” you asked, a bit too sharply to be towards someone who was simply making conversation. 

It isn’t his fault, don’t be a dick, you reminded yourself, gritting your teeth.

“And,��� he drew out the word, treating your venom as though it was nothing more than a continuation of the simple banter you’d shared in the brush aisle, “I wanted to thank you for all of your help so far, but you don’t share much.” He paused, holding the set out towards you.

No. 

Oh, please no.

Your heart lurched into your throat as you realized…he didn’t buy them for his own use. He got them for you. 

He was giving you the very object that had spurred your hasty retreat from the shop in the first place. 

Damn him. 

Damn him and the way his eyes bored into yours, waiting for a response besides a dumbfounded drop of your jaw.

Damn him and the way that, despite thinking he had done something good, he was just like a housecat. Bringing you a dead rat, very proud and completely unaware that you did not want to touch it. 

Waiting for praise. For gratitude.

He must have noticed your silence, because his bright smile turned into more of a shy, half-upturned grin, his voice softer and filled with significantly less glee.

“It’s just…You looked excited for a second when you picked them up, so I figured they must be important, even though you said you didn’t paint,” he paused to laugh under his breath…but not like he had earlier. This was not joyful, it reeked of self-deprecation and embarrassment.

Damn him and his ability to make you feel guilty for the feelings you cannot control.

“Shit, I’m sorry–” you wondered for a moment why he was apologizing for such a kind gesture, but got your answer in the form of wetness becoming apparent on your cheeks. He reached out with his sleeve, wiping at the tears, looking and sounding so very panicked. 

You shook your head, ignoring the comfort his hands brushing away your sadness brought, and wondered if he even knew exactly what he was apologizing for. Surely he knows he did nothing wrong…before the accident, you would’ve likely crushed him in a hug upon being given the exact gift that had you in shambles now.

“It’s stupid, you told me you didn’t paint,” he sighed deeply, looking down at you with that same worried, furrowed brow he’d shown inside. He lowered his hand from your face - his perfectly functional, unscarred hand - and rummaged through the bag with it, “I should’ve asked if you wanted them, I’m sorry.” 

You couldn’t do anything other than shake your head, the ability to form words gone as you struggled to even garner a single cohesive thought.

“I’m sure I can bring them back, I kept the receipt–”

“No!”

You surprised yourself with the quickness with which you declined his offer to rid you of this accidental reminder of what you’d lost; quicker still had you reached out and snatched the set from his hands, holding it tightly to your chest.

“No..?” Hyunjin asked, the slightest hint of relief creeping into his voice - so subtle and tentative. So ready to return the brushes and apologize again at the first sign of discontent.

You were just as surprised as he was, unsure of what possessed you to decline the offer that would remove the unwelcome reminder. 

Maybe it was the pride with which he’d presented them to you, or a desire to wipe the worry from his expression. 

Or, maybe it was simply a dream refusing to die.

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head and looking up at him. Tears no longer fell, and you sniffled quietly as you felt your lips pull up into the smallest of smiles.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, as if prepared at any time to take the brushes back to the cashier. You gave him a nod and tucked the brushes away in your bag.

“Absolutely.”

Hyunjin nodded, and as per usual didn’t press any further. Hyunjin was good about that, aside from your initial meeting. It was easy to assume he’d learned not to delve too deep into your psyche following the abrupt exit you’d made.

The only question he’d asked after your acceptance of the brushes was if you’d like to share a cab, to which you agreed, standing at his side as he hailed the first one to come by.

You watched out the window as the cityscape blurred by, keeping your gaze on the window. It was easy to get lost in your own mind with the drone of the tires on asphalt serving as white noise, easily lulling you into tangential thought. 

Perhaps there was more about Hyunjin that you envied, aside from his ability to paint. To dream.

Everything seemed to roll right off of him. The moments you’d seen him concerned were so easily put behind him. He didn’t dwell. He didn’t linger. He moved forward, unstoppable despite the way you were effectively acting as a roadblock.

He kept showing up to lessons following the very first one, in which you could readily admit you did not make the best first impression.

You wished you could do that, move forward without looking back. If it were a skill to be taught, maybe you could ask Hyunjin for lessons in exchange for the ones you gave him.

With that thought in your mind, you finally spoke into the silence of the backseat.

“What would you do if you woke up tomorrow and couldn’t paint?”

You heard Hyunjin rustle across the seat, his breath coming out in an extended sigh as he contemplated how to answer. You didn’t need to tell him what happened to you in order to pick his brain, you’d realized.

“You mean like…if I forgot how to?” he asked, his tone riddled with confusion.

“No,” you murmured, turning your gaze from the window to look at him, “I mean…If something happened to make you lose your ability.”

Hyunjin hummed, looking up at the roof of the cab as he rubbed his chin in thought, his head tilted back against the headrest.

You couldn’t help but wish you had the luxury of considering this situation as rhetorical.

Finally speaking up as the vehicle came to a stop in front of your apartment, Hyunjin let his head loll over without lifting to look at you, “I wouldn’t accept that,” he answered firmly, “I’d keep trying until I could again.”

You didn’t realize you were laughing until the sound came out of your mouth, earning a befuddled look from your companion, his lower lip jutting out slightly.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking almost offended, as though there were some inside joke he desperately wanted to understand but wouldn’t get an explanation to.

You simply shook your head, waving a hand and stopping your laughter with a sigh, “Nothing, nothing at all,” you mused, lips still upturned in amusement as you got out of the cab, closing the door and walking up the steps to your apartment, turning around at the door to wave goodbye.

Still appearing painfully puzzled, Hyunjin lifted his hand to wave back. Though, considering the slowness of the action, it could hardly be considered such.

As the cab pulled away, you made your way inside. Locking the door and removing your shoes, you picked up the brushes and set them down on the coffee table, a wistful smile on your lips as one thought echoed over and over in your mind.

If only it were that easy.

[finalgirleddiemunson]

Baby Blue (Steve Harrington x Reader)

summary: you’re struggling with painting your nails. Steve comes to the rescue (wc 1k)

warnings: reader has hand tremors but they’re not specified what fron, mild language, let me know if I should add anything else!

a/n: an incredibly self-indulgent and quickly done fic. the only side-effect of the new medication I’m on is hand tremors and I had a little cry session about not being able to do my nails the other day. all is well now, but I wanted to write it out. 

masterlist

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Polish pushes up along your cuticles, stains the edges of your fingers. It’s thick in some spots and thin enough to see through to the nail in others. You purse your lips in silent frustration, depositing the nail polish brush back into the bottle as carefully as you can and tightening it. Paint still decorates the lip of the glass despite your best efforts. 

You harshly pour acetone onto a cotton bud, a few drops spilling onto the towel you placed across your desk for this very reason. You blame the harsh, astringent scent of the polish remover for the sudden sting in your eyes and burn in your nose. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid you mentally chant. The remover stings something fierce against a hangnail as you scrub the cotton against the paint. 

Your bedroom door creaks open. 

“Hey, pretty,” Steve kisses the top of your head, hands falling to the top of your shoulders as he leans over. You throw a cursory glance up at him.  

“Hey,” You mumble, tossing the  blue-stained cotton into the bin beneath your desk.

“Whoa now, no ‘hey, handsome’ for me today? I know these aren’t my best jeans but I didn’t think they were that bad.” Steve digs his thumbs into the base of your neck, massaging there. You feel a bit of the tension leak from your spine as he works on the knots he finds.

Your bottom lip juts out and to your horror you find the stinging in your eyes returning.

“Sorry. Can’t paint my nails.” You flex your fingers out in front you, displaying the damage of the half wiped-away and shoddily done paint job. “My hands are shaking too bad.” 

“Here.” Steve abandons his temporary post as your personal massage therapist to grab an extra chair from the other side of the room. He’s all elbows as he gently bullies his way up to your desk, forcing you to shift your seat so he can squeeze next to you. His knees lock with yours beneath the desk. 

He’s much more patient than your previous attempts as he fishes out a cotton bud and shakes out just a bit of acetone onto the surface. 

His hands are warm as he takes one of yours, holding your fingers still as he gingerly swipes away the remaining paint. He avoids the hangnail on your thumb, gently maneuvering the digit this way and that to make sure he’s found all the baby blue. 

“This color is nice,” he hums, picking up the bottle and shaking it just a bit before twisting off the cap. 

“Thanks,” you feel like you can breathe steady again, but the tremors in your hands persist just as you knew they would. Some days are better than others, but today it seems that they just want to shake. 

Steve’s thumb traces back and forth across your knuckles for a moment before gently placing your hand back down against your desk. 

His tongue pokes out and his brows draw together as he carefully wipes the brush on the lip of the bottle, extra polish pooling back down with the rest of the paint. His concentration only intensifies as he finally begins to paint, the blue finally laying across your nails the way you wanted it to. 

He works steadily, twisting himself around rather than having you move your hand. When you need to switch from right to left, he gives you a moment, sitting back and letting you adjust so that you’re the most comfortable you can be. 

“Thank you,” you tell him when he’s halfway through. 

“For what? Saying you need a second coat? I couldn’t let you walk around with streaks, that would be embarrassing for both of us.”

“For helping me, asshole,” You kick him lightly. 

He snickers happily, pausing only long enough to nudge you back. “Yeah, yeah. And they say chivalry is dead.” 

Steve finishes the last coat on your pinky nail and sits back to admire his work. Looking down at your nails, you have to admit that he’s done far better than you ever expected. Each nail looks even, with barely any blue staining your skin. 

He flicks away some hair that’s fallen into his eyes. On impulse you raise your hand to set it right, to smooth through the locks and make them sit the way you know he prefers when Steve jerks back. 

“Not my masterpiece!” He cries, gently catching your wrist to lower it away from his hair. 

“Have we started calling your hair a masterpiece now?” You have to fight to urge to flick his nose to save your still-drying polish. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he lightly flicks yours instead, making your nose scrunch up as you wriggle away from him. “Not my hair, your nails. I’ve got to show these bad boys off around town tonight.” Steve holds up your hands as though displaying a trophy or medal, chest puffed up with exaggerated pride. 

You wiggle your fingers in his face, the smell of the polish and acetone making him cough dramatically. “If Family Video doesn’t work out we could always get you into the nail salon. Everyone is going to want nails like these, Stevie.”

Steve stands, tucking your polish back into the drawer on his way. “Ah, my salon skills are for you alone. Everyone else will just have to be jealous.” He stops to kiss the top of your head again and you lean into him. “Are we still on for date night tonight, or is it a bad day?”

You know he means the tremors- that sometimes when you get overwhelmed and frustrated you just want to lie-in and not go out. Your heart swells at his tone, his question. You know it’s not a trick, that there’s no wrong answer. If you said you wanted to do nothing but get in your pajamas, Steve would go and grab them for you right now with no questions asked. 

You show him your nails as though he missed them somehow. “No way. I’ve got to show off, remember?”

His grin is as easy as anything and you return it happily. You tug at the front of his shirt until he leans down to kiss you properly. He needs very little persuasion, moving to your wiles easily. 

He kisses you like he has nowhere else he'd rather be. Maybe he doesn’t. You know you don’t. 

[erinarigby]

I actually went to elementary school with a classmate whose family fled Sri Lanka due to that conflict. Her name is Lalini and she's the youngest of several, her family was always warm to us. To this day don't know what the whole thing is about (that's a history lesson for another day) but it was definitely my introduction to the idea that human nature remains the same across the world. Good lesson to learn at 7 years old.

Re: idealizing Buddhism, Christians do this probably because Buddhism isn't dogmatic the way Christianity can be, even Catholicism which is supposed to be the most disciplined branch. Westerners are prone to "magical thinking" where they want a band aid for their religious trauma and idealize other religions as the thing that will save them. (John himself did this to a certain degree!) IMO it's dehumanizing to put that burden onto another religious practice. Maybe someday we will all come to a place where we can value what we have in common as well as our differences and celebrate both.

Conservative beliefs are much more widespread than Westerners realize. I have a friend from Vietnam that has similar stories from her childhood since her parents grew up in the aftermath of the Vietnam War and Cambodia. Reinforced my understanding that Buddhists and Hindus are still regular people with the same flaws and triumphs as anyone else... Trying to make sense of why we are like this is something that all religions try to do. We are hurt by others and we hurt others in return.

Your note about Hinduism vs Buddhism and Hinduism's emphasis on caste; and how this may have affected John&Paul is blowing my mind a little. AFAIK the Beatles were being sold on a kind of pop culture Hinduism or entry level Hinduism that placed emphasis on meditation. I never considered the caste stuff being hidden or left aside tho it makes sense. It would still seep into the teachings, that's just how it is. Esp since there's reason to think the Maharishi wanted to exploit the Beatles financially which is one of the reasons why John bolted from Rishikesh (The Maharishi wanted to make a movie and take a big chunk of the proceeds iirc.)

I'm going to be thinking of this all day now. Hinduism is hierarchal with the caste stuff and then John&Paul split in a meditation possibly due to verticality and status? Good golly. What on earth happened over there? (My understanding is that Buddhism branched off from Hinduism with the historical figure Siddhartha but sadly that's where my knowledge ends!)

Re: eroticism and violence. LenMac have always had an erotic component to their relationship that is visible for all to see. I'm glad you're exploring it more in a character based way. They were erotic guys who lived sensual lives. Even something simple like clothing choices emphasis this. The Beatles loved corduroy and saved the corduroy industry. It's a tactile fabric that produces a lot of sensations when touched. John wore lots of velvet that hugged his body in easy cuts. Paul's tight pants are legendary lol! Both of these produce very interesting sensations. Interesting that John went for soft fabrics with ease of motion vs Paul who ratcheted himself into ass-hugging trousers to taunt everyone around him, isn't it?

Your art gets responses like that because of the tactile quality, with the emphasis on hands. (As seen in the finger sucking painting, good Lord that was perfect.) See my previous comments about digital prisons. That sensuality is present in everything the Beatles do and even what they wear. Wearing unlined velvet turned inside out is a sensual experience even without it being erotic. IMO this sensual/sexual component of John&Paul is what fandom struggles with the most. We lack so much intimacy irl and we depend on dehumanizing porn for pleasure instead that it's hard for us to comprehend the kind of intimacy John&Paul shared. It wasn't necessarily erotic and what was erotic was deepened by their joined sensuality. That spiritual metaphysical aspect that they both reach for is so difficult for a digital touch starved society to comprehend.

I think you're brave to be depicting John the way you do. In Beatles fandom the issue lies not with people who try to glorify John but the people who try to minimize what he did. The Lennon Estate itself does this while trying to depict him as a saint, which sadly shoves his bad behavior even deeper into the spotlight. Which itself eats away at understanding who John was. And the thing is this all totally goes against what John himself said on the matter and how he spoke frankly about trying to turn away from violence because he abhorred what he had done. His own words and feelings get lost in the churn over people trying to un-cancel him by hiding it when John himself was very frank and unflinching in describing what he did as well as admitting his deep shame over it. John had a very unique quality in that he was sharply self aware of what he did and he wasn't proud of being a violent person.

I can only speak for myself but I applaud anyone who is willing to take this stuff on. You always humanize John and depict his fragile humanness along with his struggle with violence. He's not just choking Paul in that picture, he's also stroking Paul's cheek, and I can't think of a better way to depict John's inner struggle. George himself said that John was not an angel and could be a bastard at times but that he was still a loving human that was trying to get better and move on from his old patterns to make amends with people.

on the topic of the idealization of “eastern religions” it also reminds me of the blind romanticization of the 60s, i love the 60s for the culture and history after all were beatles fans! but i am vietnamese so i’m acutely aware it wasn’t the best time to live in for the majority of people. also on your friend, i have a similar upbringing as my parents also grew up in post war vietnam and that influenced their conservative thinking once they immigrated to the states.

now for lenmac in india, i haven’t read too much on india but i think one of the first things to change my perspective on how important the trip was and even what happened on it was discussions with a friend from india that grew up hindu. i found out about how the hare krishnas don’t have the best track record and are even accused of being a cult. also the whole fiasco with the maharishi, i think i’ll read more about the india trip to form more of an opinion here. but yeah! it was as much of a surprise for me when i found out that converts and outsiders to hinduism are not told of the caste system at all, even if you convert to hinduism you basically exist outside the system, you can’t get assigned a caste you need to be born into it.

thank you for appreciating my exploration of the eroticism within their dynamic, we all know they’re homoerotic but we don’t really see the erotic portion of that being depicted really. (also glad you enjoyed the finger sucking drawing lol) it always confused me why people are so protective of the beatles when people desire them or are sexually attracted when beatlemania was led by young women who were exploring their sexual desire and attraction unabashedly for the first time through the beatles. a lot of the experiences i draw john and paul to me are as unknown to me as the audience who are shocked, i feel like im an observer, though i project my ideas of what i believe intimacy to be like i guess. visual art is a way for me to explore things that i don’t quite understand, a visual of the inner workings of my brain.

also thank you again for the compliments, i repeat again that as an artist and by extension a creative i want to push boundaries and make people think, even if it’s just my silly beatles art. in general people see the beatles as black or white, entirely good or evil. they’re people who’ve fucked up and done good in their life. it’s uncomfortable to face john’s violent behavior head on but i do so anyways because i want to! i’m really happy that you believe i do john a justice by humanizing him by showing that he was imperfect. there’s a duality in my artwork, people are sometimes surprised when they see my art work that tackle these heavier themes though i’m just dipping my toes for the first time here… though they’ve always been present in my writing. i draw john and paul being cute and in love as much as i draw them in more complicated situations where there’s a play of power and a tinge of violence. they’re multifaceted and so is my art.

[throne-for-queens]

I only see him sharing his space and all of his free time with a wife if he really loved but I can still see him marry somebody he only Fs, as long as they are living separate and without her being controlling, especially if he wanted a conventional family or wanted to still profit off a PR relationship.

But I don't really see him "take a bullet in the head and paint the floor red" (In These Walls) for his loveless marriage partner, whether it be Megan or anyone else.

He must have a body count at least in the triple digits, so he's one of those who can see a difference between lust and love. Some people came along on blogs and said they (and their friends) extended their hook ups for YEARS. In case he couldn't meet new girls, he would always have his go-to he would hit up, women hired to collab with the XX team (two former stylist & at least one former assistant), same old fans that would make sure to 'visit' him backstage everytime he would hit their city up, models flying (even to Cleveland) from around the world and industry workers around Vegas, LA, Miami and ATL.

Also, hasn't he known Kiki for years? I don't think these girls could even be considered side-chicks or lovers, more of tag along and some of them managed to remain as his friendly acquaintances. Yes, he did cuddle according to them, so he does have a soft spot, but I think that could have only happened after he felt comfortable enough, maybe knowing he would soon leave them behind anyway. And that does not sound much of an emotional connection to me.

This is all very true, but I don't know, I think colson is getting to that point in his life where tag alongs or consistent hookups don't cut it anymore. Regardless of what he does with his pants, I think he just wants to be loved unconditionally, with someone who values and supports him. He's such a sensitive person and I know he struggles with rejection, perhaps that's why he always has another woman handy. But he's getting older and girls like kiki, Kelly k, Nicki, Katie, etc don't cut it. Now I don't know how Megan differs from all these women, strictly because I don't know any of them, but whether it be her status or her personality, he wants something real with someone. Something deep and meaningful, and whether that ends with Megan or someone else, I don't think he can spend the rest of his life just exchanging sexual favors.