#i made a little swatch for my first time doing it and it ended up waay better than any of my regular crochet projects

[em1i2a3]

If you take requests or suggestions, i believe that you would execute a bob reynolds fic with this plot ✨perfectly✨

I literally LOVE all of your bob fics. They’re my comfort reads before i go to bed at night!

Body Paint

Pairing: Bob.Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, and there’s quite a bit of sexual tension. The reader and Bob both have feelings for each other and they’re both well aware of the mutual interest (secretly of course), she takes this as an opportunity to tease.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much and I immediately started writing it because I was so excited to give it a go! So So Fun! Thank you for the submission! :) (also credit to the artist who made the drawing too because it’s fantastic)

Word Count: 3,362

You gave every drug store lipstick display a run for its money with the collection you had laid out across the bathroom sink. An entire rainbow of tubes was scattered in a controlled type of chaos–organized first by shade, then grouped meticulously by brand. Reds on the left, mauves and berries in the middle, and neutrals off to the right like a little modest army. You had even gone so far as to lay a folded white towel beneath the lineup like a staging mat, saving yourself from scrubbing stains off the marble countertop. The air smelled faintly of your makeup remover wipes–sweet and sterile–and your forearm was streaked with half-dried swatches, but it just wasn’t good enough.

This was all in the name of finding the lipstick. The one that not only matched the dress you were wearing to the PR gala tomorrow, but one that was also smudge-proof. You didn’t want feathering, or fading, and you certainly didn’t want it transferring onto napkins, glasses or people.

You wanted security.

You knew you should’ve started this task earlier in the week, but between back-to-back recon debriefs, endless intel meetings, and mediating three separate team arguments that nearly ended in Walker and Yelena actually strangling each other, the lipstick trials had fallen to the bottom of your to-do list.

Now there was less than twenty-four hours to go, and you were elbows-deep in swatches and stress.

You capped one more tube with a dissatisfied sigh and reached for the next–

Only to pause at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Y-Y/N?” Came Bob’s voice–muffled, hesitant and laced with that familiar nervous warmth. “I-I need to come in and get my brush. I forgot it after my s-shower…” You froze, mid-reach, one hand hovering over a berry toned satin finish tube. Your lips curled into a slow smile.

Perfect timing. For you, anyway. For Bob? That remained to be seen. You crossed the small tiled room in a few barefoot steps and swung the door open with a grin.

“Excellent! You’re just who I need.” Bob blinked at you like a deer caught in LED headlights. His shirt–black, baggy, and soft–was damp around the collar, clinging to his skin and chest in a way that made it impossible not to look. His light brown hair curled at in little waves at the ends, still damp from his shower that was still kissing the walls, and the navy sweatpants sitting low on his hips were hugging him far too well for a man who clearly didn’t see himself in the way you were seeing him in.

”…Wh-What?” He asked, brows furrowed, gaze daring from your eyes to the mess of tubes on the counter.

“Come in,” You said smoothly, reaching out and tugging him gently by the wrist, guiding him over the threshold with ease, “Sit on the toilet lid, and hurry up with the hair brushing…I need a test subject.” He obeyed-but only in the way someone might follow a siren calling them to certain doom. He moved like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a trap or a daydream.

”L-Last time I heard the words ‘test s-subject’ I ended up getting injected with a sun god…” He mumbled, grabbing the brush from the hanging organizer on the shower door. You laughed, warm and low at the comment.

“Relax. I’m not injecting you with anything. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Bob sat down slowly, brush limp in his hand as his gaze swept across the counter again, scanning over the contents that you had lined up with such care.

”S-So what is all of t-this?” You turned slightly towards him, unscrewing a velvet-matte red as you spoke.

“I’m trying to find the perfect lipstick for the gala tomorrow,” You said matter-of-factly, swiping the colour gently across your bottom lip, “It has to match my dress and it has to be smudge-proof.”

Bob tilted his head, watching your quick movements intently, “Smudge-proof?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be constantly running to the bathroom to check for fading or fix transfer stains. I want to actually enjoy the night. Have a drink. Maybe dance. You know…Breathe.” He gave a thoughtful little nod, bringing the brush through his damp hair.

”D-Didn’t really think about that, a-actually…” You turned away from your reflection to look at him, a coy smile peeling onto your lips.

“Most guys don’t.” But Bob wasn’t most guys of course, and as expected, a beat later he added to the conversation again…

”…W-Wait…Why does it have to be completely smudge-proof though? I mean if you’re just–“ You shrugged, letting your gaze flick toward the mirror, while your lips pressed together, transferring the color over to the bare one above.

”You never know,” You said casually, “I might be planning on kissing someone.” Bob froze like someone had yanked all the oxygen out of the room. His cheeks–already pink from the post-shower warmth–turned a deeper, rosier red in seconds. It bloomed across his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears, and spread like a sunburn. His mouth opened slightly like he meant to say something, but all he managed to get out was:

”O-Oh…” He choked, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. The brush in his hand was still mid-motion through his damp locks, but it had stopped moving entirely. You smiled at him.

”Alright,” You started, twisting the lipstick down and putting the cap back on with a soft click, “First one. You ready?” He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t trust his voice. His eyes tracked you as you stepped forward–deliberate and unhurried–until you were standing directly between his legs.

His brush lowered slightly, and then the wave of your scent hit his nose.

Your perfume was warm, and sweet, with a hint of plum riding off of the tail end of each inhale he took. Beneath the main notes there was something tropical–maybe coconut from your makeup remover, or the vanilla-tinged balms you always wore when your lips were bare.

But now your lips weren’t bare at all. They were red, and bold, and smooth, just like fresh velvet. He looked up slowly, through his lashes, and found you were already staring down at him. You tilted your head, smiling, the curve of your mouth smug in a way that made something tighten in his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you reached forward–fingers brushing gently along the side of his jaw, your thumb just beneath the hinge of it. He let you tilt his head more toward you like he was made of clay and you were the ceramicist.

He dropped the brush into his lap, forgetting about it completely.

Your face hovered near his and he could feel his breath hitch audibly. You leaned in slow enough that he swore he could hear his own heartbeat ringing through the room.

Then your lips pressed to his cheek.

Warm, firm and lingering. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Not an innocent brush. It was a kiss.

You lingered just long enough for him to feel the curve of your mouth, and the faint stick of product with the pressure of intention behind it. He could smell the stain now–berries and heat, sharp pigment and your sweet breath that had a faint scent of strawberries from the gum you chewed on. If he was a sailor and you were the siren…He would be dead at sea.

When you pulled away, he swore the room was spinning a little. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the mark you had left just above the apple of his cheek. A bright, undeniable red, plastered on his pale tone.

“Hmm,” You said thoughtfully, “Definitely transferred.” Bob sat in stunned silence, skin still tingling from where your mouth had been–he didn’t know whether it was because he was allergic to the ingredients or because it was just him buzzing from all the adrenaline, though he would find out in due time. You dabbed at your own lips with a tissue saturated in make-up remover, wiping the colour clean.

“Not a keeper,” You mumbled, “It’s a shame–it was a really good match.” He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find words, nor could he find a way to breathe. He didn’t even know how he was still alive at this point, all he knew was he saw you reach out again.

You selected the next shade carefully.

A sultry plum–deep, and elegant, with just enough bite to stand out. You rolled the colour across your lips in smooth, practiced strokes, then blotted once on a folded tissue before turning back to him.

Bob still hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting frozen on the seat, brush limp in his lap, his shimmering blue eyes flickering between your mouth and the floor. The cheek you had kissed was flushed a bit deeper now.

“Test two,” You announced gently, stepping into his space again, until the hem of your t-shirt brushed against his thigh and he had nowhere left to look that wouldn’t betray him in some way. Your hand came up to his jaw again–just two fingers this time, soft and easy, tilting his face the opposite way.

His lashes fluttered under the feeling of your breath brushing over them as you kissed him again. This time it was just below his temple, closer to the hinge of his jaw–closer to where his pulse was throbbing faintly beneath his skin. You pressed a little firmer this time, letting your breath fan against his ear.

Bob inhaled a quiet breath through his nose, attempting to keep himself calm, but in reality he was gripping the fabric of his sweatpants between his fingers like it was the only thing holding him back from collapsing. When you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, you just kept your focus on the mark.

”…Transferred,” You murmured, brushing your thumb lightly over the stain–making sure it was more of a caress than a swipe. You didn’t move back this time, you just grabbed another makeup wipe and removed the color before reaching for another.

It was a dusty rose this time, it was softer, and much more muted than any of the other colors he had seen you in.

Once you had applied it, you leaned in–closer now–and kissed the slope of his cheekbone, just beneath the curve of his eye. Your lips barely grazed the skin there–it was as if you did it to see if he would flinch or move.

Bob’s jaw tensed under your touch, and you were hyper aware of his breath hitting your skin in short, warm bursts, his chest lifting against you. He hadn’t said a word–but his hands had now left his lap and were gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled in anticipation.

You reached for the next tube–something far more delicate than the dusty rose before it. A pink so faint it was almost nothing at all. A whisper of colour. You applied it, blotted it, then turned again. Bob had somehow managed to get a handle on his breathing in the moments you were applying the next colour, but it was too controlled. You could practically feel the storm building beneath his skin, golden and humming, and desperate to stay still.

Your thighs brushed the inside of his knees as you tilted his head up to yours again, looking at the way his skin was flushed and warm, beneath the shades of pinks and reds…A gradient of restraint. You leaned in, and this time your kiss landed just beside the corner of his mouth, not touching it, but close enough to tease.

Bob made a sound. It was barely audible. A sof, helpless little nnnnh in the back of his throat–like a gasp that had gotten stuck on the way out. You didn’t say anything. You only bit back a knowing smile, and pretended not to hear it. You just wiped your lips again and moved on to the next shade–a creamy nude gloss, with just a hint of peach.

You came back in and kissed beneath his jaw, where the stubble was soft and patchy and tender. The spot made him twitch, his throat working under the weight of the kiss, like he was trying to swallow air.

His breathing changed then and became heavier and shallower.

And when you came close to him again, in a different shade–this time pressing your lips right onto his Adam’s apple–Bob’s head tipped back instinctively.

Like he was offering himself up to you–surrendering himself completely.

You continued to kiss him, moving progressively lower, marking him up with various shades. Then suddenly you found yourself at the hollow of his throat, just between the lines of his collarbones. His chest was rising faster now, with flush traveling beneath his shirt, like it was echoing the trail your mouth had carved against his skin.

You pulled back slowly, lips hovering about the damp collar of his shirt, bringing your hand up to brush over the fabric.

”Oops…” You murmured softly, putting on a teasing tone beneath your words, “I think I’m running out of room.” Bob looked down at you with eyes that were no longer blue. You hadn’t even noticed he had his eyes closed tightly for the majority of this until now.

There was gold flickering at the edges. Sentry was just barely cresting the surface–quiet, curious, and turned-on by the proximity. He was enamoured by what was happening, and Bob was allowing him to watch through his eyes because he was too focused on trying to keep himself together. The air around Bob was shimmering faintly, vibrating with tension like he was lighting up the room.

The sensation of your lips had done this…You had done this, and you were proud of it.

Your nails dragged gently down the front of his shirt, tracing a circle around the fabric.

”I think you may need to take this off…To give me more space of course.” You whispered, watching as his brain seemed to short-circuit. His eyes were still half-lidded, heavy with heat and something distant and flickering gold. But when they opened fully they met yours with the softest, most terrified kind of care, glancing down at your mouth just as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth…And that’s what did it for him. That was the punch of encouragement to the gut.

He gave you a small nod, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled slightly from the kind of overstimulated shyness that lived just under the surface of his flesh, in the space between ‘I want this’ and ‘I don’t know what to do with all of it.’ He peeled the black shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, dusted with freckles and pure heat. There were a few scars here and there. A mole right near the dip of his sternum. A faint sheen of sweat that bloomed across his chest and shoulders from the heat in the room–or from the heat of your lips…Possibly both.

The fabric came over his head, messing up his semi-brushed hair in the process, and he folded it carefully in his lap like he was going to get up to put it on display or something. You let yourself stare.

At the freckles on his collarbones, the ones on his biceps. The soft stretch marks that feathered under his arms and the little curve of his ribs as they flared gently with each nervous breath he took. You wanted to map everything with your mouth.

So you did.

You leaned in again, with a fresh colour on your lips–deep pink this time, and kissed just beneath his collarbone, then a little to the right, then down the slope of his chest–right over where his heart was pulsating beneath its shield of flesh.

Bob made a quiet sound, something soft and strangled that never made it fully out of his throat. His hands were still in his lap, his thumbs gripping the hem of the shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from grabbing yours. Every part of him was vibrating–his jaw clenched, chest rising, shoulders tense–and still he let you do it, staying perfectly still.

You changed shades, kissing higher, then lower.

A sheer gloss that glimmered under the light as you kissed just below the curve of his pec. A matte brick red as you moved toward the center of his chest. Then you put on something soft again, something nude and barely there, as you pressed your hands against his thighs for a bit of leverage while your lips found the inside slope of his ribcage. You could’ve sworn you felt his knees buckle under your hands.

By the time you reached the underside of his pectoral muscle, you heard the faintest breath catch in his lungs, like he couldn’t even take full breaths anymore. And then you kissed just above it.

One final, perfect kiss.

You pressed your lips down and held them there–longer, slower, firmer–fighting back the urge to mark the skin with something that wasn’t lipstick. You felt the flutter of his pulse beneath it. And when you finally pulled away, you let your lips ghost against him, your eyes trailing down to where you had kissed.

“Ooooh. This one’s good…I think we found it. No transfer!” You announced, looking up at Bob, seeing the ruined look plastered on his face.

His eyes were heavy, shot through with blue and gold. His mouth parted. His skin was flushed a deep red and marked in soft lip stains, all across his chest, neck, jaw, and face. The air shimmered around him like static clinging to the atmosphere, and he was breathless. He let out a sigh.

”P-Perfect,” He whimpered, so dazed his words barely had shape to them. His body shifted, like he was meaning to stand–maybe to retreat, maybe to run cold water over his steaming body, maybe just to breathe–

But you didn’t let him.

Before he could even try to get up, you surged forward and kissed him on the lips. Hungry, wet, and deep. You kissed him like it was the conclusion to a story you had been telling in colour across his skin. Bob let out a muffled, desperate little moan into your mouth, as his hands found your waist, then your back, then your hips–grabbing, pulling, and holding. He crushed you to him, allowing all his restraint to unravel all at once, letting what little control he had slip through his fingers.

You kissed him like you had wanted to from the very start. Like all the kisses around his whole body led to this one final one–this overwhelming, messy, and utterly perfect one.

He kissed you back with awe. With the kind of pressure that said ‘thank you, please don’t stop, I’ve been waiting.’

You pulled back just enough to breathe–barely. Your foreheads bumped, and the air between you was heat, electricity, and trembling silence.

Bob’s lips were swollen now. Kiss-bitten, and wet. But when you looked…

The colour on your lips hadn’t transferred onto his. You smirked, and reached up, gently swiping the faintest trail of spit off his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, tilting your head to the side.

”Fantastic,” You whispered, leaning forward just a bit, “It’s definitely kiss-proof.”

[mashtatosworld]

calm in the chaos

summary: you give birth to your first baby

You should have known when Jiyong walked into the room with a beret perched on his head and a set of fine paintbrushes in the other, that today was not going to go as planned.

You had thought you were going to start painting the nursery.

You had been excited, even, having selected a range of pink shades together weeks ago. You’d imagined the two of you working side by side, getting messy with paint, making this space a home for your little girl.

But instead, you found yourself sitting on the nursery floor, your maternity dress rolled up over your stomach, as your husband carefully dragged a paintbrush across your swollen belly.

You sighed, watching him dip the brush into a soft pastel colour before sweeping it over your skin. "Ji, why are we doing this again?"

He didn’t even look up, his lips pursed in deep concentration. “She gives me inspiration.”

You arched a brow. "She?"

“Our baby,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m waiting for her to tell me how she wants the room painted."

You blinked. "You don’t know what colour you want the nursery to be?"

He had a vision board, a Pinterest board and even hired interior designers to help plan the nursery. But in the end, the two of you went to the store and picked out your favourite swatches of pregnancy safe paint - of which he was now painting on your stomach.

“I thought I did," he admitted, sticking a tiny flower to your belly, right where he had just painted. "But then I realised, I should wait for her input."

You stared at him, bewildered. "She’s going to decide?"

He nodded sagely. "Of course."

You sighed again, shaking your head. "And how exactly is she going to do that?"

At that exact moment, a small but firm kick pressed against your stomach, right where he had been painting.

Jiyong grinned, eyes wide with excitement. "Ahhh, see? She’s choosing!"

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Or maybe she’s just done with you poking her all the time.”

He ignored your teasing, his expression turning softer, more thoughtful. He ran a hand gently over your stomach, his wedding ring cold against your skin as it grazed the painted surface.

"I feel so connected to her already," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your belly. "I think she’s going to share my artistic vision but have your beauty." His eyes flicked up to you, filled with so much love it made your breath catch. "She’s so lucky."

Your heart melted, and you reached out to touch him, feeling closer than ever. "We’re the lucky ones, Ji."

He smiled, rubbing a hand over your belly again before picking up another flower petal and sticking it carefully to your skin.

After a few more strokes of paint and some deep, artistic pondering on Jiyong’s end, you finally asked, "So… now that she’s chosen the colour, can we start painting the nursery?"

Jiyong froze, slowly pursing his lips. His expression instantly shifted from serene to guilty.

You narrowed your eyes. "Jiyong."

He cleared his throat. "Well… we could… but, you know, it's a lot of labour, and - "

"Ji."

"And you're pregnant, and I just - ”

"Ji."

"I don’t want you moving around too much!" he finally blurted, eyes pleading. "It’s not safe!"

You stared at him, incredulous. "That’s why you’ve been delaying? Because you don’t want me painting?"

He nodded quickly. “I mean, you are involved! You’re growing our princess!”

You threw your hands in the air. "Jiyong, come on. I want to help. I’m not going to break!"

He hesitated, clearly torn between his need to protect you and his desire to make you happy. After a long pause, he finally sighed in defeat.

“Fine.”

"Thank you."

"But only sticking flowers to the wall," he warned. "No climbing ladders. No stretching. No actual painting. Just decorating."

You rolled your eyes but took what you could get. "Deal."

He'd been like that your whole pregnancy.

You weren’t allowed to carry anything. Not a grocery bag, not the laundry, not even your own shoes if he was feeling particularly protective. The man had damn near wrestled a glass out of your hand once, insisting it was too full and too heavy - until you nearly bit his head off.

After that, he reluctantly allowed you to lift a drink or your phone. But everything else?

Off limits.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later, the nursery was transformed.

The walls were coated in the perfect shade of soft pink, the door dotted with tiny, delicate flowers. Jiyong had even painted a subtle mural on one wall - gentle brushstrokes forming a dreamy, almost ethereal heart. It was beautiful.

You both stood in the centre of the room, looking around in awe.

It suddenly felt real.

This wasn’t just a room anymore. This was your baby’s room. The space where you would rock her to sleep, where she would wake up every morning, where she would play and grow.

Jiyong took your hand in his, his grip warm and steady. He gave you a small, almost disbelieving smile. “This is really happening, huh?”

You squeezed his fingers. “Yeah.”

Briefly, you were pulled back to when you first met him. At the time, you'd been too afraid to even look him in the eyes. And yet now you would touch your stomach and wonder if your baby would have those same, curious eyes...

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The three of you - already a family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You should have known.

You should have known when Jiyong didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night - not even during Youngbae’s toast.

You should have known when he stayed practically glued to your side all night, his hand permanently resting on your belly like some kind of monitor.

And you should have known when he kept looking at you with that knowing little smirk every time you shifted uncomfortably.

But you?

You were in denial.

Sure, there had been some cramping earlier that day, but that was normal at nine months pregnant. It was not the start of labour.

No way. Not tonight, of all nights. Not when you were supposed to be enjoying Youngbae’s big concert, surrounded by your closest friends.

So, you pushed through.

You swayed lightly in the VIP section, singing along with Hyorin. And you breathed through the discomfort when Jiyong leaned in, murmuring sweet nothings against your temple.

And then the concert ended.

You were all backstage, congratulating Youngbae, when a sharp pain rippled through your stomach. Your hand immediately shot out, grabbing the nearest thing - which happened to be Jiyong’s forearm.

You squeezed, fingers digging in.

Jiyong didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he sighed, tilting his head with that same knowing smirk. "Right, jagi - your contractions are within five minutes. It’s time to go to meet our baby."

Silence.

Then -

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Every single person in the room turned to stare.

Youngbae, still towelling off his sweat, froze. Hyorin’s jaw dropped. Daesung, mid-sip of water, choked violently.

"Is this really happening?!"

"How could I have not noticed?"

"I'm going to be an uncle again?"

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Yes, ok, she's in labour. Time to go. Let’s move."

"Yah!" Hyorin smacked your arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You can't smack a pregnant person!" Daesung jumped in, standing in front of you like a personal bodyguard.

You tried to protest, but another contraction hit, and all that came out was a pained groan.

"What are we waiting for!" Youngbae ushered, grabbing his wife as Daesung threw on his jacket.

"This isn't an afterparty." You muttered, shuffling out of the room with Jiyong at your side as the others followed closely behind.

"We were there when you met, we'll be there for this too."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The car ride was complete chaos.

You were wedged in the back between Hyorin and Daesung, who were gripping your hands like they was the ones about to give birth.

Youngbae was in the passenger seat, throwing out directions that he believed was the fastest way to the hospital.

"Take a left here! Hyung! Hyung! You missed the turning," He instructed Jiyong, his maps up on his phone. "Go right here! No! Jiyong!"

Your husband ignored his frantic shouting as he continued straight ahead. "I know the way." He'd been studying every route to the hospital since you entered your third trimester.

Daesung, squished in the back, was losing his mind. “Drive faster! Why are we not driving faster?! This is an emergency! Run the light!”

Jiyong stayed silent.

Completely calm. Not panicked. Not frantic. Not hovering.

He just gripped the wheel, eyes steady, jaw set. Cool. Collected.

Which only made it worse because nobody expected this.

“Why is he so quiet?!” Daesung hissed from the back.

"Maybe he's in shock!" Hyorin whispered back. "Youngbae fainted when I had our son."

"Hey... I was tired and simply closed my eyes," Youngbae muttered in return. He then looked to his bandmate with wide eyes. "You're not going to faint right? Tell me and I'll grab the wheel."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

"That makes it weirder, Jiyong!” Daesung exclaimed.

You let out a strangled groan as another contraction hit, gripping Hyorin’s fingers like a vice.

Jiyong found your eyes in the mirror. His voice was calm when he spoke.

"Breathe, jagi," he murmured. "We’re almost there."

Everyone else was in full-blown meltdown mode, and yet he was here, anchored, pulling you back down to earth.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By the time you got to the hospital, Jiyong immediately sprang into action.

The moment the car stopped, he was out, grabbing the hospital bag from the trunk - which he had secretly packed without your knowledge.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group spilled out of the car like a panicked clown parade.

"Move, move, move!” Youngbae yelled like it was a military drill.

Jiyong opened the door for you, helping you out carefully, and wrapped an arm around your waist as he guided you inside. The others trailed behind, all talking at once -

"We’re here for the birth!”

"She’s having the baby right now!”

"We need a wheelchair!"

"I can still walk Daesung.” You declined even when he nearly tripped you up, trailing closely behind at your heels.

Jiyong ignored all of them. He was only focused on you.

Hyorin was on the phone with your mother, giving her updates in hushed tones. Youngbae was already calling Jiyong’s mom. Daesung, pulled out his own phone, not one to be left out.

"I'm calling Seunghyun," He muttered.

Another contraction hit. You clenched your jaw, voice shaking. "Ji... I’m scared."

And just like that, his entire demeanour softened.

He turned to you, his hands framing your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I know, baby," he whispered. "But you’re going to be okay. I’m right here."

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you were wheeled into the delivery room, the chaos of your friends faded.

It was just you and Jiyong now.

He never let go of your hand.

Not once.

Through every contraction, every moment of pain, he was there. Whispering reassurances. Kissing your knuckles. Smoothing your hair.

"You’re doing so well, jagi."

"Just a little more, my baby."

"I’m right here."

And when your daughter finally entered the world - when her tiny cries filled the room - Jiyong let out the softest, most broken breath.

The doctor placed her in your arms, and Jiyong just stared.

He looked at you, his eyes wet, his lips trembling. "She's here," he whispered. "You did it."

You nodded weakly, exhausted beyond words.

And Jiyong - your calm in the chaos - just broke.

Tears streamed down his face as he cupped your daughter’s tiny head, his hands shaking. "She's perfect," he whispered.

You smiled sleepily, watching the love in his eyes as he gazed at your little girl - the masterpiece he had been waiting for.

The one he'd been waiting for his whole life.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a throwback to the birth of baby diva! i thought i should post this before Angel arrives - which is not long now!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

[luminique]

the post abt tying a bow around lighters biceps has me thinking abt that thing where you test out different lipstick shades by covering ur partner in kiss marks n seeing what one looks best,,,,, and no I would not limit myself to his face

i think about this prompt like A LOT. as someone who lurvesss wearing lipstick, i genuinely think that he’d be the perfect candidate for it.

lucy prefers to ask you for makeup recommendations and purchasing it. not that she doesn’t trust lighter but after talking to you, you seemed to know more about it than he did. whenever it came to purchasing makeup, she’d ask you to go along with lighter to lumina square.

this was also a good way to buy some new products for yourself, a win win situation. there was a huge sale at the store for some products and many of them were lipsticks, you couldn’t possibly pass up on this opportunity. you both arrive back in blazewood, giving all of the girls what they requested for. with your own goodies in hand, it was time to do a little try-on to see which ones were worth the money.

back in your room, you began trying each one. swatching them on your hand then on your lips. the colors all looked good on you but there were a few things you couldn’t really test out this way. as if he magically knew, lighter knocked on your door, waiting for your permission before entering.

“burnice told me that there’s another nitro-fu- what are you doing?” he stopped in his tracks as he watched you try to kiss the back of your hand. he was confused at the sight, unsure of how to react. “did i… come at a bad time or is there a problem with my kissing?” he asked bluntly, thinking that there was some sort of explanation as to what you were doing. he didn’t think he was bad at kissing but maybe you were just to nice to tell him?

“oh, no. you’ve come at just the right time. i need to test these out and i think you’re the perfect test subject.” you held out your lipsticks to him and at first, he had flashbacks of when the girls put makeup on him because he lost in a drinking game against burnice. as your lover, he’d do anything you asked but he was ready to raise his hands up in protest to not be embarrassed again.

your smile never faltered though and you could see through his sunglasses. “just sit down and let me kiss you,” you reassured him and just like that, he was sat on the edge of your bed, obediently awaiting your kisses. in the privacy of your room, he could be as unapologetically needy and in love with you without having to act all cool.

your hand felt so gentle on his face, as if you’d hurt him in some way. you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, the lipstick leaving quite the mark on him. he was a little bummed that it wasn’t on his lips but hey, a kiss is a kiss. you continued peppering his face in kisses, taking a moment between each one to change your lipstick.

he was turning into putty, each kiss made his heart beat faster. he wasn’t sure how many different kinds of lipstick you had, they were all the same to him. by the end of it, his face and neck were practically covered with your kisses. you examined each one carefully, he was beginning to feel a little shy from how close you were to him.

“you’re turning red, lighter. i can’t decide which lipstick looks good if your cheeks are the same shade!” you told him jokingly. this made his blush even worse actually, trying to hide his embarrassment by clearing his throat. “i think you look good in all of them…” he mumbled to himself, knowing that you’d hear it too.

“i want to know which one would look good when i kiss you. i think the third one has the nicest contrast with your hair.” your fingers went up to his hair, twirling it as you took a good look at your ‘masterpiece’. when you kiss him…. his thoughts were everywhere now, just the idea that people know you left those marks on him had his head spinning.

he pulled down his glasses just a little to be able to look at you. “we can always test even more, i’m all yours,” the words fell out of his mouth with no hesitation. both of you had nothing else to do for the rest of the day, there was definitely a lot more of his body that you could try your lipstick on until you were satisfied.

[roxilliaana]

To my Little Thief

Luke Castellan x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader

Fluff

Warnings: Luke is harassed by makeup, Implied kiss

Word Count: 1031

The summer sun beat down on the two of you as you walked through the shopping center, hands brushing just a little too often to be accidental. Luke’s arm grazed yours again, and you bit your lip, pretending not to notice the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for your hand.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “Where to first?”

You smirked, already dragging him toward Sephora. “You know where.”

Luke groaned, but there was no real protest in it. “If I end up with glitter in my hair again, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you will have glitter in your hair,” you promised, flashing him a grin that made his breath hitch.

The moment you stepped into the store, you were in your element—swatching lipsticks, testing perfumes, making Luke sniff every fragrance until he was dizzy. But this time, there was something different in the air. Every time your fingers brushed his skin—his wrist when you grabbed him to show him a blush, his jaw when you turned his face to apply eyeliner—his breath stuttered.

“Hold still,” you murmured, leaning in way too close as you smudged dark liner along his lash line. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and unreadable. He,then, caughed a bit and went next to a mirror.

“Which one do you think would look better on me?” you asked, holding up two nearly identical shades of pink.

Luke squinted. “They’re the same.”

You gasped, scandalized. “They are not the same! This one is Berry Crush, and this one is Peony Dream.”

“Right. One’s a berry, and one’s a… flower.” He crossed his arms. “Still looks pink to me.”

You huffed. “You’re impossible.” Then, a wicked idea struck you. “Here.” You swiped the blush brush across the palette and before Luke could react, you dabbed it onto his cheeks.

“Hey—!”

“Oh my gods,” you giggled, stepping back. “You look adorable.”

Luke scowled, but his ears turned red. “You’re lucky I don’t retaliate.”

“Oh, please,” you said, grabbing a lipstick next. “You love me.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. There was a beat of silence, and for a second, you panicked. But then Luke smiled. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”making your hearth skip some beats.

You quickly turned away, pretending to examine an eyeshadow palette to hide your blush. “Anyway, try this one.”

The next hour consisted of you testing every product you could get your hands on—on Luke. Highlighter on his cheekbones, eyeliner (which he hated), even a glittery lip gloss that he immediately tried to wipe off, making you laugh.

By the time you left Sephora, Luke looked like a baddie attacked by a glamorous glitter bomb.

The rest of the day was spent wandering through stores, you pointing out everything you loved—a pastel pink sweater, a delicate gold necklace, a bottle of expensive vanilla perfume. But each time, you hesitated before putting them back. But gods the security had to take you away from that hearth-shaped ring.

Luke noticed your longings, of course. “Why don’t you just get them?”

You shrugged. “Silena's birthday is coming up. I should save my money for her gift.”

Luke frowned but didn’t push further.

By the time you returned to camp, the sun was setting, casting golden light over the strawberry fields. You flopped onto your bed in the Aphrodite cabin, exhausted but happy.

“Today was fun,” you said, smiling up at Luke, who leaned against your doorframe.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice softer than usual. “It was.”

There was something in his gaze that made your stomach flip.

“You should go get cleaned up,” you teased. “You’ve still got glitter in your hair.”

“You should come by my cabin later,” he said, casual but loaded. 

“I’ve got something for you.” Your breath caught. 

“Oh?”

And with that he went to his cabin and you went to yours to prepare the gift you bought for him secretly, when he was out buying ice cream in the morning.

That night, after dinner, you decided to give Luke a little show. You slipped into the silky pink dress you’d admired earlier, dabbed on the vanilla perfume, and even put on the gold necklace. You couldn't believe you bought all that stuff, you didn't even remember buying them!

Your father probably regretted giving his card to you.

You strutted into the Hermes cabin, where Luke was lounging on his bunk, talking to Travis and Connor. The second he saw you, his jaw dropped.

“Whoa,” Connor said, elbowing Luke. “Someone’s got an admirer.”

Luke ignored him, his eyes locked on you, then smirked. “You—you bought all that?”

You twirled, grinning. “Maybe.”

But then your fingers brushed against the necklace—the one you knew you hadn’t purchased. Your eyes widened. “Wait…”

Luke’s face turned very sheepish.

You gasped. “Luke Castellan, did you steal these?!”

The Stoll brothers burst out laughing. “Classic!” Travis crowed.

“Oh Travis, lets leave the love birds for their thanking session!” Travis replied by making his hands kiss and they disappeared as you climbed to his bunk.

“You wanted them.” He tilted his head.

“Oh Lukey," you giggled, "I got something for you too.” You took out the gift box from your newly stolen bag.

Luke opened the gift after kissing your cheek, leaving you dumbfounded. Inside the box there was a gift card for his new favorite game, an Apple Watch, and a postcard covered in various colored kisses.

“To my little thief”

Luke looked at the present with love before quietly taking out a ring box, and revealing the beautiful hearth-shaped ring inside.

Your heart swelled. All day, he’d been watching, noticing the things you loved but couldn’t get, and he’d taken them for you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, but you were smiling.

Luke stood, stepping closer. “Yeah, but you love me, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you said, leaning in. “I do.”

Luke didn’t move for a moment. He just watched you, his eyes dark with something unreadable—want, hesitation, need? The lantern light flickered across his face, casting shadows along his jaw, his lips.

You took a shaky breath.

And then closed the distance between your lips.

[theshipsong]

perona x f!reader, happy birthday my pretty princess 🩷 canon au where thriller bark joins cross guild. reader is an astrologer formerly of the hawkins pirates.

⸺

"Here."

You handed Perona a pair of straight knitting needles with a width of worsted, cotton candy-colored stitches cast on.

"Hah?" She accepted it uncomprehendingly.

"You were sulking earlier that I knit for other people while I'm with you," you explained. "That's leftover from a cardigan I made last year. Why don't we do it together?"

Despite your best efforts, Alvida didn't seem all that interested in bonding as the women of Cross Guild, so the boozy picnic brunch you packed ended up the date Perona wanted from the start. Unfortunately for her, your idea of a girl's day out involved crafting. Drinks and gossip, too, of course, and tarot, if the mood took you, but even as a professional reader you'd kept knitting in your lap to pick up between clients.

Perona held the cast-on edge in her right hand and the empty needle in her left, and you bit your lip.

"How about I show you first," you tried.

You figured it'd be the case, but you still quivered as Perona rested her chin on your shoulder and giggled, her arms snaking around your waist. You reclaimed her discarded needles and cleared your throat.

"I hold my working yarn in my left hand," you demonstrated. "You can do it the other way, but I don't know how."

"Mmm." Perona reached around you for her sangria.

Perona knew her way around a mattress stitch, apparently having learned from Thriller Bark's doctor, and had been mending her stuffed animals—and making horrifying cotton and corduroy chimeras—since childhood. You weren't your last ship's designated seamster; that honor belonged to your captain. But being a North Blue crew, you and many others habitually knitted, especially those from the upper latitudes. Karai Bari was quite temperate, but you didn't know where you'd take Buggy's charmingly garish clown ship next, and you'd rather not be caught out at a winter island.

You knit two rows before handing it back to her. She accepted it and sat back, giving you back your space, and you felt her absence even though you were warmed through with wine.

"It's not as cute as yours," she said with a frown.

Yours was a black, ribbed sock for Crocodile. "The bumpy thing you're making is in garter stitch. I'm working in ribbing."

"Bumpy?" You held out the sock for her compare textures, and she made a noise of recognition. "I used to wear socks like that. Thigh-high with stripes."

"That's uh..." You loved Perona's wardrobe, her voluminous dresses and bare shoulders and structured silhouettes, but you saw a few miniskirts and t-shirts in her luggage. "...a lot of fabric."

She sighed a little wistfully. "Makes me think of back then. Dealing with that stupid swordsman..."

(Roronoa Zoro was "that stupid swordsman"; Dracule Mihawk was just "him.")

You worked a silence for a bit, Perona making noises of frustration and much slower progress, at times throwing her swatch down, but you had to admire her odd mix of impatience and determination, her selfishness and her empathy. She didn't grow up in any normal way, whatever that meant, and was quite literally tossed from her childhood home, almost like a noblewoman passed from father to husband, but she turned out this rough-tongued, bizarre, strong woman with whom you were lucky to become fast friends, and more.

You pulled the picnic basket toward you, out of which both of your working yarns came, your black and her pink, and she groaned. "Don't tell me you have even more in there."

You grinned. The basket cooler was large enough to hold plural wine bottles—if Perona recognized it as a loan from Mihawk, she didn't say—but the charcuterie you munched on with your sangria and mimosas didn't warrant all that space. Perona, princess she was, let you carry the thing up hill, and her incuriosity served your plans well.

You popped the lid open and pulled out a paper pastry box the color of sugar-coated almonds, tied with a silver bow.

Perona tilted her head. "What—?"

You untied the ribbon, and it fell open to reveal three strawberry shortcakes.

"I baked the cakes yesterday and made the cream and assembled them just now," you said. "Happy birthday, Per—"

To your shock, she threw her arms around you, smashing the no less than four knitting needles between your chests as she blubbered in your ear.

"Two years," she whispered. "Two years with those stupid men and I never brought it up or learned theirs because—because—I'm a grownup, damn it, and—" She sniffled loudly, and if you didn't do all manner of disgusting things together you would've flinched. Instead, you laughed.

"Of course I know. I mean, I know a ton of people's, but I remember who matters."

Perona kissed your cheek wetly before leaning against your side, admiring the pastry. "Moria-sama celebrates when he found me, but..." She breathed. "My parents stopped doing anything for me. Once I ate the Horo Horo no Mi. Even if I still knew them, they wouldn't tell me my birth time." Her distinctive laugh had never sounded so bitter. You pressed your cheek to her hairline, rubbing her upper arm.

"Happy birthday," you repeated softly. "Happy, happy birthday."

You decided you were glad Alvida bailed, and you could split sweet cake with your sweet girlfriend only, on a day you selfishly wanted to belong to just the two of you.

[superblysubpar]

modern!husband!steve harrington x wife!you

2,603 words

warnings: so like, technically, you don't have to read "We'll Call It Love" , my modern steve series, BUT you're missing soooooo much that got these two idiots here, so I really encourage you to do so. This scene is so so so much more fun if you know all that led up to it, I promise. anyways: | alcohol mentions, slight descriptions of use by reader | smut (public - you get caught *kind of* / fingering / piv unprotected intercourse - creampie / wife,mom,breeding, all the kinks from one Mr. Harrington) - 18+ as always

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the fic!

A/N: I just wanted to say again, thanks for loving We'll Call It Love so much. I actually got to go see the band COIN last night, the music that inspired the fic, the screenplay, and just...wow. I don't have other words for it. Idk, feeling very sappy for all of you today and this story that means so much to me. Thanks for being here, it was fun to revisit these two 💛 and *now* I'm done with them.

Probably.

The day hadn’t been without its issues, but he’d expect nothing less, when it comes to the two of you.

First, there was Eddie’s girlfriend showing up in fake blood, late, covered in swatches of dark and gory fake gashes and goo all down her arms as she frantically rushed past him and shouted something about busy season and don’t worry, his bride was gonna look beautiful and not in a tragically haunting poetic way but in a romantic sunset kissed glowing kind of way.

Which, you did.

But then, there was an issue with the cake, which, wasn’t supposed to be a cake, but a bunch of peach pies. Robin and Nancy were whispering loud enough to bring him into the kitchen, both of their mouths snapped shut as Steve blinked at the largest solitary pie he’d ever seen. It was massive, comically so, and Robin was waving her hands at him, it’s going be fine spilling out of her lips that had just been freshly glossed for photos. Nancy was on the phone with a bakery and then Eddie was stumbling through the door shouting about canceling the order. He smiled at Steve and told him that you started crying which made him frown and start towards the direction Eddie had just come from, but his groomsman and your best man stopped him, assured him that then you started laughing, that you said your parents would have loved it.

Which, ultimately led to issue number three.

Robin had approached him slowly, fixing his tie, before she whispered that they couldn’t find you, but that there was a note, with his name on it. He had grabbed it with trembling fingers, only to find it didn’t say anything like sorry or I can’t do this, but a quote:

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

He rushed past Robin, shouted about being right back.

Steve found you on a balcony, which took a little bit of work, asking the front desk if anyone booked a room under Buttercup, or Allie, Kate, and ultimately Sally Albright. Then they wouldn’t give him the room number till he confirmed his name was Harry Albright, not Harry Burns. His breath caught in his chest when you turned to look at him, chin quivering and a quiet greeting for him before you started crying. It all ended alright, after you talked about your parents and him and all of it and he kissed you and made a joke about wedding curses. If seeing you in your dress before the ceremony already happened, where was the harm in a sunset balcony quickie?

You didn’t go for it that time, only grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room with you, asking if he was ready to get married.

Which he really fucking was.

The floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline had been good in theory, letting in the beautiful, breathtaking sunset as you said your vows. But they also let in the warmth, the room an oven, leading you to laughing during the ceremony and swiping at his temple with your handkerchief and Eddie fanning Robin while she officiated. And cried.

There was so much crying.

But it was perfect.

You were perfect.

“Sir?”

Steve blinked away from where he was watching you take pictures in the vintage photobooth, you, Robin, Nancy, and Eddie’s girlfriend were all crammed in, sitting on each other’s laps, to the attendant in front of him.

Perfect, but distracting.

“So sorry, what did you ask?”

The venue employee smiled, like he knew the look on Steve’s face well, and then he shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for, sir. I was just letting you know that all the gifts are put away and locked in the car downstairs as instructed by your wife. Anything else I can do for you?”

His wife.

Steve looked over at you again, sighing as you tilted your head back in a laugh at the images in Robin’s hand.

He smiled at the man in front of him and shook his hand, “No, thank you.”

You felt him before you saw him, or rather, smelt him.

Your body spun to find the source of the salty and fried scent to see Steve holding a container of fresh french fries and a smile and eyes that seemed to be perfectly made, and only for you.

“Hey Mrs. Harrington,” he kissed your cheek, lips lingered against your skin as he asked, “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you groaned, your body crumpled against his as you exchanged your glass of champagne for the fries you knew would end up being a great late night snack offered. Warmth filled your stomach at the sound of your new last name, like a lovesick idiot you swore you’d never be.

Steve lifted a fry to your mouth, eyes a deep burnt amber in the low reception lighting as he watched your lips part and steal the fry from between his fingers, his tongue with a mind of it’s own, swiping out over his bottom lip as yours brushed the pad of his thumb.

You snorted.

“You’re so easy, Harrington.”

Steve lifted the fries away from you, eyes glinting as you pouted and reached for them half-heartedly, content to just lean against his body instead as he joked, “Hey. We’re married. You have to be nice to me now.”

Warm breath hit his jaw as you huffed, “Well, if I knew that was the rule, I never would have said I do a few hours ago.”

A kiss was pressed to his neck despite your words, right against his two freckles, then a smile ghosted against his skin when you heard the low rumble in his chest.

Steve’s lips brushed your ear as he bent down, speaking softly, lowly, and sending the warmth between your stomach directly between your legs.

“Don’t start something you can’t handle, honey.”

Your head lifted, stares at one another challenging and hopelessly and sickeningly in love to anyone who was watching.

“Oh,” you laughed, quietly, leaned in to whisper against his lips, “I think I can handle you just fine, Mr. Harrington.”

He had you in the bathroom not even a minute later, one hand locking the door behind him and the other pressing over your mouth as you giggled.

Steve’s mouth was all over your neck as his hands found your hips, guiding you to the counter.

“You’re so beautiful,” words warm and sticky and sweet against your skin as your head fell back against his shoulder in a gasp when his lips found a new spot behind your ear. “Can’t believe I’m married to you. Can’t believe you said yes. Can’t believe you’re all-“

His hand smacked at your ass as he grabbed a fistful of it, scrunching up the fabric of your dress you could care less about now as he growled in your ear the word, “Mine.”

“Steve,” you hated how breathless you sounded, hated how he’d barely touched or kissed you and you were wrecked already, “Hurry.”

He whined into the crook of your neck, spun you and let his nose trace along the straps of your dress, across the lace covering your chest as his mouth followed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Steve knelt, regretfully removing his lips from your skin so he could carefully lift your dress, handing it to you with a quiet, “Hold this, honey.”

He pressed a kiss to your check as you did what you were told, but then he got a proper look at you and your lip was captured between your teeth at his groan, from the way his hands ran through his hair.

“Fuck,” he sighed, as his finger trailed up your thigh and found custom, cream colored straps and shiny buckles and pretty lace you’d ordered just for him. “Look at you.”

“You like it?” The question answered by Steve’s own lip bitten raw, his fingers still roaming higher, up the sides of your cunt, already soaked.

“Baby,” Steve laughed, eyes cast down between your bodies, watching carefully as his fingers slipped beneath the wet lace. “Do I like it? I love it.”

“That’s,” your head fell back, exposing your neck his mouth was grateful for. Distracted by the way he dragged his fingers through you, swirled around your clit, the same way his tongue was against your throat. “Go-good.”

Steve pressed against your clit harder, humming against your skin where his mouth was still latched to when your body shook underneath him. Your thighs clamped around his hand, yours clutched at his shoulders with fistfuls of your dress still between your fingers.

He removed his fingers from you, quick to make work of his buckle and pants, aligning himself with you but hesitating just as his tip brushed against your entrance.

Steve looked up at you, under his lashes that cast shadows against pink cheeks dotted with freckles. He gazed at you with the kind of look that you imagined you gave a sunset. Admiring, awed, like you were taking in its beauty the first time every time. Like you knew your time with it might be fleeting, so you had to watch it every second so you didn't miss a single second of it.

He leaned in and let his lips brush over yours tenderly, deciding to take his time and forget the frantic pace you both had started with.

He murmured into your lips as they parted in a sigh beneath his kiss.

“I love you. So much. I think I’ve loved you since I saw you in that bar, I texted Robin about soul mates before I talked to you, I-“

You caught his top lip between yours, an over too quick kiss, but then you were speaking into the corner of his mouth, against his jaw.

“I love you too.”

Steve’s forehead knocked yours, your hips wiggled, making his dick twitch as you stared into each other’s eyes.

“Ready, Mrs. Harrington?”

The tip of your nose brushed his as your laugh bubbled out of you, voice all sarcastic and fond, “Ready? I’ve been ready, Steve. You’re the one taking his tim-ohmygod.”

Steve’s smug smirk twitched in front of you as he thrust into you while fake grumbling, “Me? How about you miss I’m gonna wait over a year to say I love-fuckyoufeelsogood…”

He rolled his hips, only getting deeper, and your thighs tightened on the outside of his, head thrown back against the mirror from the feeling of him inside you, which he followed. His lips skated over your cheek, your jaw, as he slowly pulled out of you and thrust back in.

Your mouth fell open with each drag against your walls that cling to him, that want him to stay there. A noise catches in the back of your throat every time he pushes into you, each time only harder and deeper as he babbled.

“Sorry, I wanted,” he grunted, mouth finding yours only to kiss you once and keep talking, “The first time I have sex with my wife to last, to linger, to-“

Your mouth captured his in a kiss this time, tugging on his bottom lip and gasping into his open mouth when he thrust faster, shallower, your name a begged breath between the two of you.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wait anymore,” you whimpered, your dress left your fingers so you could grip the back of his head, card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and tug, “To finally have sex with my husband.”

Steve moaned at the word husband, twitching inside of you, which made you grin at the way his hips stuttered, at the way his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Yeah?” You gripped at the back of his head a little harder, knowing what each other liked now. He frantically pushed under the fallen dress to find your clit again with ease, trying to get the upper hand once more as you asked, “You like me calling you my husband, Steve?”

Your mouth brushed the apple of his cheek, it kissed his temple as he fell forward, thrusting faster and making quick figure eights against your nerves, gasping at your teasing.

“Wanna tell everyone I’m your wife? Tell ‘em I’m a Harrington?” Your stomach clenched at the thought too, at the pace which Steve slammed into you even harder, hips meeting in a filthy grind as your head knocked against the mirror. The thumps mingling with the sound of how you were coating him, all a little louder in the bathroom and only making you both a little more turned on.

His forehead pressed to yours as he nodded, lips of parted mouths catching every time he thrust. He moaned, he begged, “Yeah, yeah. Wanna tell them. Wanna…want…pregnant. Mine.”

Your back arched, hand searching until it found his, lacing your fingers together. His others grew sloppy against your clit, slipping over it as you nodded. Chest aching from his admission, from the way you sort of wanted it too, how it didn’t scare you as much anymore, not when it was him.

“Yeah?”

“Ye-yeah, fuck, honey, I can’t-“ Steve kissed you. Passionate and breath stealing as he held your lips to his like he’d wanted to all day. Your clasped hands hit the counter, the click of your rings together made you whine into his lips when they parted. You let him go, his name loud in the bathroom, echoing against tile and sure to be heard even on the moon as his hips stuttered when you clenched around him. Your stomach burned and your eyes blinked rapidly, sure you weren’t on the planet anymore from the amount of stars you could see as his warmth spilled into you.

It takes a second for you both to come back down to earth, for Steve to laugh, for you to press your hands to your cheeks as you looked down at the mess you’d made of yourselves.

Steve kissed at sweat kissed skin, tenderly cleaning you up as you joked with each other, sleepy eyelids and content smiles. Slow kisses that left you both sighing in between lingering touches that weren’t out of necessity, but just because you wanted to be touching.

Completely in love.

He helped you off of the counter and winced at the way your dress fell down all crinkled and obviously mussed. You shrugged before running a hand though his hair, messing it up even more than you already had, then you untied his tie and let it hang from around his neck saying something about it only being fair.

He grabbed your hand, fingers curled into yours as he kissed your knuckles and led you out of the bathroom.

Robin was the first to slow clap.

Your nose pressed to his shoulder, a groaned god dammit on your lips against his suit jacket.

Then Rocketman was blasted on the speakers, a loud “Annnnnnnd Buckley owes me one hundred dollars!” comes from Eddie at the bar, earning a smack to his chest from his girlfriend, which was nice, until she said “I get fifty of that and you know it.”

And it’s all fine, Steve doesn’t really care, because most of the guests are gone and you’re laughing and heading over to grab pie, flicking Eddie’s ear as you went.

Robin slid up next to Steve, shaking her head. “Wow. I really had faith in you Harrington. A bathroom? On your wedding night? I know you two are animals, but you couldn’t wait to have your wife in, oh, I don’t know, a private bedroom?”

Steve only smiled at the way Nancy handed you a water as you caught peach filling from your lip, while you played with the little ‘S’ dangling between your collarbones with your left hand, the large blue sapphire stone sparkling next to glittering diamonds in the light.

His wife.

For those of you who don't know, Leather and Lace was an Eddie series I started when I first started writing for the fandom. I only posted two chapters, and I just fell out of writing it. It was something I was holding close to me, and I wanted to really tell it right. I've been poking at it a lot lately, and the story has changed so much, and I'd love to share it again soon. But for now, have a little blurb from it tomorrow, and I'd really love to hear what you think. This Eddie is a childhood best friend, an enemy, a stranger, and hopefully, one day, a lover. Okay, anyways, happy voting!

*voting will close at 10am CST tomorrow, 10/3

[stringlessau]

IT'S STRINGLESS' 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY (+ early concept art compilation)

Posting this dumbass little video to start off the day since we have a lot of little gifts for our awesome community today.

One of those things is something i've been wanting to do for a very long while: posting a lot of the original concept art for stringless (since ive always enjoyed seeing other people's early concepts) some of these i have posted massively before, some are completely unseen, so it'll be fun

This one is the page that started it all, his design is at the same time largely unchanged and also completely different

All i have to say is that it originally said (regarding spamton and swatch) "they bicker like an old married couple" but then i thought about it and i changed it so theyre literally just married

Didnt mean to make swatchton, made it anyway lmfao

Right after that, i got working on neo designs, I wanted to make him really scary looking, the original concept was to make him look skeletal and generally for him to look insane and like he had been reanimated from the dead, but a lot of people had told me over time that they didn't really like the design, I was very defensive over it but I ended up taking criticism and i actually really like the new neo, it balances the uncanniness of the original design with the sleekness of my new art

Payton was a natural next step, without someone to sell the thorn ring there'd be no neo, so although his design visually stayed almost the same, he went through a lot of color revisions (thanks mostly to @maskedalterego, who helped me to nail his final color palette), he suggested the gloves, and helped me to balance the saturation of the design since really I've never had a good eye for color.

His final design, color wise, was just me experimenting using the colors of my sona at the time on him, which I was hesitant to do but was so happy with the palette that I kept it.

It's interesting that he was originally intended to be the pink addison (since he sells one of the snowgrave required rings), and the reason he ended up being the blue addison was corey beepington (and the eviction notice short which I have taken one too many concepts from), this still influenced me to make his outfit pink initially, which still is a huge part of his character design

That exact same night, I created concept art for Raster (weirdly, I was sure I created them before Payton, but it might be because I was generally uninterested in Payton earlier on), their design is also largely unchanged, I just got better with shapes and color, I also ended up changing their cheek markings after seeing some swatchton fanchild art by ne0nbandit

A first until now, the first concepts for payton neo were made on paper

I took very long on this design, and I only updated it every few weeks to make tweaks because I felt the concept was too good but my execution didnt make it justice

I'm very proud of how the design looks now, as of the latest neo redesigns, I feel I could finally make this idea justice

Swatch's design went through some last minute changes, I wanted to use this color palette for swatch to contrast with spamton, but decided against it, then i changed their hair to be longer, to make their Stringless design distinct from their regular Deltarune design

Historically, these two are pretty important, the first pieces of art I ever made featuring Rakhin's old design, when he wasn't part of stringless and I was just befriending rope (he made me Payton fanart first, fell in love with his style), the contrast is beautiful

Now to finish this post, here's some unseen Snowgrave route art I made over the time Stringless has been in development, they're all pretty quick sketches, but i love them nonetheless

Thanks everyone for the insane reception this AU has gotten, I haven't been feeling very good this whole year for a huge amount of reasons I can't get into, but Stringless and its community always helps me to remember why I do the things I do

Thanks for everyone's comments and everyone's kindness, thanks especially to @theropeaaa , for being the literal other half of this AU, without whom I couldn't have ever done the Stringless pages, @maskedalterego for helping me and listening to my ramblings since the start, @scamp-boxx for being this AU's biggest hype man (the first ever comment on the first spamton concept art was by them, and they helped me nail so much of the snowgrave route), @boykisserwoah and @weirdohno , for also being here from the start and making an absolutely insane amount of fanart oh my god, @gutamajunk , for motivating me to create Raster, and writing several story outlines on the first days of stringless that were the foundation for the pages, and diaryous milch and rory, our friends that have helped with character designs, story ideas, voice acting and have generally been instrumental to what stringless is today

THANKS EVERYONE <3

-Nick

[strwbnnie]

‎✧ lovesick!chifuyu x hyperfem!bimbo reader : A jealous, pining Chifuyu finally gets the courage to approach you after watching you fraternize with Mitsuya ♡

black fem reader, chubby bimbo reader, reader is a fashion girlie! not really mentioned but chifu studies literature, semi-public sex (I think), kinda whiny reader, kind of a shift at the end. lovesick!chifuyu, reader is a maneater not a mean girl! (jk) Mitsuya & Takemichi make an appearance! There’s like one b*ji spoiler, standing doggy, slight choking, pussy eating, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), excuse any mistakes, MDNI

author’s note: for my bby @prtttycocobuttvr 🫶🏾chile this has been in the drafts for idk how long 🥲 extra long for literally no reason, the bulk of it isn’t even the smut…the ending is so abrupt 😭 but I really needed this out my drafts

wc: 3.7k

─────────── εїз ───────────

Every now and then Chifuyu thinks back to the day the two of you met.

He fucking hated you at first, he’s ashamed to admit. Was it really hate though? Could’ve been annoyance, jealousy maybe? A lil bit of both is what he’ll chalk it up to. It was love at first sight for him, meanwhile you never gave a second glance in his direction.

He started seeing you more as the weeks passed, the two of you had no classes together, but he still saw you around far too often. You smelled just like marshmallows or vanilla, something sweet that demanded his attention every single fucking time you strutted past him. 

It became a routine—class, cafe and lastly the library where he’d find you doing anything but reading. 

Once a quiet safe haven for him to relax with a good book, now overtaken by the clicks and clacks of you touching up your makeup, or the rustle of a potato chip bag while you sit there with your pink Hello Kitty headphones watching some Netflix drama, even the constant sucking and the jumbling of ice as you slurp down every drop of your boba coffee while waiting for your newest minion to finish your homework.

That day was supposed to be no different. You and one of your minions were heading to that same table, around the same time you always arrived. You looked so damn good too. You always did. 

He was obsessed with your new hair color, black girl blonde is what he learned it’s called. Ash blonde with dark chocolate roots and it’s just so damn pretty he’s losing his fucking mind. Your face is fresh and bare, no makeup aside from a dark blackish-brown lip liner and gloss. Lashes full and fluffy, you must’ve gotten them filled over the weekend.

His eyes are trailing your every move, waiting for the glimpse of your backside that never came.

“Hiiiii Mitsu & friends!” You leaned down to drape yourself over the lavender’s shoulders. Chifuyu tries to keep his cool, brows furrowed and eyes almost as wide as saucers as he watched this strange display. 

And friends? How fucking pathetic is that. Granted, he didn’t know your name either, often referring to you as “that pretty girl” when he spoke about you to Baji’s grave but fuck, that made him feel like shit. 

It’s the first time he’s heard that cute voice of yours and it’s when you’re greeting Takashi fucking Mitsuya?? You guys seem well acquainted and it burns Chifuyu up inside, when the fuck did you two get all buddy-buddy? And what the fuck did Mitsuya have that he didn’t? 

He wonders who initiated the first contact, wouldn’t be surprised if it was Mitsuya, he’d always had the confidence a loser like him lacked. He was also very good with women, unlike Chifuyu. Then again, you seem very bubbly and outgoing so it very well could’ve been you who approached him.

“Here are those fabric swatches I was telling you about. If you decide to use any just let me know! I have tons of rolls and I can bring you some yards.” You hand him a couple of squares of fabric. At least ten 4x4 squares that you took the time to cut and string on a little o-ring like paint swatches. So cute. 

“Thank you, y/n!” He smiles. “I’ll surely let you know.”

Just like that, you’re heading over to your table, minion hot on your heels. 

It’s a quick exchange, and it should’ve been harmless, but boy does it boil his blood. God, did you speak to everyone but him?!

“Y/N,” Damn, he learned your name, heard your voice and watched you diss him all in one sitting. It was insane. “You know her?”

“Yeah, we’ve only spoken a few times but she’s super friendly. She’s an exchange student from the states, a fashion major too, we have classes together.” Mitsuya spoke as he sketched out a few designs for a project. 

“This would make a nice jacket.” He shows Takemichi the blush pink corduroy square for him to feel. “Maybe pants too if she has enough. It’d look nice on Koko, he’s my model.” “It would! It’s nice and soft, like velvet! Koko’s super pretty too, it’ll look great.”

He steals glances at you every now and then. 

“Just talk to her dude, she’s literally so sweet.”

He doesn’t raise his head, still sketching away, but it’s clear who his words are directed to. Mitsuya has known him for quite some time, of course he knew how to read his pragmatic friend. 

“Yeah! Unless you’re scared.” 

He cuts his eyes at the crybaby blonde. Of course he wasn’t scared, just a bit apprehensive is all. 

He looks your way one last time.

Your back is to him and you have your MacBook open in front of you watching a recap of celebrity metgala looks. You’re enamored by your fashion content, even taking notes in your cute notebook with your adorable pom-pom pen. You’re too oblivious—too much of an airhead in your own dumb little world to notice that simp eye fucking you. 

Dude’s practically drooling while staring at your tits. It’s disgusting, enraging even. It boiled his blood, so much that he’s scooting his chair back to approach the both of you. Takemichi and Mitsuya watched him with careful eyes, since he didn’t say a word before he made his move. Fuck it, his pride was already shot and he didn’t have shit else to lose. 

You didn’t even notice him at first, both airpods in, now staring into your hello kitty shaped compact mirror while reapplying that sticky beauty supply lipgloss all over your plump pout. 

Before he could even stop himself he’s snatching up your homework sheet, scanning his eyes over this chump’s work. Wrong. Wrong. Most were either fucking wrong or incomplete! Complete bullshit and he was gonna let you turn that in?!? 

“Get the fuck outta here.” He’s speaks so calmly, it’s all the more sinister. 

The four-eyed geek is snatching up his bag and calculator so damn fast you’d think Chifuyu had a gun to his head. 

It pissed him off so bad! But why did it piss him off so bad? 

Probably because you’ve approached everyone but him as if he’s not one of the smartest people on this fucking campus. Probably fucked them all too, so why were you being so damn stingy with him? And why the hell was he so worried about it?

Chifuyu motions to sit down next to you, thighs spread with his hands clasped between them. He run’s his sweaty palms along his pants every now and then, trying to build the courage to speak to you. 

You give your lips one last smack, capping your lipgloss and shutting your compact. “Hey, you’re Mitsu’s friend! Do you know where…nevermind. I don’t even remember his name.”

“He said he had something to do, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh okay. What’s up?” You finally give him your undivided attention, dropping your stuff into your little designer baguette bag, turning in your chair until you’re facing him. You’re almost instantly entranced by those striking eyes, iris’ the color of sea glass. The dark locks of his undercut styled messy and wild. He’s cute. Real cute. 

“I like you.” Chifuyu has never been one to beat around the bush, even though his heart was nearly beating out of his chest right about now.

“You don’t know me to like me, so if you wanna fuck me, just say that.”

You say it like it’s nothing. Must be used to it by now, constant fetishizing instead of genuine attraction. But the way he’d been pining over you was much deeper than someone who just wanted a quick fuck. You plagued his mind—his thoughts, all you.

He runs his tongue over his lips, not in a creepy way, but because he’s nervous and they’re dry. Either way you still notice it, it’s kinda hot honestly. 

 “I do. I mean I would, but I don’t want to-I don’t have to,” He’s stumbling all over his words and it’s fucking embarrassing. Word vomit, is what Mitsuya calls it, it starts and there’s no telling when it stops. 

“Regardless, I wanna know you–I think you’re so pretty, I like your style, the way you dress and stuff. And I’ll do your homework, if you want. Or I can actually show you how to do it, cus’ if you turn this garbage in you’re sure to fail.” Chifuyu tosses out. He barely wanted to do his own, so why the fuck was he offering to do yours? Was he that desperate for your attention? 

You’re twirling your hair around your finger, head tilted. You’d never had one of them offer to teach you, just always offering to do it just to be in your space. 

“Hmmm..so you wanna be my tutor. I guess, but what’s in it for me?”

The blackette could feel his eye start to twitch, there’s no way you were serious. “I’m doing your homework and tutoring you for free, what the fuck else do you want from me?” He scoffs. 

Greedy bitch. 

“Boy please, I can have any of these other guys doing my homework. You obviously want something from me and I just wanna know what you’ll offer me in return.” 

“I don’t want anything from you, I’just want you.”

You stare at him and he stares back, that adorable face of his morphed into a slight pout. He holds eye contact the entire time, it’s almost intimidating, but his aura is so light and genuine. 

He’s a strange boy, you’ve concluded, but it’s intriguing. 

“Why?” 

“I don’t fuckin know,” He truly doesn’t know, you’re just a dumb girl he happened to see at school. Not the first and definitely not the last, but you’ve been on his mind since he first laid eyes on you. “But I like you, a lot. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He was infatuated and he didn’t know why. 

You divert your eyes, tapping your puffball of your pen against the wooden table. “What if I want you to fuck me?” 

There’s a pause, you look at him and he looks at you before he sucks his teeth. “You’re joking.” Even still, he feels the blood rushing from his cheeks to his cock.

“You said whatever I want.” He needs to make sure he heard that correctly. Was it a test? A prank? Because you’re obviously just fucking with him. “But if it’s too forward, we can just study I guess.”

He’s silent and so are you but the way he’s boring into your soul makes you wish you never brought it up at all. “You serious?”

You nod, batting your fluffy mink lashes at him and as lame as it sounds, that’s all it took. 

Next thing he knew, Chifuyu was eating his crush’s pussy in one of the private study rooms. He’s almost embarrassed at how quickly he fell to his knees, eager to slurp on your pretty, plump cunt. 

The library is old. One of the oldest buildings on campus, hasn’t been renovated since it was built. A private study room was the perfect place—just a windowless, concrete box where no one could see or hear you leaned on your back with your feet in the air while he sucked on your pussy. 

Your clit is juicy and suckable, the pink nub catches his attention the minute he slid your panties down and spread your thighs open. 

He’s used to keeping his face stuffed in a book back here, now he’d much rather have his face stuffed between your thighs every second of the day. 

You’re a sight to see right now, tits spilling out from under your top, panties looped around one of your ankles and your skirt is flipped up and out of the way, away from the mess he’s making between your thighs. 

He’s so messy with it, spitting on it and slurping it back up, licking stripes up your sweet pussy until your clit is peeking out of its hood.

“So good.” He breathes out, spreading you wider. From your hole, all the way up and back down again, his tongue leaves no part of your cunt untouched. He’s dragging up one last time before sucking your cute little clit between his lips, running his hands up and down your plush thighs and belly. 

After a while you lean up and your shaky hands manage to pry those supple pink lips away from your clit, his lips leaving your pussy with a loud, wet ‘pop’. “Waittt, I never got your name.” You whined. 

As if names, or lack there of, had ever stopped you. But you desperately wanted to know his and you wanted to scream it when you came—which would be very soon if he kept sucking on your clit like that. 

He’s gazing up at you with those dazzling seafoam green eyes, silvery strands of your slick still connected to his lips when he pulls away from your pussy. 

“Chif-fuck...” He’s huffing and puffing trying to catch his breath, resting his head on your thigh for a moment. Your hand is running through his hair, back and forth petting motions until his breathing slowed. “Chifuyu. Matsuno..Chifuyu.” 

He rarely gave his full name, at least not to people he held no respect for. But you were different, he just knew you were. He’d never been this intrigued by another person since middle school when he met the infamous Baji.

“Chi-fu-yu. Chif-uyu.”

You test it on your tongue, wanting to get every syllable right. It makes him fucking melt, the sound of his name flowing from your glossy lips is so pretty. Fuck, he needed to hear you moaning, screaming and babbling it like a little slut. His little slut.

He wastes no time pressing his lips back to your pussy, licking thick stripes up and down, fat tongue relentlessly teasing your entrance and dragging back up to your clit.

“F-fuck how are you so good at this..” It catches you off guard. His head is sloppy and nasty, but not too wet with just enough teasing to drive you insane. It’s almost as if he’d been acquainted with your pussy before this, but you know there’s no way. 

You barely notice how your body subconsciously rocks against him, rubbing your pussy up and down his face, your clit bumping his little button nose every single time. 

Your question falls on deaf ears. 

The once bright-eyed boy is now staring at you, his eyes alarmingly low and glossed over as he loses himself. 

He’s too far gone now, lost in absolute bliss between your thighs—the taste of your gooey, sticky cunt, your moans, the feel of your thighs trembling. Pussydrunk wasn’t even the word.

He lets you use him. Lets his tongue hang slack against his chin for you to grind your puffy clit against it. His face is wet and sticky and he’s covered up to his cheeks in your slick. He can barely breathe, you’re rocking far too fast for him to get a breath in, but even still Chifuyu would eat your pussy until he was blue in the face if it meant pleasing you. 

Every inhale is laced with your scent and it’s like an aphrodisiac. Everything about this was so perfect. He can feel the shivers running up and down your body—you’re close, he knows it and that’s when he gets relentless. 

“G-nna cum for you baby..can I cum?”

Christ, the way his dick jumped should’ve been a sin. Chifuyu hums against your clit, groans his approval so his lips don’t have to abandon your perfect pussy again. You can feel every single lick & suck and even the puffs of air he breathes out of his nose as he slurps on your cunt, teasing your sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming Chifuyu. Mmm, I’m cumming. Chifu-” 

Your climax hits you like a punch to the gut, knocks the wind out of you and has you doubling over with your hands tangled in his dark locks, your trembling thighs squeezing against his neck. 

Your moans and pants are so sexy, he loves you like this. You don’t even realize you’re running from him until he grips your hips tighter, pulling you forward and holding you taut.

He’s desperate to drink up all you’ll give him, thick tongue gliding over your hole before he’s shoving it inside. Not a drop of your lovely essence goes to waste as you let him get his fill. 

The chime of the desk phone startles you and forces him to part from your cunt. He looks at you and you look at him, you make no move to get it forcing him to. 

“Chifuyu!” The librarian calls, he frequents this place so often that the two of them have gotten quite familiar. “Sorry to bother you and your girlfriend, but the library closes soon-“ She’s checking her watch. “In about ten minutes hun.” 

“Ah, okay! Thank you Miss and she’s not-” When he catches the dial tone he places the phone back on the receiver. 

“She says we have ten minutes until the library closes.” 

Before he can even finish, you’re already on your knees shoving his joggers and underwear down in one swift move. His dick is gorgeous—thick with a pretty pink tip. You’re not sure about the size, seven maybe seven and a half inches. Either way, it fills your mouth perfectly, big and heavy on your tongue as you lick the precum dripping from the tip.

The minute he feels your mouth on him he nearly loses all control, knees threatening to give. Chifuyu grips your jaw, popping his cock out of your mouth with an audible ‘pop.’

He notices a dip in between your brows. A frown? 

A pouty frown on your pretty face accompanied by a roll of your eyes. So cute. 

“Chifuuu,” You whining his name is tearing him apart inside, staring up at him with those doe eyes. “We only have 10 minutes. I wanna make you cum.” 

He’s pulling you back up, spinning you until your ass is pressed against his crotch. 

“I know pretty…I’m gonna fuck you.” His voice is breathy, desperate. “That okay?”

It’s soft but he hears it. The soft ‘yeah’ tumbling from your lips, the small gasps of anticipation as  you raise up on your tip toes to meet his height. He’s sliding his length through the junction of your thighs, coating himself in your slick.

It’s so good, this little crevice between your thighs and cunt feels like heaven. Like the warmest hug embracing him with every push and pull of his hips.

He has to force himself to pull away. He wouldn’t be able to face you again if he came from fucking your thighs. 

Blunt fingertips melt into the plush flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch as he slides past the tight ring of your entrance, a loud squelch greeting him when he bottoms out. 

You’re the epitome of enticing, a pretty bitch with a perfect pussy, and honestly he feels undeserving. He feels his infatuation for you growing deeper, except this is something he wants, no, needs forever.

He’s so gentle, stroking slow and stretching you out just right cus it’s a tight fit. 

Despite the wetness dripping down your thighs, you feel every single inch of him. The burn of the stretch, the slight ache as he kisses your cervix with every clumsy thrust. Your pussy feels so good around him, like it was made for him. Made to take his dick. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d be so b-big.”

Snaking his hands around your neck, he’s pulling you up so your back meets his chest, rolling his hips so the thick head of his dick mushes against the gummy walls of your g-spot. Your legs are trembling but he holds you up. Heavy breaths against your ear as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah? You don’t think much of me at all, do you? Think you’re too good for me?” 

“Noooo! I don’t think that.” He’s not letting up, stroke after stroke, until you’re creaming all over him, and even then, he still doesn’t stop. “W-would never… think that.”

The thick white fluids settling at the base of his cock, the slick gush of your pussy every time he fucked into you. It was driving you mad. 

“I don’t exist in your world,” Thrust after thrust. “But you consume mine, I want you so bad.”

Your brain is fuzzy, just barely able to make out what he’s saying. “I-ah want you tooo…y’know just h-how to handle me baby.”  

“Yeah,” He breathes out. “Of course I do.”

You’re not sure if it’s the sureness in his voice or the sweet kiss he presses against the bare skin behind your ear that sends you over the edge but your climax hits you like a train carrying the sweetest bliss. You don’t utter a word, just deep breaths and pants, a quiet belt of his name towards the end as you melt into him with every buck of his hips. He feels it—the spasms, the trembling, the cozy warmth you coat him in, an impromptu reminder that he’s unprotected inside of you. Still, he fucks you through it, just until he’s close enough-

“F-f-fuuuck.” The groan rips through his throat as he reaches his end, the grip on your neck loosens as he pushes you down and spills his seed all over the cheeks of your ass. 

He’s so unprepared it’s a shame, forced to use the inside of his turtleneck to clean the mess he made, even going as far as to place you up on the table and wipe between your thighs.

“Oh you didn’t have to- I have wipes..” 

“No big deal, didn’t wanna dirty your skirt. You made this, right?” He rubs the hem of the frayed pink denim, recall’s seeing a square of this same fabric on the ring you gave Mitsuya. 

“I-I did. How did you know?” 

 “I remember seeing you sketching it out. Glad it turned out nice enough for you to wear. It’s cute..” He trails off when you avert your gaze.

“Thank you. I’m glad too…” You trail off and you avert your gaze.

“Don’t go acting shy on me, y/n.” It’s the first time you’ve seen it, something akin to a smile on his cute little face, his eyes are as bright as stars as he stares down at you. It’s odd, almost as if the roles had changed.

“I’m not!” You whine. “It’s just strange, you’re strange Chifuyu.” 

[forgingtheblade]

DID YOU KNOW THAT MINECRAFT HAS LOOMS???, aka, THE WEAVING WRITEUP

part 1: prep work—did you know how much you have to do before even touching a loom? me either

part 2 part 3

all the way back in october of last year, I was in a weaving class and was tasked with conceptualizing a project for my final using some of the techniques we had been learning through the semester. being the person i am, my immediate first thought was what if i recreated a minecraft banner on a real floor loom? wouldn’t that be fucking cool?

thus was borne what eventually spiraled into this project!

i figured out how wide i wanted it to be, what weight of yarn i wanted to use, and did all of the weaving math to figure out exactly how much yardage i’d need. i took that to a local weaver’s studio who was selling yarn, and came looking for just about any undyed wool she had to offer.

i specifically wanted wool because, well, that’s what the minecraft weavings are made of!

i remember digging through stacks upon stacks of old cones of yarn before finding a couple bags of a caked wool yarn that was, admittedly pretty rough. after using a tool not unlike this one, we figured it was roughly 3000 yards of yarn, and i bought the lot for about 30 bucks.

photo courtesy of Miekle’s Fiber Arts

this thing is so nifty btw, you cut a specific length of yarn and figure out where it balances which is then multiplied by something to figure out the yardage—i’ve only used one this one time, but i think they’re cool!

after getting this yarn came the question of getting the colors i wanted. i’m very lucky to be studying at an institution that grows our own indigo plants, and ferments those plants into our own living indigo vats, so I thought it would be a travesty to not take advantage of the utterly beautiful blues that vat produces.

i divided up my yarns based on how long i needed each of my warp sections to be using a yarn winder measuring to roughly one yard per rotation to make skeins of the right length.

after running some test swatches i figured out how long to dip each skein into the indigo vat for to achieve the colors i wanted, and i wish i knew exactly how i did it but i don’t think i wrote it down anywhere, and its been , yknow, almost a year.

afterwards i had to turn those skeins back into cakes and let me just tell you.

i forgot to use a swift on the first one. i did not forget again.

untangling that first dark blue skein was a multi hour endeavor.

photo courtesy of . an amazon listing

this is a swift and a ball winder. the swift holds the big loop of yarn that is the skein taut and spins freely while you crank the ball winder to make those super orderly and useable cakes. without the swift, trying to wind a cake turns a nice skein of yarn into a nightmare tangle. it was not fun

ALL THAT ASIDE. after successfully detangling and caking my yarn, it was time to wind my warp on a warping board!

a warping board is used to measure out how long your threads running vertically through the loom are going to be. your warp, as it were. because i knew i wanted to weave two banners, and i wanted them to be about a yard long each, plus accounting for tying on to the loom, waste material at the start and end, and leaving a long enough gap between them to create tassels, i started with a three and a half yard long warp. each cross back and forth the board is about a yard of length.

only once i had used the warping board to measure out all 200 threads of width i was putting on the loom was i able to actually start tying the yarn on to the loom and threading it—but this post is already long enough as is, so that will be the next thing I post about!

stay tuned for prepping the loom and weaving the banners :3 here’s a little sneak peek

[missmaniac25]

Park Seonghwa - Walk, Walk, Fashion Baby

Model!Seonghwa x assistant!reader (gender neutral) W.C: 13k Warnings: Seonghwa is little rude in the beginning, feelings of inadequacy/being overlooked, angst (with a fluff ending) A/n: hope you enjoy it! please let me know if I missed any warnings, or if you find spelling errors (not proofread) - thank you!

~~~~

“This is your five-minute call!”

The voice is almost lost within the cacophony of noise that permeates the dressing rooms and backstage. Make-up artists hurry to do last minute touch ups. Models check and double check their looks in the mirror. The crew are bustling through it all, making sure everyone is ready and that everything is running smoothly. And in the midst of all this chaos:

You.

Although you’ve been backstage for many a runway show, your nerves never seem to get any less, despite the fact that you never step foot into the spotlight. Your job was to be invisible but available. To learn through experience. To ensure smooth running so that your boss could claim all the glory.

You watched as Isabel fussed over one of the models. He was the perfect model and a hard worker; every interaction you’d ever had with him was strictly business and he never joked around when you spoke to him. His eyes were set dead ahead as final adjustments were made to his outfit. Park Seonghwa was her favourite model and everyone on the team knew it, so much so that everyone referred to him by the pet-name that Isabel used for him.

‘The Star.’

“One minute!”

The chaos suddenly dissipates and a quiet falls over everyone. Isabel gives her star one last word of encouragement to which he cracks the smallest of smiles before he turns stoic again. You watch as the lights change and a voice over the speakers welcomes everyone to the event. Music starts and the first model steps out on the runway.

You step far out of the way, out of trouble, and wait. Each model walks past you before they exit backstage. When Seonghwa stops in front of you, you can’t help but take in all the details of his outfit – the trim on the edge of the jacket, the cut of his trousers, the subtle but effective make-up that’s been applied to his naturally handsome face. He is the epitome of a good model.

He doesn’t look at you before he steps out into the light and in front of the crowd. It doesn’t bother you though; you’re meant to be invisible. Afterall, that is the role of the designer’s assistant.

~

Isabel’s studio is clean and organised. Design sketches are pinned up on a corkboard, fabric stacked neatly on shelves right next to it. Mannequins with half-finished pieces stand against a wall, waiting. The door to Isabel’s office stays shut most days but you’ve been on the other side more times than you can count. Today is no exception.

You knock on the wood, balancing files and fabric swatches, as well as two cups of coffee, before you hear the go-ahead to enter. You can hear Isabel’s voice as you push the door open, her phone pressed against her ear.

“Yes, yes. Ok, I’ll see you soon my star, bye-bye.” She hangs up the call, watching you as you place all your items on the desk. “You’re two minutes late.”

“I apologise. The café was busier than normal today,” you explain before taking a seat.

“Still haven’t managed to convince that beautiful barista to pursue modelling?”

“I bring it up every time I go there,” you say, handing her one of the to-go cups. “He just laughs at me now.”

You were very fortunate to have received a job with Isabel – although she was firm and exceedingly professional, she still seemed to have a heart, which many other designers you’d encountered did not. You did not take that fact for granted. When Isabel says jump, you say how high.

For a short while, you and her discuss upcoming projects, appointments and meetings. She knows exactly what she wants and you assure her that you’ll get it. It’s only when your coffee cup is empty that you hear another knock on the door, and Isabel tells them to come in as a smile appears on her face.

Seonghwa walks in with an air about him that to anyone who didn’t know better would suggest he was the true owner of this building and this room.

“My star, come sit, would you like something to drink?” Isabel gestures to the chair next to you and the model makes himself comfortable.

“No thank you, Isabel, I’ll be alright.”

You shift to sit up a little straighter in your seat, noticing how his posture never relaxes. If Isabel was the queen that you waited on hand and foot, then this was the prince – your treatment of him always affected how the queen would see you.

“Have you thought about my offer, my star?” She continues, her full attention on Seonghwa.

“I have,” he answers, sounding sure of himself. “I would like to go, if you’ll let me.”

You hold your tongue, despite how a wave of confusion washed over you with every word they were speaking. Instead, you opt to look busy, flipping through a folder full of the designs that would be on show next month. You keep your ears open to their conversation though.

“Oh wonderful, I’ll let Hanna know immediately.” The designer beams. “And have you thought about who you’d like to go with you?”

It’s only in your peripheral vision that you see Seonghwa turn his head to you ever so slightly. Still, you keep quiet.

“If they're good enough for you, then they're good enough for me,” he tells Isabel.

You still have no idea what they’re on about but you keep your thoughts to yourself, listening to Isabel tell her star that she would organise everything and to not worry, he was in good hands.

Whether those were your hands or this Hanna person’s you weren’t sure yet. You supposed that you would find out.

~

“We still have half an hour before we need to check in.”

“I told you that we didn’t need to be here so early.”

“Don’t.”

Reluctantly you weave your way through the other travellers, your tail close behind you. You grasp yours and Seonghwa’s travel documents tightly in your one hand, suitcase in the other. It was too early in the morning for this – you needed something to wake you up.

“I still have no idea how you managed to convince Isabel to let me come with you on this trip. Her star model and her assistant both away at the same time is wild.”

Seonghwa snickers a little from behind you.

“That’s my privilege.”

A part of you wants to be annoyed at his attitude but in reality, you don't have the capacity to say or do anything about it. Instead, you lead him into one of the airport restaurants and sit down at a table with a huff. As always, Seonghwa looks super composed as he sits opposite you – his back is straight and he holds his head up as if a camera could take his photograph at a moment’s notice.

This was undoubtedly the most time you’d spent with him outside of work and it was only going to get longer from here on out. There was very little you knew about him – other than his name and occupation, Seonghwa was a stranger to you. It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more.

“Are you looking forward to working with Hanna?” You ask, eyes scanning the menu as you do.

“Yes,” Seonghwa answers, mirroring your actions. “Isabel said that she has a good team and that I’ll fit right in there.”

“And her concepts and designs?”

He pauses a moment, wetting his lips before he speaks again.

“They look interesting. Not like Isabel’s at all.”

“Nothing will ever be like Isabel’s,” you say and he nods in agreement.

The conversation falls quiet. You don’t know what more to say now and he seems uninterested in asking you how you’re feeling about the whole ordeal.

It still unnerved you a little that your boss was willing to loan her prized model to a sister fashion studio, out of town. Not only that but to send you along with him to make sure that he was treated well and that he got to where he needed to go? There was more pressure on you than you cared to admit and never would, especially not to Seonghwa. He had the world in the palm of his hand; you were hanging on by the skin of your teeth.

Maybe it was better that he didn’t ask about how you were feeling. You resigned yourself to being invisible once more, your focus solely on the menu in your hands. The sooner this started, the sooner it would be over and you could just chalk the whole thing up to job experience and nothing more.

No getting close with the model, no sight-seeing, nothing that could distract you. This trip was about work and only work – you’d make sure of it.

It’s quiet, baring the dull hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of passengers as they shift in their sleep, trying to make the most of the plane’s amenities. A flight attendant slowly makes her way down the aisle, stopping every now and then to whisper something to whoever she finds still awake.

You keep your eyes locked on your sketch book, using the dull overhead lamp to light the page. It was just a rough design so you weren’t too worried about how it looked now – you could do touch ups when you eventually got to your accommodation. For now, it was just important to get the ideas onto the page.

“That doesn’t look half bad.”

Your gaze shoots to the side, finding Seonghwa leaning forward in his seat with his eye-mask half on and half off.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” he admits, yawning as if to prove his point. “You woke me up.”

You and he stare each other down.

“How?” You utter the single word in disbelief.

Seonghwa casually points up, the movement casting shadows over your small shared space.

“You can’t be serious…”

“I am. I need my beauty sleep in order to look good when we meet Hanna tomorrow. Your light is bothering me.”

The grip you have on your pencil tightens.

“Fine.” You pack your items away and switch off the light. “You win. Enjoy your beauty sleep.”

With one last huff you sit in your chair, bracing yourself for a long and boring rest of your flight. Seonghwa on the other hand, pulls his eye-mask down properly and snuggles back under his blanket, completely unaware of how his choice now, will impact him later.

~

“Can you please slow down?”

“No, hurry up.”

You knew that you were being short with him, yet you had no intention of fixing it. If he decided to tattle on you to Isabel, you’d defend yourself for once and you were ninety percent certain that she would take your side on this.

The poor hotel receptionist didn’t know what hit him as you stalked up to the front desk with almost murderous intent in your eyes.

“We’re checking in. Booking under Isabel Silvain. Should be two rooms for ten days.”

Seonghwa finally manages to catch up to you as the receptionist hastily clicks away on his computer. For every second that you stand, you can feel more and more energy drain out of your body. A plush bed is calling your name, you can hear it, if only you could just…

“I’m sorry but it seems that you’ve booked one room with two beds. Not two separate rooms.”

It feels as if the blood in your veins stops moving. This cannot be happening now. You were the one who booked the rooms, there’s no way that you would’ve made a mistake like that. You’re about to open your mouth to say something but Seonghwa cuts you off.

“That’s ok, thank you. May we have our room key?”

The slow turn of your head to stare him down should’ve been accompanied by the shrill strings of a horror movie soundtrack. Whether he doesn’t see you, or he’s deliberately ignoring you, you don’t know, as the model takes the room key and starts walking behind the bell boy who has taken your luggage from you.

You have no option but to join the end of the line and go along.

Once the door to your room closes, you toss your bags aside and collapse on the bed that you’ve claimed as your own.

“There’s still plenty of time before we have to meet with Hanna,” you tell him, voice half muffled by the pillow that’s under your head. “Do what you want but don’t get lost and don’t be late. I’m having a nap.”

“We had a whole plane ride to sleep…”

“No, you had a whole plane ride to sleep!” You sit up again and look at Seonghwa. “Some of us can’t sleep on planes!”

His brows furrow and he seems to be really taking in your appearance now.

“You don’t sleep on planes?”

“No, I don’t,” you inform him. “And because you needed your ‘beauty sleep’, I couldn’t do the one thing that helps me to pass the time and make my flights a little less tedious. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Seonghwa shifts on his feet, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I… I didn’t realise.”

You turn away from him and lie back down on the bed.

“Whatever, Seonghwa. Just let me sleep.”

You hear him sigh before saying something about taking the room key, and then the soft click of the door closing. Finally, alone and on solid ground, you close your eyes and allow yourself to slumber.

The alarm goes off at the same that Seonghwa walks back inside of the room. Your brain is still groggy as you sit up on your bed, taking a second to remember that you’re not at home and are in fact working. That’s also why when Seonghwa places something on your bedside table, it takes much longer than normal for you to realise what it is:

A to-go cup from a local café.

“What’s this for?” You ask, picking it up and taking a sip. “And how do you know my order?”

At first you don’t think that he’s going to answer you as he turns towards his suitcase and starts to pull out a couple of neatly pressed items.

“It’s an apology coffee,” he states as if it should’ve been obvious. “And I know your order because I paid attention at the airport.”

You can’t deny that the drink tastes good, and you don’t want the entirety of this trip to be done walking on eggshells.

“Thanks. You’re forgiven.”

It almost sounds like he laughs as he puts his clothes into his carry-on bag. Reluctantly, you stand up, pull on your shoes, and grab the rest of your items.

“Alright, Mr Star-of-the-Show, let’s make a good first impression on these people.”

~

The following days when you return to Lugar de la Rosa you get greeted by Hanna and the rest of her staff as if you were long lost friends. It’s easy to see how this designer and Isabel would be good friends – their work ethic is the same although their styles differ quite a bit. You’re used to sleek designs with hidden details, tighter fits and more natural lines. Hanna is more eccentric. Her clothes are big with bold colours – every single article is a statement piece.

It’s a little unusual to see Seonghwa in her pieces, regardless of how well he wears them. Despite being in a completely unfamiliar place and working with unfamiliar people, he behaves completely as ease while still being professional. He seems to be making himself a firm favourite in Hanna’s books as well, as you watch how she dotes on him as soon as he steps foot inside the building.

You, on the other hand, remain as ghost-like as possible. There really isn’t a reason for you to keep coming with Seonghwa to these fittings and meetings, other than the fact that he keeps asking you to. It would be just as easy to drop him off, spend some time doing your own thing, and returning to pick him up when the day was done. Yes, you had promised Isabel that you would look after her Star, but every day it felt more and more as though your presence was completely unnecessary.

A lowly bench and table that had been tucked away into the corner of one of the rooms had become your little hideaway. Unless Seonghwa or Hanna specifically called you, that was where you could be found, and today was no exception. The sun shone in through the window next to you as finally you were able to close your laptop, having replied to more emails than you thought it was possible to send, and organised Isabel’s life for the next week minimum. The studio was fairly busy today – far more people had come today for fittings than previous but you hadn’t even noticed them until now. Among the sea of faces you can see your temporary roommate, talking to the other models, making connections. He’d been surprisingly easy to live with, baring how long he seemed to take in the shower but that could be forgiven due to how tidy he was and how he’d not forced you to go to sleep at the same time as him, clearly having learnt his lesson after the flight.

Seonghwa catches your eye, gracefully moving through the maze of people to get to you. You worry that something has happened.

“Everything alright?”

“I was actually coming to ask that question to you.”

He smiles at you and you can’t help but return it.

“I see you packed away your laptop,” he points out. “Done for today?”

“For now. My work is never really done.”

Seonghwa nods, even though he doesn’t hundred percent know the truth in your words.

“So, what are you going to do while you wait for me?”

With a shrug you look around the room. There’s plenty of inspiration around you – Hanna’s walls are full of photos of models wearing past designs.

“I might do some sketching,” you admit, letting your eyes drift back to him. “While I have some time to spare.”

He seems to mull something over in his mind, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before his speaks.

“Would you design something for me?”

There’s a tingle down your spine but you’re unsure if it’s from excitement or nerves. Maybe some strange combination of both.

“Design something?”

“Yes,” he says, looking pleased with himself. “Like something I could wear on the runway. But your style. Just for fun.”

You reason that there’s no harm in trying; it would be a fun experiment to test your skills.

“Any criteria?” You ask, pulling out your sketchbook and pencil.

Your model just smiles wider.

“No, you have free reign.”

“You may regret that,” you chirp as he turns to walk away.

“I doubt it.”

And with his final remark, you get to work once more.

It’s two hours later when you and Seonghwa walk onto the street. They’d worked straight through lunch, and you having been so lost in your sketching, hadn’t even noticed. It was painfully obvious now though as your stomach growled rather loudly, and you looked down the pavement to see if there was somewhere nearby that you could stop at briefly to pick up some food.

“I’m famished too.”

Seonghwa’s voice jolts you – he hadn’t said a word to you since he finished for the day.

“Maybe we could just walk and see what we find?” He suggests, and considering that you don’t have a better plan, you agree.

You find it peaceful to stroll side by side with him – no pressures, no expectations. Just two people, existing with each other.

“How did your design turn out?”

“I think it looks good,” you tell him, eyeing the buildings in front of you but none of them are serving food. “I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that though, considering you’re the model.”

He laughs a little.

“I didn’t know models got such a say in the designs.”

“Well in my world they do,” you laugh as well. “I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”

Seonghwa nods his head, keeping his gaze forward.

“Would you ever put a piece on the runway, if Isabel let you?”

“It’s not that simple,” you confess.

The terrace of a café appears in front of you and you motion for Seonghwa to go in; he happily obliges, getting a table for the two of you near the window.

“I’m sure I could put in a good word for you,” he says, half teasing and half serious.

“If you did that, I’d source something else really amazing for you to wear.”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in his eye that you don’t fail to notice.

“Should we make that a deal? There’s this jewellery brand that I really love and I’ve always wanted to walk with one of their items.”

You watch him from across the table – still so put together even after a full day’s work. Not a hair out of place. Not even breaking a sweat. There’s nothing to lose by saying yes; it probably won’t happen anyways…

“Deal.” You hold your hand out to the model and he shakes it; his grip is firm.

“Deal,” he parrots before looking at his menu. “Also, we need to find a hairdresser who can take me tomorrow.”

You question him as to why, knowing how much your boss loves Seonghwa’s luscious hair.

“Hanna wants me to change up the style. Nix on breaking the news to Isabel.”

You’re left with your mouth agape at the pure audacity. You genuinely thought that you were having a decent moment with him – only for him to ruin it.

“You’re so lucky Isabel loves you…”

“Otherwise, what?”

“Otherwise, I would let you suffer.”

Seonghwa just laughs again, face lighting up with a smile and even though it surprises you, you can’t help but do the same.

~

“I honest-to-goodness wonder what Isabel’s going to say about this.”

Although it had taken up most of your afternoon the day before, you had managed to find a reputable hair salon with a free slot for Seonghwa, who now sat in the salon chair with strands of wet hair sticking to his face.

“You haven’t told her yet?”

“I figured that I’d rather beg forgiveness than ask permission on this one.”

He smiles as the stylist starts to comb his hair, separating it the various sections and clipping them out of the way.

“Don’t worry too much about it; I’ll be able to get away with it.”

You let out a sigh.

“That must be nice, Mr Star of the runway.”

“You say that as if you couldn’t get away with murder too.”

The soft snip snip snip of scissors catches your attention and you watch as the off cuts fall to the tiled floor. You really were dreading breaking the news to Isabel later.

“It might look that way,” you say, lifting your eyes to meet his in the mirror. “But I most certainly could not.”

Seonghwa scoffs at the notion, and the stylist asks him to please keep still. He apologies and does as he’s told. His voice is softer when he speaks again.

“Isabel has told me that she wouldn’t survive without you. She needs you far more than you realise – give yourself some credit for the work that you do.”

A lump forms in your throat and you can only manage a nod in his direction. You suppose that you do work hard for Isabel, although it would be nice for her to give you that recognition herself rather than hearing it through the grapevine.

“I owe her my whole career so far,” you suddenly confess, not even sure why you feel the need to share this with Seonghwa.

“Me too,” he admits. “She gave me my break. When I first started with her, I would do anything she told me to.”

“Oh, so that’s why she loves you so much: you’re a pushover.”

Your quip seems to lighten the mood again and you see the model smiling in the reflection.

“What I mean is, there’s always a lot of pressure for me to do well on her behalf; I always need to perform.”

“And you think that I don’t?” You query. “You may be on the physical runway but I’m on a figurative one. I could also stumble and fall flat on my face. You at least have a chance to get back up and keep walking immediately; I might not be so lucky.”

You’ve never admitted it out loud to anyone else before in your whole life and you wonder why you suddenly feel safe enough to bear your heart out to him now, here in the hair salon of all places.

The stylist continues to cut and you watch as Seonghwa transforms before your eyes.

On the way home from the studio that evening, you force Seonghwa to stop along the way so that you can capture his new look. You even manage to take a few photos where he doesn’t look like his normal put together model self; there’s one where he’s sticking out his tongue, one with his eyes crossed and even one where he’s reaching towards the camera in an attempt to take the phone away and take photos of you instead. He had had no such luck and for that you were grateful.

The nerves built up as you watched the little ticks on your phone change from grey to blue. She typed, stopped, typed. And then the phone rang.

“Hello, Isabel.”

It was that exact moment that Seonghwa came out of the bathroom, pyjama’s on and looking ready for bed. You hastily gestured for him to sit next to you so that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

“He cut his hair?”

Seonghwa recognises the voice despite not hearing the words.

“Hanna requested that he cut his hair for the runway. We… I didn’t want to argue with her.”

There’s a long and uncomfortable silence. The man next to you nimbly takes the phone out of your hand and presses it to his ear.

“Isabel! What do you think of my new hair? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

His lively tone completely contradicts the uneasy feeling in your stomach but it seems to do the trick. Or maybe it’s just him

“My Star! Yes, it looks wonderful! You have the face to pull off any style you wanted. I’m so glad you are being exposed to something different with Hanna.”

Seonghwa continues to talk to Isabel, telling her everything that he’s been doing and how the fittings have been going. Isabel continues to dote on him, telling him that she knew she made the right choice sending him.

You sit, waiting. You should be used to this, being in the background. The uneasy feeling hasn’t settled though, despite Seonghwa having eased Isabel’s mind. Maybe you did want to be noticed; maybe you did want Isabel to acknowledge you and treat you with the same kindness that she treated her Star with, especially if you were as important to her as Seonghwa claimed you to be.

“Thank you, Isabel. Yes, we’ll be back soon. Bye!”

The call ends and the model tries to hand your phone back to you but when you remain motionless, he looks at you and notices the vacancy in your eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly but when that doesn’t work, he places a hand on your shoulder.

You blink a few times, slowly turning your head to look at where he’s made contact with you.

“Are you ok?” There’s concern suspended in his eyes when you finally look at him properly. “You seem… far away.”

“I want you to model something that I’ve designed.” You say with certainty. “Like, I’ll design something specifically for you to walk on the runway, and I’ll stick to our deal. I’ll even design the clothing around whatever jewellery you wear. But I want you to do it.”

Seonghwa’s a little taken aback by the sudden change but he agrees nonetheless.

“I’ll ask Isabel about it then.”

“Yeah,” you say, finally taking your phone from him and standing up. “That would be great.”

~

It’s been fifteen minutes and they’re still fussing over him. One assistant is standing in front of him and the other behind, and neither of them can seem to agree on what the problem is. He goes on the runway tomorrow.

You’ve kept quiet, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes but it’s starting to physically pain you that they can’t figure out the issue when you can clearly see what needs to be done. With your one hand against your head rubbing at your temple, you’re sure you look as annoyed as you feel. Seonghwa makes eye contact with you and you hold back a smirk as you see him mouth ‘help me’.

“Sorry, do you mind if I butt in here?” You say, standing up and making your way to the model and the confused assistants. “Can you give me your pins, please?”

The assistant in front of Seonghwa reluctantly hands over their equipment as you kneel on the floor. You give your model a quick look, asking if it’s ok that you touch him and once he nods, you get to work.

“They just need to sit a little differently,” you half mutter to yourself, tucking the fabric over itself around his thighs and pinning it, doing your best to maintain the pants original silhouette. “He’s got long legs and you need to take the pants in a little bit in order to look normal, or like they would on a different model.”

When both sides have been done, you stand up and admire your handiwork. The assistants next to you both look Seonghwa up and down before they reluctantly agree that it does look better now than it did before. When you look up into Seonghwa’s eyes, eager to see what he thinks, you immediately notice how flushed he looks. You can’t recall a time that he’s been like that after a fitting – Seonghwa is calm, composed and professional at all times. But he looks a little giddy and you can’t place why.

He thanks you later that day by buying you dessert after your shared meal – never did a chocolate brownie taste so good.

~

As always when it comes to runway shows, you make yourself scarce backstage. There’s a lot of movement and noise, and because this isn’t your fashion house, you take extra care to not get in the way. Mostly, you hover by the dressing table where Seonghwa had had his make-up done: an extravagant look that you weren’t used to seeing on him. As always though, he was able to make it look extraordinary.

You see Hanna rush past, three people hot on her heels as they all take instruction from her. A part of you missed Isabel. A part of you was relieved to not have to worry right now.

“I’m not sure I can do this.”

You look to where the voice came from at your side, to find the model next to you. Completely dressed, Seonghwa looks like the star Isabel always sees him as – the only thing out of place is the way his chest heaves up and down.

“Of course you can,” you say, moving to face him. “You’ve walked hundreds of runways before.”

“Not like this.” His eyes dart everywhere behind you. “Not like...”

“Hey.” Gingerly you reach out and take his hands in your own. Finally, he locks eyes with you. “You are a well-trained, well-seasoned model, with loads of experience. You are Isabel Silvain’s star model. She didn’t send just anybody here, she sent the best and the best is you, Seonghwa.”

Slowly but surely, the panic fades away and confidence takes its place. His breathing becomes even and he gives your hands a squeeze.

“I hope you know that what you said, about Isabel sending the best…” He pauses, making sure that you’re looking at him. “It applies to you too.”

Before you get the chance to even think of anything to say back, you hear one of the stage managers calling all the models and you know that it’s time to let go even though you don’t want to.

“I guess that’s me,” Seonghwa says.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Almost unwillingly he takes his hands out of yours and starts to walk away.

“Seonghwa!” You call out and he swiftly turns around. “You really are a star. You’ll be amazing.”

He smiles and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.”

With one last look, he goes. You’re left to wait out the rest of the show by yourself, lost in thoughts of why you feel the way you do now.

Seonghwa flops face first onto his bed and you can’t help but laugh a little. It was already two in the morning – only just returning to the hotel after a small afterparty with some of the other models.

“What time do we have to be up tomorrow?” His voice is muffled by his pillow but you still manage to hear him.

“You don’t need to set an alarm,” you tell him as you gather your items for a well needed shower.

“Ok then, what time is our flight?”

You hold back a snicker at the fact that he doesn’t know.

“We’re not leaving tomorrow, Hwa.”

He turns his head, confusion mixing with exhaustion as he stares you down.

“What do you mean?”

You walk over to his bed and pat him on the back, half to tease him and half in sympathy.

“Isabel has given you two days extra to recover. You don’t have anything you need to do tomorrow or anywhere you need to go. And to be honest, I think you deserve it.”

He’s taking some time to process the news, so you make your way to the bathroom. You can hear him call out before you close the door.

“You deserve it too!”

Again, you feel your heart do a little jump in your chest but you choose to ignore it this time.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve put up with you this whole time!”

Before he gets the chance to retort back, you shut the door.

By the time you’re finished in the bathroom, you come back to find Seonghwa already asleep. As gently as you can, you pull a blanket over him and in a moment of mild madness, you press a kiss to his head.

“Sleep tight, my Star.”

~

There’s the distant sound of something ringing but it’s faint. You roll over, pulling the blankets closer to your chin. There are the sounds of someone shuffling around the room however it’s still far away as you drift back towards dreamland. You never get to reach it though.

It starts as a gentle shake on your shoulder and the calling of your name. Trying your best to ignore it, you keep your eyes shut. The shaking gets more and the name calling gets louder. Still, you hold fast. It’s only when you feel the full weight of a certain someone’s body that you admit defeat and venture to open your eyes.

“What do you want?” You ask, voice groggy.

“We need to go.”

His voice is rather close to your ear and you can’t tell if you like it or not.

“Why? What happened?”

The weight is removed and he helps you to sit up in your bed.

“Because we’re going shopping!”

Seonghwa is far too chirpy for someone who worked so hard. With your arm linked through his, he practically drags you down the street to a predetermined destination – the name of which, you aren’t privy to. It had taken some convincing to get you out of your bed not even half an hour ago, however when you had looked into Seonghwa’s big, pleading eyes, you’d found yourself caving very quickly.

“Almost there!” He sings, smile growing bigger by the second.

There’s something about him that’s different today. Sure, he looks the same, he sounds the same, and he still holds himself with the same poise as always. It’s as though his aura has changed – he’s lighter, freer. It’s him when he’s not working, and until now you’ve just never seen it.

“Tada!” Seonghwa’s voice rings out from next to you, as he turns you to face the place he’s been dying to get to.

“A Lego shop,” you deadpan. “You dragged me out of bed, on my day off, to come to a Lego shop with you.”

“Not just any Lego shop!” He moves to stand in front of you, as if making eye contact with you might make you change your opinion on the ordeal. You don’t like the fact that it just might.

“It’s a special Lego shop,” Seonghwa tells you. “We’re going to make custom mini figure keychains!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you confess.

He takes your hand and leads you inside.

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon find out!”

You lose the battle of paying your half at the till, which makes the model even more smug as he takes you with him into the shop where tables filled with buckets of small, plastic bricks await. He talks the whole time about his collection of builds back at home and his favourite pieces. He mentions something about Star Wars Lego and you can’t help but think one word:

‘Nerd.’

“Ok, so we’re going to start with the legs,” Seonghwa says, making you to stand in front of one of the tables. “I think I’m going to do myself when I’m on the runway.”

“Should I do myself as well then?” You ask, cautiously scratching through the assortment of legs.

“Yes! That would be fun!” He says gleefully before backtracking. “I mean… only if you want to, though.”

With a shake of your head, you start your journey to recreate yourself in miniature form, which immediately puts Seonghwa in a good mood. Together, the two of you sort your way through the various options, giving your opinions on the other’s figure. The model is very decisive while you take your time and weigh up what would be best – that is until you come to the hair.

“I don’t know if I should do long hair or short hair.” Seonghwa sighs dramatically, holding the two choices in his hand. “You decide for me.”

“Jeepers, no pressure or anything!” You tease, watching as he stumbles over his words trying to make you feel better.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I can choose, I just…”

“Hwa.”

The call of his name quietens him immediately; he looks up at you with those same big eyes as before. Curse your heart for skipping a beat.

“I’d pick the long hair.” You tell him. “It’s more what you’re known for and this look won’t last forever; it’s going to grow out soon enough.”

Seonghwa doesn’t even take a second to think about it before flicking the short hair back into the bucket from where it came, and placing the longer hair option on the yellow Lego head.

“You’re right, this looks like me.” He smiles at you. “Thank you.”

You try to play it off, just shrugging a shoulder before turning back to your own figure who remains bald.

“Well considering I picked your hair, I think it’s only fair that you get to pick mine.”

Your friend just about bounces up and down before diving into the pile.

“Oh, I know just the one for you!”

It’s not too long before both of you have your figures finished and attached to keychains. A souvenir from the trip – one that you know you’ll really cherish. Once outside the shop, Seonghwa insists that you take pictures to commemorate the occasion, and of course you oblige. There are selfies of the two of you, ones where he’s standing and you’re holding his keychain so it looks like they’re standing together and he does the same for you. There’s one cute one of just your hands holding the mini figures close to each other – this one soon becomes your phone wallpaper.

“Wait, I have an idea,” Seonghwa says as you walk back to the hotel. “But you can say no if you want to.”

“Well, I can’t say no until you tell me what it is,” you counter.

He deliberately ignores your comment and it makes you laugh a little.

“I was going to suggest that we swap keychains, but now I’m not so sure…”

“You want a mini me?” You query, not opposed to the idea but still confused.

“Yeah.” He confesses. “You really helped to calm me down last night. And it was really nice to go to a show with just us. I think that… you know what, never mind.”

“Hey!” You place yourself right in his path, holding out your hand. “Give me my mini model. I need someone to look at while I design your runway piece. Don’t forget that you promised me you’d ask Isabel.”

Seonghwa beams like the sun as he happily gives you his keychain and you place yours into the palm of his hand.

“Now we’ll remember this trip forever!” He announces.

You’re certain that you would’ve remembered this trip even without the souvenirs; this day with Seonghwa has made a permanent home in your heart.

~

As much as you enjoyed the time away, it is good to be home and in a familiar environment again. You realise that you even missed the smell of Isabel’s studio as you step inside, taking a deep breath before making your way to her office and knocking on the door. The sharp voice of your boss tells you to come inside and you quickly oblige.

“Good morning, Isabel!” You say, placing her coffee on her desk.

“Morning, we have lots to do for this week, so we must start immediately.”

You’re taken aback by the rashness of the way she’s speaking to but you’re not sure way you feel that way. Maybe you’d hoped that she would ask about your time at Lugar de la Rosa, even just as a curtesy, or enquire about how Seonghwa did during the show. That she would acknowledge that you were gone but despite that, that you still did everything you needed to do for her as well as take care of her Star. Any sort of recognition for anything that had happened in the past week and a half.

Instead, she starts to tell you about all the odd jobs that need doing, which companies you need to call. You sit down and take notes, returning once more to your role as her assistant.

The day continues with you suspended in this strange limbo – by all accounts, things should be normal but there’s still an air of uncertainty between you and Isabel that seems to wrap more tightly around you as the day goes on.

“Here are the photos from Seonghwa’s test run with Hanna,” you say, handing over the pictures that you’d just picked up from the printing company.

Isabel takes them from you, giving each of them a once over.

“I still can’t believe you let them cut my Star’s hair,” she says, stopping at one specific photo and scrutinizing it. “It’s going to take so long to grow out again.”

For the briefest of moments, your blood runs cold. You messed up. You were meant to look after him for Isabel but you let them…

‘Hold on, I didn’t let them do anything. It was by request of the designer,’ you think to yourself. ‘Did she expect me to fight Hanna on her choice for her model?’

Isabel doesn’t notice your inner crisis, continuing to go on about how if she’d known that it would happen, she would’ve sent another model instead and how next time you should check with her before you let them commit to such big changes.

For the rest of the day, you keep your head down and do only exactly what needs to be done; you don’t talk to Isabel unless it’s to answer a question. By the time you leave, you’re aching for someone to see you, to recognise your efforts.

You’re missing your friend.

You’re missing Seonghwa.

~

“Stop squirming!”

“Sorry.”

“You weren’t this wiggly with Hanna’s seamstresses, am I the problem?”

“No!”

In the chaos that was your apartment, you’d managed to clear enough floor space for both you and Seonghwa to coexist comfortably for as long as it took for you to get his measurements. It would be happening a lot faster if your model could just keep still for longer than five seconds.

“Then what’s the issue?”

You stand up and stare into his eyes. Seonghwa’s tongue darts out against his lip – his nervous habit, you’ve realised. There seems to be a debate happening inside of his head, but when nothing comes of it, you sigh and take a step back.

“Maybe we need a snack break,” you suggest, weaving your way to your kitchenette and pulling out an old biscuit tin which rattles happily with baked goods. Seonghwa follows the path you took and stands nearby.

“I, um… I thought your apartment would be neater,” he confesses. “You know, considering how you are at work.”

“It would be neater if I had more time and energy.” You take a cookie out of the tin before offering it to your guest; at first, he hesitates but he does stick his hand in eventually. “I use up all my physical resources doing things for Isabel that by the time I get home… I have nothing left to give.”

You do wish that your living space was neater: looking at the piles of fabric and patterns, a laundry basket that’s never found its way back to your bathroom, clean dishes that still haven’t been packed in their rightful homes.

“OK, that’s understandable,” Seonghwa says, still nibbling on his snack. “I live with other people so we can share the load.”

The two of you get lost in thought until he breaks the quiet again.

“Did you get the photo I sent you? Of the jewellery piece that I want to wear?”

You nod; you spent a great deal of time looking at it since he sent it, wanting to really highlight it regardless of what clothes you ended up putting the model in.

“Have you asked yet? About having my pieces in a show?”

He shakes his head, causing his hair to bounce.

“Not yet. But why don’t you do it? I’m sure she’d say yes to you.”

The grip you have on your biscuit tin tightens ever so slightly but Seonghwa doesn’t see it.

“She’s still upset with me about your haircut so I don’t think she’ll be taking requests from me any time soon.”

“But that was two months ago now!” He huffs; disbelief written all over his face. “Surely she can’t still be upset about something you had no say in.”

“Tell me about it.”

After taking one last cookie out, you pack the tin away before gesturing for Seonghwa to come with you back into your lounge where the measuring tape and notebook await you. He stands practically in the same spot he was in before the break and takes a deep breath, vowing to not squirm so much this time. You get back to it, measuring and jotting down the numbers.

“Lift your arms,” you tell him and he obliges, letting you easily slip the measuring tape behind his back only to then pull it tight across his chest. He feels exceptionally warm under your touch, even through his clothes.

“Are you ok?” You ask, one hand still against his chest. “You’re… hot.”

Seonghwa clears his throat as he blinks over and over, eventually averting his gaze to stare at your apartment wall, rather than look at you.

“Did I just fluster you?” You laugh, watching as the skin on his neck starts to turn red. “Did I just make the Park Seonghwa blush?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles and you know that his heart isn’t in his words.

“Oh, this is a day to remember,” you continue to tease as you write more into your notebook before slipping the tape down to his waist. “You’ll be hearing me talk about this at your wedding.”

You’re focusing again so you’re not sure you hear him properly, his voice soft as a breeze when he says:

“I hope that I do.”

~

Another two month of sewing and fitting sessions later, you feel confident that you have an outfit that will not only match the statement piece it was designed around, but also show off your skills as a designer while still being similar enough to Isabel’s that she’d had a hard time saying no to it being a part of her collection. Seonghwa had been patient throughout the whole ordeal, regardless of how many times you asked him to try something on, only for you to change it and need him to try it on again. He even brought around his roommates the one day to help you tidy up a little bit in your apartment stating that, “It’s easier with more people, right?” The pleased smile he had given you had made it impossible to say no.

On top of that, you continued your work under Isabel – running errands, booking meetings, picking up the coffee. You were finally starting to feel that things between her and you had gone back to normal and that made you excited to go into the studio again.

As you stood in the material shop, you fiddled with your keys, the little Lego man constantly ending up between your fingers. You could confidently say that Seonghwa was now your friend, a close friend even. All the time the two of you had spent together had brought you closer than you ever thought you could be with him – it was second nature to go and hug him when you saw him in the studio, or to go for walks with him once the day was over. He would ramble about his newest Lego build, or what new series he was watching, and you’d let him go on for ages. In turn, he listened when you prattled on about something that had happened in your day, or the annoying people you’d had to deal with.

“I’m not annoying, am I” He’d asked you one day, leading you through the park.

“Only when you don’t listen to me,” you’d joked, which then led to him chasing you down the footpath and wrapping his arms around you when he finally caught up.

“I always listen to you, that’s why I’m your favourite model to work with.”

Your trip down memory lane is interrupted as one of the retail workers hands over the cut of fabric that Isabel had ordered and you thank them before heading back to the boss.

What you don’t expect to see when you get there, is Seonghwa coming out of Isabel’s office. When you try and say hello, he avoids your eyes and mumbles a quick ‘hi,’ before disappearing out of the front door. By the time you call out again, it’s too late – he’s already gone. You shake off how weird that was, entering into Isabel’s office.

“Did you get what I asked for?” She queries before the door has even closed behind you.

“Yes, it’s all here.” You put down the fabric, as well as the other items you’d been sent to collect. “Is everything ok with Seonghwa?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps, causing your stomach to drop. “Don’t interfere with the models, they’re not your concern.”

You take a deep breath, holding back your emotions.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen in the future.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Isabel moves swiftly along although her words are clipped and direct.

You’ve messed up again, and this time it truly is your fault.

~

Not only is Isabel being off with you, but so is Seonghwa, and it’s driving you mad. Whenever you enter the same room as him and try to talk to him like you’re used to doing, he gets awkward and barely says a word to you. You ask about meeting up after work and there’s always an excuse: I’m really tired today, my roommates and I are cleaning, I have plans with someone else.

Even worse, when you ask about if Seonghwa has spoken to Isabel about your agreement, he answers without really answering. He says that they’ve talked about it. That they came to a decision. But when you ask what the decision is, he doesn’t say anything, even though you’d given him your pieces to show Isabel in person. To add insult to injury, you’d organised for Isabel to meet with the creator of the jewellery brand that Seonghwa had shown you, and Isabel had even approved using some of their work in her next show – you knew that Seonghwa was going to be wearing the piece that he wanted because he got first pick. You’d kept your side of the bargain, yet you had no idea if he’d kept his.

As the days leading up to the next fashion show roll around, you bury yourself in keeping busy and keeping invisible. Numerous jobs pile up but you take them all, sacrificing sleep and meals in order to get it all done in time. Anything to stop you from thinking too hard about how your whole life feels as though it’s been thrown off kilter; anything to stop yourself from thinking that you should’ve stuck to your original plan when you went with Seonghwa. Not make friends, not have fun: work only. If only you’d stuck to that then you wouldn’t have befriended him, then things wouldn’t be weird between you and Isabel, and things wouldn’t be weird between you and Seonghwa.

If only he hadn’t forced you to go to the Lego shop with him because every time you looked at your keychain, your heart aches.

“Fifteen minutes!”

There’s nothing left for you to do. Even Isabel has told you so. There’s a quiet corner, away from everyone and out of their way, and that’s where you’ve put yourself. Thankfully, there’s still enough happening around you for your own thoughts not to take over - watching the models get their final touch-ups, the crew making sure all the equipment is in place. This should feel like home for you and yet your heart can’t help but constrict in your chest.

A group of model moves to stand in your line of sight and if sensing that you’re nearby, one of them looks in your direction.

Seonghwa looks beautiful, but then again, when doesn’t he? With his hair almost back to its old length, the subtle make-up and the necklace that he’d wanted to model for so long now, he was a walking dream. But as your eyes scanned over his body you realised why he’d been acting the way he had been towards you. Not a single item was yours. Everything on him was Isabel’s design and make – your clothes wouldn’t see the runway.

He breaks away from the group and comes to stand by you. For once, you wish that you really were invisible as you feel tears well in your eyes. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have phased you so much, but the exhaustion from not only working so hard but also the emotional distress you’d put yourself under was starting to surface.

“I’m sorry,” he says, swallowing at the lump in his throat. “I tried to get her to use one of your pieces but… She was adamant. And I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“It’s fine.” Your voice breaks and you hate yourself for it. “At least Isabel’s star got what he wanted… At least one of us wins.”

It’s a little cruel, even you know that but you can’t stop yourself.

“I guess that I was right then,” you continue, furiously wiping the stray tears that have started to run down your cheeks. “You are the favourite. She can do just fine without me, no matter what she said to you. And that’s ok. I’m just the assistant, I’m the nobody.”

Seonghwa is about to reach out to you when one of the crew call his name.

“We need you in line!”

When he looks back, you’re already walking away, and everything that he wanted to say dies on his tongue.

~

Never once since you started working for Isabel have you taken so much time off. Of course, there’d been the odd sick day or your off day with… him. But a full week that you took off of your own volition? Unheard of.

And yet there you were, finally sorting through the mess that your apartment had become during your time hiding from your feelings. You were well aware that you were just doing a different kind of hiding now but it didn’t stop you – you wanted to be away from both of them. No, you needed to be away from them. This was the only way that you were sure you could do that and the catharsis of throwing away useless things was starting to help you feel better already. You worked without stopping the whole morning, right until you could hear your stomach growling. Deciding that a break would be good, you pick up your phone to order something for yourself. What you don’t expect to see are the myriad of messages stacked one on top of the other.

‘I’m sorry, can we please talk?’

‘Are you coming in today?’

‘When will you be back? I really want to talk to you about everything.’

‘I understand that you’re angry with me, you have every right to be.’

‘Please just let me know that you’re ok.’

‘Isabel said that you took the week off. Can I come round later today?’

It looks like there’s a thousand more, all of the same calibre. You steel yourself and type one reply back to Seonghwa, whereafter you mute his chat.

‘We can talk when I’m back. I’ll be busy this week. Keep well.’

It’s day five of your break when someone knocks at your door, and you peel yourself away from your sewing machine in order to chase away whoever is on the other side. However, you don’t expect to find a delivery man, saying that he has a parcel for you and that you need to sign to say that you’ve received it.

“But I didn’t buy anything…” You tell him, thinking that there’s been a mistake.

“The description says it’s a gift, so I think someone got it for you,” he says, shoving the box into your arms. “Sign here please.”

You manage to do as he asks, turning inside and shutting the door behind you once he goes. Confusion and curiosity are flooding your veins as you sit on your couch and tear the package open with a pair of scissors. The first thing that catches your attention is a white envelope with your name on it; you take it out and set it aside for now. You take the next thing out of the box…

It's a Lego set. The picture on the outside shows you that it’s going to be a bouquet of red roses once it’s been built. You know immediately who this is from, and you decide to open the letter.

‘Before I say anything else, I have to tell you again that I’m sorry. I know that I could say it a thousand times over and it still wouldn’t be enough, but I have to try. And I know as well that maybe I don’t deserve your forgiveness but I will continue to ask for it until you tell me to stop. I made a promise to you, we made a promise together and I let you down in a way that was cruel and unfair, especially since you held up your side of the deal and it allowed me to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Even so, every step I took on that runway was ridden with guilt. I hated it. I’ve never hated being a model before but that night I learnt that anything you love can be tainted by your own stupid actions.

I know that to you I’m just your friend but to me you’re so much more. You’re someone I’ve come to admire: your quiet strength, your willingness to always do what needs to be done, your talent not only at designing but being able to lift me up when I feel at my lowest. To be frank, I’m hopelessly in love with you. No one I ever meet in my life from this point forward will ever compare to you.

I don’t expect you to return these feelings. The fact that I’m even telling you, even more so after what’s happened, is absurd. Even if nothing comes of this, I hope and pray that we can at least remain friends, if you’ll have me.

Sending all my heart

Your star,

Seonghwa.’

~

The last few rays of sunshine are still visible above the horizon when Seonghwa steps out of Isabel’s studio. He’s been completely out of his mind since sending the gift to you; so much so that everyone around him has told him that he’s not himself. He knows it, he feels it. Every fibre of his being is screaming at him to do something more about the state he’s in and yet, his head wins the fight every time. Seonghwa feels that he already crossed a line by sending you the gift and the letter, after you said you’d talk to him when you got back. He doesn’t want to ruin any sliver of a chance he might now have left by being even more of an idiot.

A deep and heartful sigh escapes the model’s lips as he closes the door behind him, ready to hail a taxi and return home to wallow. The sight in front of him stops him dead in his tracks. For a second, he contemplates pinching himself to make sure that he’s not dreaming.

“Hi,” you say, unsure of how he’ll react to you being there. “Do you have time to talk?”

Loosing all composure, Seonghwa rushes towards you and pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around you so tightly that you gasp for air. Despite how bone-crushing it is, you put your arms around him too and enjoy the calm that washes over you. You’ve missed him. The feeling of Seonghwa’s chest rising and falling erratically is the only way you know that he’s crying. You stay like that for some time, offering a comfort to each other that you’d both severely been lacking but had been too stubborn to admit all this time.

When you feel it’s right, you pull away but you don’t go too far.

“Can we go for a walk?” You ask softly, almost afraid that any noise too loud might frighten him away.

Seonghwa nods and he lets you take his hand, and lead the way forward.

“I don’t think I can completely forgive you just yet.”

The pair of you have already walked a full block in complete silence, however there’s things that you need to get off of your chest.

“I understand,” Seonghwa answers. His voice is still filled with tears but they don’t spill over anymore.

“But I think that with time,” you continue. “I’ll be able to get there.”

“I can wait as long as you need.”

The sun has fully set. Way out in the sky in front of you, you can see the first flicker of a star; a singular bright light in the midst of the darkness. You turn your head to look at Seonghwa. He really is your star; he’s your flicker of light in the darkness that you’d found yourself in. You don’t want that light to disappear.

“Can I ask a favour of you?”

He immediately stops walking and faces you.

“Of course, anything you ask.”

“I need help,” you admit, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Those roses you sent to me look really complicated to build and I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

“Really?” Seonghwa finally breaks into a smile, albeit a small one. “You want me to build it with you?”

“Well, you seem to have a lot of experience from what you’ve told me. And the last time I built Lego’s I was probably… I don’t know, eleven, so I’m a little out of practice.”

The small smile grows into a bigger one and there’s life in his eyes again.

“Of course I’ll help.”

Your heart swells as your star beams before your eyes.

~

It takes time and it’s slow at first. Everyday you’re a fraction closer to letting the whole thing go. In hindsight, you know that your emotions are what turned the whole situation into a bigger ordeal than what it probably was and you know that there will come a time when you will get your turn in the spotlight. Your designs will see a runway, even if it’s not today.

In the meantime, you and Seonghwa spend more time together. At the studio, when you aren’t running around, you gravitate towards him without thought. He brings you snacks throughout the day to make sure that you’ve got enough stamina to keep going. Short walks after work, going to café’s during your breaks, even going to his apartment to see the holy Lego builds collection – for which his roommates had given him complete hell for.

After a month and a half of working through your feelings, you know you’re ready for the next step.

“I still can’t belief that you haven’t built it yet!”

Across your dining room table, which is normally used for cutting patterns, is an assortment of containers holding little plastic bricks.

“I just got busy. And so did you!”

You and Seonghwa sit side by side. He has the instructions laid out between the two of you and the almost-finished bouquet sits a little awkwardly in front of you. The building of the roses had basically become a process where Seonghwa would find the right piece, hand it to you, tell where to put it, and you’d do as he said. It was surprisingly fun.

“You could’ve built it on your own,” he states, handing you another block. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I know but the point was that we built it together.” You click the brick into place, the sound satisfying to your ear. “I wanted to build it with you.”

The model locates the next one and hands it to you, pointing where it must go.

“That sounds… almost like… Never mind.” He stares intently at the instruction booklet, licking his bottom lip.

“Like what?” You prompt, watching as he avoids your gaze. “Like a date?”

You have to hold back your smile as he stutters and coughs – a complete departure from who he is on the runway. He mutters something about how you’re the one that said it, not him.

“Seonghwa.” You put your hand on his and he finally falls quiet. “Would it be so bad if it was a date?”

You think that maybe you’ve overstepped when there’s no reaction from him. Very quickly though you’re proven wrong as Seonghwa lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and your heart starts to beat faster.

“A Lego date with you is literally a dream come true,” he manages to say, a shy smile appearing on his face.

It’s now your turn to be a bumbling mess as you hide behind your free hand, listening to how he laughs at your behaviour.

“Hey, don’t hide your pretty face from me now!” Seonghwa teases.

“You’re the pretty one,” you mumble. “You’re literally a model.”

With some gentle coaxing, Seonghwa manages to take both of your hands in his own.

“Maybe.” He tells you, leaning ever closer. “But I’m also your star, don’t forget that.”

The space between you closes and he kisses you.

~

It was no secret within the studio that you and Seonghwa were now an item – your boyfriend having announced it to everyone the day after the Lego date had made it hard to keep it under wraps. Although you couldn’t deny the sheer joy you felt walking through the door hand in hand with him when you got the chance. With another show looming around the corner, time was scarce to spend with him, so any spare second when you were not running around like a headless chicken, and when Seonghwa wasn’t being fitted for a new outfit, the pair of you would take that precious time and just be with each other. Those around seemed to not mind considering who the two of you were to the studio. Everyone, except one.

Though you were tired, you drag yourself into Isabel’s office, coffees in hand. Your boss was sat in silence, not even greeting you as you come in.

“Good morning,” you initiate the conversation.

Isabel hums ‘hello’ taking the coffee as soon as you set it down on her desk; her attention is on the array of papers in front of her and she gives you no thanks for your efforts.

Your relationship with her had been weighing on you heavily for a while and the thought of continuing in such an undefined way was starting to take its toll on you.

Enough was enough.

“Isabel, we please need to talk.”

“Can it wait? I’m very focused here…”

“No, it can’t.”

You surprise not only your boss but also yourself with how steadfast you are. Isabel finally looks up from her work – her gaze is scrutinizing. You take a deep breath.

“I don’t know exactly what it is that I’ve done but I don’t deserve to be treated like this,” you state, standing up a little taller. “If it’s about what happened with Seonghwa and him asking to model my pieces, it’s water under the bridge to me, even though I’d still like to know the reason why you said no.”

Isabel doesn’t say a word, so you take your cue to continue.

“If it’s about what happened with Hanna and Seonghwa’s hair, then I truly am not sorry. Respectfully, at the end of the day, it was his choice whether to follow through with it or not, and he, being an amazing model, did what he thought was right. I know you sent me to make sure that your star was treated well, and he was. But that was not something I could stop.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you make your final point.

“But more than any of those, I deserve to be seen by you. I work like a dog on your behalf because I love fashion and I love design. But you never let me know when my efforts are appreciated. Perhaps you’ve told them to other people but it means nothing if I will never hear it directly from you. If you feel that I’m too outspoken now, then after the upcoming show I’ll put in my resignation letter. I don’t want to be a ghost anymore.”

You can feel your legs shaking as you stand but your heart feels a thousand times lighter now that it’s all out of your system.

Isabel places her coffee cup on the desk.

“It’s not that your designs weren’t good enough to be on the runway,” she says, voice even. “They were very good. Excellent even. They deserved their own show, or at least their own moment to shine.

“I just… you tailored him so well. I…” Isabel pauses, wrestling with her own words. “I must now admit that I was jealous of your work. I felt that because he was my Star, I would know him the best. But then here you came, with an eye for something that I couldn’t see. It’s as though you were made to design for him.”

As her words wash over you, it doesn’t feel like real life; tears even prick at your eyes. How could the Isabel Silvain have been jealous over you? You were just her…

“And I’m sorry,” Isabel continues, now standing up too to look you properly in the eye. “For how I’ve been treating you. Both recently and in the past. I know that I’ve never told you but I wouldn’t survive without you. You do the work of ten people and you’ve never once complained or told me that you couldn’t do something. That week that you took off, I nearly fell apart.”

She laughs but you can just make out that she too is crying.

“I’ve been trying to avoid admitting to you that I need you more than you need me,” Isabel says with a shaky voice. “I am truly, deeply sorry.”

Hastily, you try to brush away the tears on your cheeks as you tell her ‘Thank you’. Isabel makes her way around her desk and stands next to you, her arms open. You embrace her and you both laugh and cry; finally putting to bed months and months of anguish.

“Seonghwa may be my Star,” she says. “But you are my Sun. Without you, none of us would survive.”

~

It’s still slightly surreal to walk hand in hand with Seonghwa, especially as you arrive for the runway show. His hands always feel warm in yours and you wonder if he’s naturally like that or if he’s only like that when you’re around.

“Are you excited for tonight?” He asks, out of the blue.

“Not much for me to be excited about really,” you tell him. “Other than seeing you dressed up, of course. That’s always a treat.”

The faintest dusting of pink coats his nose and cheeks; his eyeline goes to his feet as he smiles. Making him flustered always boosts your ego.

“I’m… flattered.” Casually, Seonghwa lifts his hand, bringing yours with to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Tonight may bring some excitement after all. You just never know.”

The pair of you walk through the backstage door and immediately the feeling of restlessness that you’ve come to know so well hits you.

You turn to face Seonghwa, still hand in hand.

“I doubt it.” You lean in and kiss him properly on the lips. “Good luck out there. Not that you really need it but at least it makes me feel like I’m helping.”

“It helps a lot, I promise.” He swiftly pecks your lips as he steals another kiss. “And good luck to you too.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him.

“I’m not the one going on the runway, you dork.”

Seonghwa smiles sheepishly before saying his goodbyes to you, saying that he’ll see you later.

“Fifteen minutes!”

People swiftly move past you, some giving you a curt nod of the head which takes you by surprise. This was normally when you’d be completely in visible to everyone. Suddenly, people were taking notice of you.

“My sunshine!” Isabel’s voice breaks through the noise. “I’ve been looking for you!”

You hastily make your way to her, hoping beyond all hopes that you haven’t forgotten anything for today.

"You’re watching the show from the front today,” she informs you, a wide smile on her face. “I think it’s time you got to see the results of all your hard work.”

You freeze where you stand. Never have you ever watched a show from the front – you’re always backstage, just in case something goes wrong or Isabel needs you. She must be able to see how you’re fighting yourself about this.

“Everything will be ok,” Isabel says, taking you by the arm. “Today you can relax.”

“Um… ok. But I need to tell…”

“He already knows.”

She smiles coyly before leading you away from the chaos you’re used to, and out through a side door into the audience. Your boss guides you to a seat right near the end of the catwalk, in the very front row. There’s a ‘reserved’ sign with your name on it and you wonder how long she’s been planning this little stunt. How long has Seonghwa known too?

Once you’re comfortably seated, Isabel disappears backstage again.

You feel out of place here. There’s people that you’ve only ever heard of around you – fashion critics, magazine reporters, other designers. You spot Hanna in the crowd and she gives you a friendly wave which you eagerly reciprocate.

The lights start to dim and the room falls quiet. You target your eyes on where you know the models will enter from as a voice over the speaker welcomes you all to the event. The music kicks in and the show starts.

Surprisingly, you find yourself relaxing as model after model comes out – you note the outfits that you’d seen sketches of, or material that you had to collect. It’s as though you enter a trance watching piece after piece come out, the models having their turn to walk before disappearing backstage again. This is your happy place. You can feel your passion for the art burning inside of your chest. This is why you wanted to design, to create. You’re so lost in your own happy thoughts that you don’t realise how quickly the time is going by. It’s only when your see your boyfriend step out under the stage lights that you come to.

Seonghwa takes your breath away, like he always does when he models. His face is set, sharp features beautifully highlighted. But what makes your heart stop from shock is when you realise what he’s wearing. It’s not Isabel’s work. None of the pieces are.

It’s yours.

The outfit that you had painstaking designed and made for him, and him alone, is on the runway in front of your very eyes. He even has the necklace that you designed the piece for hanging around his neck. Seonghwa looks perfect; the outfit looks perfect.

Your star continues to walk, stopping right in front of you but never looking at you, like the professional he is. But for the briefest of moments before he turns around, his eyes lock with yours. You can’t hold back as happy tears quietly slip down your cheeks. Seonghwa walks away and disappears backstage.

You waste no time once the show is over, fighting against the sea of people to get to behind the scenes. Once you make it, the hustle and bustle of people starting to undo all their hard work is barely a concern to you as you look around, searching for one face among the many. You spot Isabel first though and you realise that you have a million questions that you want to ask her. Forcing your way to her, she hugs you upon seeing you.

“Surprise, my sunshine!” She says with a laugh. “What did you think? Did you enjoy the show?”

You start to laugh as well, still feeling a little overwhelmed by emotion.

“Why?”

Out of all the thoughts running through your head, it’s the only one that makes sense to ask.

Isabel holds you at arm’s length, making sure that she can see you properly. You can see pride in her eyes.

“Because I wanted to show you how thankful I am to you. That I see you and everything that you do. You are not invisible to me. And now you won’t be invisible to anyone else either.”

It can’t be stopped as more happy tears escape your eyes. This was more than you could’ve ever expected.

“You should definitely thank your Star though,” she tells you, her gaze going over your shoulder. “He was the one who suggested it.”

You follow her eyeline; turning to see the person you’d been searching for.

Seonghwa is quick to catch you as you practically throw yourself into his arms. It feels so natural to be with him, against him – the world around you fades to nothing as you hold each other.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to keep my promise,” he tells you, kissing the top of your head. “I hope that it was worth it though.”

You squeeze your arms tighter around him and he does the same. When you feel like you can’t hold him any tighter, you let go only to press your lips against his. He smiles ever to subtly as you do.

“Did you ask Isabel to do this?”

You haven’t moved that far away from him; you don’t think you ever want to.

“I suggested it as a way to show her appreciation for you.” He sounds a little bit smug but you couldn’t care less right now.

You kiss him again and he lifts you off of your feet, your body soaring as much as your heart is.

“I think I love you,” you confess when your finally touch ground again. “No, scratch that. I do love you. I love you so much, my Star.”

You both giggle like school children at the confession but it feels so right.

“I love you too, my Sunshine,” he tells you, resting his forehead against yours. “More than you could possibly know.”

[dollie-disaster-darling]

fem sskk fanart :]]

okay so basically, I saw this amazing artist, AKA @tunamayuuu post fem sskk and I got so moved that I wanted to...make fanart of the fanart? I don't know what the name of that action is, but I did it. As one does.

(again, I have no idea how to tag someone so I'm trying out all the methods I saw on the internet :| )

You know, lately, I've been wondering to myself why I haven't drawn atsushi or akutagawa despite me liking them both. It's only while I was drawing I realized that I 100% *suck* at drawing those two specifically. Their hair makes me wanna 💥💥💥 i felt my soul leave my body when my first drawing of atsushi ended up looking like a generic power of friendship MC. And felt it forced back into me just to squeeze itself painfully when my first drawing of Akutagawa ended up looking like an emo Peppa pig.

So I'm really sorry, liege tuna. Despite me asking for your permission to use your designs, the abominations I made barely look like them! I really just can't draw with details, I guess. I wanted to make their hair as beautiful as the ones in the original fanart, but I couldn't do it. The marker work is also *abysmal* here, rip akutagawa's wild yet elegant hair with nice coloring. Oh well, at least the original is still there, as glorious as ever.

Anyways, I was planning on writing dialogue for the little blobs fighting but then I realized that I should just stick to one page so I left it out. It'd go something like:

[Akutagawa: Shut it, weretiger! I have no plans on taking any lectures from someone that doesn't iron their clothes!

Atsushi: Says the one whose hair is left alone more than endangered animals!

Akutagawa: What did you just say?!]

And then they fight til death does them part (wow) I just think thinking of them as yuri is really fun. The envy, the admiration, the closeness of understanding each other, and the distance from making assumptions about each other really just feels so at home with the yuri I like.

Anyways, this was kind of fun in a stressful way, but I'm glad I did it. Thank you adored tunamayuuu for letting me do this, please know your art gives me serotonin each time I see it. Atsushi, I'm sorry for making you look weird and for letting akutagawa sit on you. Akutagawa, I'm sorry for making your blush look like face paint swatches and for making your hair like that.

And that's all, I think (yay)

[shkatzchen]

"Caput Draconis!"

The Fat Lady has guarded the Gryffindor Common Room for centuries, letting students into their home-away-from-home... if they have the password, of course!

This is the project that got me into making cc in the first place. At the end of 2020 I was building my own version of Hogwarts. I had far fewer packs and I was searching out Harry Potter-related cc to incorporate. I finally reached the Gryffindor Common Room and of course needed The Fat Lady's portrait as the entrance. Except I couldn't find one. Although I'd had one for TS3, I couldn't find an acceptable one for TS4. So I tried learning how to convert objects. I had no idea how to use blender, my texture modifier was Paint and I was teaching myself how to use TSR Workshop and Sims4Studio as I went along.

Needless to say, I failed spectacularly. The doors just didn't work. I had no idea what I was doing. I managed to follow all the steps for converting... except I was basing it on a tutorial for a deco object. Guess what doesn't get covered in such a tutorial? Weights. I ended up giving up on the door conversion, sticking the fat lady onto a base game door's texture and settling for that. Then I made paintings. Because those were doable, and moved on from there.

I actually came back to this project last May and tried again. With a few more years of experience and reading the forums I had a better idea of how to use everything and I knew weights were a thing, so I tried modifying those. I actually, somehow, made a door that functioned as a portal, except sims just stepped through the painting, at least in some cases. It failed but not as bad.

So now, nine months later, having worked with weights on several projects now (converting the Cashcraft beds most recently, as well as the various earrings from last Simblreen), I figured it was time to try again. And it worked! I got everything weight painted correctly, I actually cut up the painting mesh so it could move and now I have a proper door. The only issue is that it's a little small... but that's for a subsequent project. There is also a little bit of gapping at certain angles between the painting and the door on the reverse, but it shouldn't be too noticeable. I'm so glad I can move this from WIPs to my Completed Projects folder!

The Fat Lady is Base Game Compatible and comes in nine swatches so you have options for the reverse door (which is based on the base game six-paneled door).

I used the same base painting mesh that I adapted from @thejim07.

Download from Simfileshare here.

Made with S4S.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 3

Are You Gonna Be My Girl

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 3.3k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

You’d been texting Joel almost nonstop since your date.

Not really texting, though, not on his end. Joel had made it very clear he wasn’t a fan of the tiny keyboard.

“Can’t figure out the damn buttons,” he’d said the first time he called instead of texting back. “Takes me ten minutes to type a sentence. Easier just to say it.”

You’d teased him about it, of course. Called him old. He didn’t deny it, just laughed, low and rough in your ear, like he liked the sound of your voice more than the message anyway.

It was mostly easy stuff. Weekend plans. Paint swatches. Dumb jokes about cabinet colours. And sometimes it strayed into flirtier territory, quiet, teasing remarks that stayed with you longer than they should’ve.

Joel (on the phone, voice rough with that easy drawl):

“You still need those painting supplies?”

You:

“Yeah. Might go after lunch… if I can be bothered to put on pants.”

There was a pause, then a quiet laugh in your ear.

Joel:

“Be ready at one. I’m picking you up. Sunday errands are romantic, right?”

You:

“Only if I get to buy that hot pink paint I showed you.”

Joel:

“Jesus. I knew this was a bad idea.”

You:

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Joel:

“Don’t tempt me, baby.”

You smiled like an idiot when the call ended.

And at exactly 1pm, he was outside your building, leaning against the truck door. Arms crossed, sunglasses on, posture relaxed, but there was a look in his eye when he saw you that made your stomach tighten.

The thing was, it didn’t feel weird. That he’d already been inside you, had learned the shape of your body before your last name. It should’ve been strange. But it wasn’t. Not even a little.

It felt natural. Like breathing. Like this wasn’t you trying to pick up where you left off, it was just where you were meant to be.

You kind of liked that Joel didn’t play games. That he called instead of texted. That he showed up when he said he would, without excuses. Like he meant what he said. Like he saw no reason not to.

-

The hardware store was blessedly quiet. You walked slowly, dragging your fingers along the edges of shelves, peeking at every color display like the right shade of beige was going to change your life.

Joel followed beside you, pushing a cart.

You reached for a cheap pack of brushes and dropped them in.

He looked at them, then at you. “Baby, c’mon.”

You turned, one brow raised. “What?”

“You can’t paint with those.”

You crossed your arms. “They’re brushes, Joel. They brush paint.”

He shook his head, exasperated in that patient, hot older man way. “Buy nice or buy twice.”

You blinked. “Oh my God, you sound like my damn dad. Never say that again.”

Joel barked a laugh. “Sounds like a smart guy to me.”

“He’d agree with you,” you muttered, snatching the sad little packet from the cart and tossing it back on the shelf.

Joel chuckled as he gathered a bunch of proper tools. Branded rollers, angled brushes, even an expensive looking tray set you’d never have picked yourself.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to get fleeced?” you muttered, eyeing the growing pile.

“You are, darlin’,” he said, patting the cart. “But you’ll thank me when your walls aren’t streaky.”

He paid for everything.

You tried to protest, of course.

He just handed over his card and shrugged. “Consider it a gift. From your contractor.”

-

Back at the apartment, you let him in properly for the first time. It still smelled faintly of primer and the vanilla candle you kept burning just to make it feel like home.

Joel walked through slowly, eyes scanning the layout with that thoughtful contractor squint. You stood beside him, arms crossed as you explained your plans, new kitchen units, farmhouse sink if you could budget it, maybe a hanging shelf where the upper cabinets were currently falling apart.

“Open shelving’s good,” he said. “But you better commit to keeping your dishes tidy.”

You gave him a look. “You saying I’m messy?”

“I’m sayin’ I’ve seen your closet.”

You gasped, mock offended, and shoved his arm. “Low blow.”

He laughed, easy and warm, and that was how the rest of the afternoon went.

When the sun started dipping and the apartment turned golden with light, you grabbed your phone.

“Pizza?” you asked.

Joel stretched on the couch, hands behind his head. “Sounds perfect.”

-

You sat tucked into the corner of the sofa, a slice of greasy pizza in one hand and your legs on Joel’s lap. The open box sat on the coffee table, still steaming. Joel nursed the beer you’d handed him earlier, elbow draped over the back of the couch, watching you over the rim of the bottle.

“So,” he said after a beat, “art degree, huh?”

You smiled, chewing. “Bold life choice, I know.”

“Right. Just funny, ‘cause I had to give you a whole lesson on paint brushes earlier. You sure they gave you a diploma?”

You narrowed your eyes, grinning. “Wow. Okay. Painting a wall and painting a canvas are not the same thing.”

Joel smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Sure they aren’t.”

“They’re not!” you insisted, laughing. “Different strokes. Different technique. Less… drywall.”

He gave a small, amused shake of his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll defer to the expert.”

You nudged his knee with your foot. “Thank you.”

Joel leaned back slightly, his voice softening. “Still. That’s pretty cool, doing something like that just for you. Most people don’t.”

You looked down at your pizza, suddenly shy. “It’s nothing big. I’m not trying to be the next gallery darling or anything. I just like creating. Makes me feel… quiet, I guess. In a good way.”

He was quiet for a moment, then gently nudged you with his knee.

“You gonna show me some?”

You blinked. “My art?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated, then stood and walked over to the corner where some moving boxes sat, half opened. You pulled out a few old canvases, mostly acrylics from college, messy and raw and probably overthought, but when you set them out, Joel actually took his time looking.

He knelt down, running his fingers lightly near the edge of one. “You did this?”

You nodded. “Freshman year.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “This is… this is really good.”

You smiled, chest warming.

When you came back with another stack, you noticed your old college cap sticking out of one of the boxes, black with a red band, slightly crushed. You grinned and grabbed it on impulse.

Joel was on the couch again, legs spread lazily, one arm draped across the back as he took a long sip of beer.

You stepped between his knees and bent slightly.

“Hold still,” you said, placing the cap on his head.

Joel stared up at you.

You grinned. “You pull off the art boy aesthetic surprisingly well.”

His head tilted and eyes darkened.

You felt it in the air first. That shift from playful to something deeper, heavier. He reached up, slowly, fingers brushing your neck, then sliding to your jaw.

He pulled you down into a kiss.

It was immediate. Hot and slow all at once.

You climbed into his lap without thinking, your hands threading into his hair as you tilted your mouth over his. His grip tightened around your waist as you rocked into him, seeking friction, your breath catching in your throat when you pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the floor.

Joel paused, forehead resting against yours, chest rising and falling.

“I can’t stay,” he said softly. “Got work in the morning. Early.”

You nodded, still breathless. “Okay.”

His eyes searched yours, something uneasy flickering there. “Just don’t want you thinkin’ this is… me showin’ up, fuckin’ you, and disappearin’.”

You tilted your head, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, so you’re fuckin’ me?”

Joel blinked, caught off guard for a second. Then he let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “Relax, Miller. The fact that you’re worried about it kind of proves I don’t need to be.”

He exhaled, tension easing, and then you kissed him again, deeper this time, slower, pulling him in like he was already yours.

His fingers moved behind your back, finding the clasp of your bra with practiced ease. The strap came loose, and he slid it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor without ceremony. His hands came up immediately, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as his mouth followed. You gasped at the warmth of him, the softness of his praise between kisses.

“Goddamn, baby,” he murmured against your skin, “you’re perfect.”

You moaned, your fingers threading into his hair as he kissed you there, wet, open-mouthed, reverent. He sucked at the sensitive skin until it stung in the best way, dragging his teeth just enough to leave a mark, and you felt the ache coil deep in your belly.

He kissed his way up your chest, your throat, your jaw, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. When he reached your mouth again, he caught you in a hard, messy kiss, one hand in your hair to guide the angle, tilting your head like he needed more of you. Neither of you wanted to stop. Your hands fumbled between your bodies, tugging at clothes, pushing fabric aside, stripping each other in frantic bursts of movement. Shirts came off, jeans shoved down, mouths parting only for gasps before finding each other again.

When you were finally bare, you sank fully into his lap, skin meeting skin, breath catching at the contact. He wasn’t inside, not quite, but the way your pussy slid along the length of his cock made both of you curse under your breath. You began to move, grinding down against his length, back and forth, slow and deliberate, dragging your body across him in a rhythm that had your thighs trembling. His grip tightened on your hips, guiding your motion, rocking you so your clit slid along him just how he could tell you liked.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your forehead resting against his. “Inside, Joel…”

“Not yet, baby,” he said, voice thick and wrecked. “You first.”

You blinked, breathless, caught off guard. “I don’t wanna come just yet,” you teased, smiling against his mouth.

Joel’s eyes locked on yours. “And what’s stoppin’ you from doin’ it again after, hmm?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not a real one. No one had ever done that, put your pleasure first, told you to take what you needed before they even thought about their own. The thought of it sent heat rushing down your spine. You knew he could see it in your face, the way your expression shifted, the flush on your skin deepening. And Joel grinned like he was proud of it.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s it.”

He moved you faster now, rocking your hips harder against him, chasing your release with low praise and whispered filth against your throat. The pressure built too fast, too strong, your body responding to every drag of him, every word from his mouth. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, and when you cried out, he was already gathering your slickness with his fingers and guiding himself to your entrance.

“C’mere,” he breathed, and then his cock inside you, slow, deep, stretching you open until you were gasping all over again.

You hadn’t even caught your breath before he started thrusting up into you, relentless and fast, like he couldn’t hold back another second. You rode him through it, trying to keep pace, trying to keep control, but the pleasure was overwhelming. You reached for his hair, tugging it to tilt his face up to yours, and the second his eyes locked on yours, you felt yourself unraveling all over again.

Joel kissed and nipped at your neck, holding your hips with a punishing grip as his rhythm began to falter. Then he shifted, just slightly, his hips rolling with every thrust, and the angle stimulated your slit in a devastatingly perfect way. You cried out, clutching him tighter as your pussy started clenched around him, dragging him with you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he choked out, burying himself deep with one final thrust. His whole body tensed beneath you, and you felt his cock pulse inside, his moan muffled in the crook of your neck.

You stayed there, slumped on top of him, his softening cock still buried deep inside you, the both of you tangled in heat and sweat and silence. His chest rose and fell beneath you, slow and steady now, while your breath struggled to find any rhythm at all. You were wrecked, completely undone in a way that left your limbs heavy and your thoughts slow.

No one had ever pulled a climax out of you like that. Not even close.

His finger traced a lazy path up and down your spine, light and unhurried, like he was still savoring you. When you finally sat up, your thighs trembling slightly, he looked up at you with that half smirk, hair mussed and eyes glassy.

You gave him a look, equal parts ruined and amused. “You’re never allowed to leave,” you said, your voice still hoarse. “I mean it. You’re mine now. For survival reasons.”

He huffed a breath of a laugh, eyes narrowing like he loved that a little too much. “Yeah?” he rasped. “That a threat or a promise?”

You just smiled, leaned down, and kissed him again.

-

You were half-naked, stretched across his lap afterward, both of you sticky and grinning, still eating lukewarm pizza while the room buzzed with the scent of sweat.

Joel played with the ends of your hair lazily.

“When can I see you again?” he asked.

You glanced up at him, lips quirking. “This weekend’s the Fourth. Going to my dad’s for the annual barbecue.”

He nodded slowly. “That a big thing?”

“It’s the thing,” you said. “He’ll act like I’ve committed treason if I miss it.”

Joel chuckled. “Don’t worry. Everyone’s Fourth of July barbecue is a big deal. I get it.”

You toyed with a crust edge. “But maybe… if you’re free one day after work?”

He looked at you, eyes soft. “I’ll check my schedule.”

You smiled. “Text me.”

Joel gave you a look, affectionate, a little exasperated. “Fuckin’ textin’,” he muttered. “I’ll call you.”

You laughed under your breath, and before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you again. Slower this time. Steady. Like he was memorising the feel of you. Like he didn’t want to leave.

And when the door clicked shut behind him, you sat in your paint-streaked apartment, half-naked, sore in the best possible way…

Smiling like an idiot.

[olderthannetfic]

Knitting question!

Intellectually I know failure is fine. I'm a beginner! I'm learning! Mistakes are part of the process! But I find it really hard not to be demotivated by projects not turning out how I want

I spent all this time and materials on this and it's just kinda shit?

Did you experience that/have any advice?

--

I definitely experienced that when I first tried knitting. I don't remember, but I suspect it's why I drifted away from the craft for nearly two decades.

I have a couple of semi-failures from my current re-entry into knitting. I intend to frog or partially frog them and re-knit, but there are other projects I care more about that are taking priority so far.

Right now, I love watching youtube videos with little tricks to improve one's knitting or deep dives into technical matters. I find information on fiber fascinating. I think that has helped me avoid many of the problems I experienced the first time around. Even if I run into an issue now, I can probably redo the project to make it how I want.

I think the first thing to figure out is how it's kind of shit. Yes, yes, you're a n00b, but there are lots of reasons projects turn out shitty. Some issues require a lot of practice. Many issues require reading a blog post explaining some technical thing and instantly upgrading your knowledge.

--

For example:

When I first got back into knitting, I got some pretty green yarn and made a Medieval-looking hood. I had no clue how alpaca behaved or that it would be waaaay too flowy for the look the pattern was supposed to have. I was also knitting the pattern with the wrong size of yarn, needle, etc. It turned out way too big for me and a formless blob. It was also itchy.

A year or two later, I threw it in the dryer, and now it's an epic rainy day hood. It's mostly not itchy because the felting stuck down all those hairy ends. It has a lot more body now because it's felt instead of flowy hand-knit alpaca. (And, hey, it's even more Medieval since those hoods were often felt but not often knitted as far as I could tell.)

What went wrong here was mostly that I knew fuckall about fiber. I knew I was making it in some randomass size and didn't really care that it was too big, but I didn't know it would slither off of me due to alpaca's drape. I didn't need practice: I needed someone to tell me how alpaca behaves.

--

Example 2:

I knit that Owls sweater and didn't like how it had no shaping... so I winged it. I ended up with really bizarre shaping because 1. I had no idea what I was doing and 2. I didn't close the underarm holes until the very end, so the sweater appeared to fit when I tried it on.

I could open the underarms back up and knit a separate piece for them, but I realized that I dislike the fabric overall. I knit it on a too-big needle (in my opinion). I thought I liked that looseness in my swatch, but I have changed my mind. I was also worried about running out of yarn (since it's a used yarn that I won't find again), but I had tons left over. I also think I want it more cropped. The yarn has a sort of nasty texture but beautiful color, and I knit quite a tight (and thus scratchy) sweater. I don't think I wet blocked it though, so that might fix the texture.

What I should actually do here, assuming I don't just get rid of the thing in favor of better yarn, is frog it and reknit from the top down, reversing the pattern and not having a phase with the underarms open like that. I should also knit it at a tighter gauge but with a little more positive ease, and I should trust that the stretchiness of wool will make it conform to my body just fine without a lot of shaping. Before any of that, I should wet block it and see how the texture changes.

I don't really consider this a permanent failure. I like the Owls themselves. I can easily just knit this again and get a sweater I want to wear... possibly a cardigan, now that I think about it. The yarn is a relatively robust wool that will be fine being frogged and reused, and knitting it gave me more experience with finishing a whole sweater. My various fuckups taught me things about both knitting and my personal taste.

I guess it could be demotivating because it took a while, but on that bigass needle, it really didn't take that long. I would probably always have knit multiple sweaters from this pattern. I see more than one in my future anyway.

Experience was an issue here, but it wasn't experience with the literal act of knitting. My tension was fine. It was more that I fucked around and found out.

--

Example 3:

I made a self-drafted BTS sweater out of another batch of used yarn that I'll never get more of. I love the body. the sleeves are too tight in the upper arm, and my bizarre-ass design for the top of the body means that the sweater wants to be a boat neck but also fit differently in the sleeves and... gaaaaah. The tight sleeves don't feel bad, but what they do do is make the whole sleeve slide down my arm weirdly because of the fit issues around the boat neck.

Part of why the upper arm area is so tight is that I was worried I'd run out of yarn (which I did) and I wanted a balloon sleeve rather than a straight one. The yarn is so stiff that the balloon part is weird, and the two other purple yarns I added for the lower sleeve look weird. I should have reversed their order because one matches too well, and now it just looks like I ran out and had to add a last inch in a random other yarn. I have most of those two skeins left hanging around and a sweater that fits strangely.

Also... it needs hand washing but is shaped and sized to be worn against bare skin, so it gets stinky after a few hours of wear because I am a sweaty, sweaty person.

In this case, I wouldn't redo the body: this silk blend will look less nice after frogging, and I already roughed it up a lot knitting the damn thing the first time. I knit it starting at the top, so the weird fit across the shoulders is mostly here to stay.

However, I'm pretty sure the bad fit on the sleeves can be fixed by ripping back and adding a bunch of width up top. I can also start with the flowier other two yarns and maybe have bands of this stiffer one that I used in the body. I suspect the weird body fit is fixable by changing what the sleeves are supposed to be doing.

This is another case of fucking around and finding out, so I'm not too disappointed in it. I did wear it to Yoongi's concert too, and it was gorgeous, if too hot.

I do realize now that I hate boat necks, but I think I can put up with this one if the sleeves aren't constantly sliding out of place.

And if fixing the sleeves doesn't rescue this, I might attempt some surgery one of these days, but that's more of a pain in the ass, so that will definitely have to wait.

--

Now, my guess is that your "kind of shit" is not "I freehanded a sweater two seconds after getting back into knitting because I'm a crazy person, and I messed up the shaping".

The more common problems are things like:

Not realizing that you should block or not blocking aggressively enough, so your stitches look way more uneven than they need to, the shape is weird compared to the example pics in the pattern, etc.

Using assy bind-offs so the edge looks amateur instead of polished. (You can go back and fix this.)

Failing to swatch, and now you've knit the wrong size.

Picking a fiber that just cannot do what you want it to—usually seen in people trying to avoid wool and not getting that 99.999999% of trendy patterns are written specifically for wool. I have an ancient sweater from college that looks nothing like the example in the book because all I could afford was big box store acrylic. Never again the plastic horror!

Buying patterns from a size 0 lifestyle blogger aspirational knitwear designer with no boobs and a great photographer, then feeling dumpy when trying the thing on under crappy lighting. This one usually requires a little more self confidence and some bust darts.

Making things in plain stockinette in a light color and smooth yarn like cotton that shows EVERY SINGLE TIME your tension wasn't machinelike. This is unfixable. Don't do this.

--

If you're using mohair or alpaca, frogging may be more trouble than it's worth, but you often can reuse the materials. Granted, you've still sunk that time in, but the materials don't always have to be wasted. That might help it feel more like time you spent practicing and less like a complete disaster.

I'm a very product-focused knitter, so I don't really have practice pieces. I'm knitting to have a Thing and I want to wear that Thing, so I get the disappointment if you don't end up wanting to actually use what you've made.

But that also helps me not get totally demotivated. I still want that Thing and now I have a clearer idea how to make it.

So... what are these "kinda shit" projects anyway? What about them do you not like?

[kadtie]

My brother (no relation) and my friend recently found out they're going to be parents, so I've been working on a little something.

I doodled it at work real quick just to get a rough idea of a plan.

A quilted blanket with a fox in the middle (soon-to-be dad's favorite animal), mushrooms (for baby-mama) with eyes (she loooooves eye imagery) on the corners, and various meaningful symbologies between me and this baby's parents. (We all met each other at a bakery and I share a tattoo with each of them; a d20, and a frog with an eye pattern on it's back)

I drew a clearer second draft digitally for the fox to help me decide on shapes, then hand drew a pattern on grid paper and took a photo of each of the fabrics I bought to make a digital mock up to decide on color/pattern arrangement.

For the mushrooms I did a rough digital sketch to get an idea of proportions and shapes then did a grid paper pattern. I decided to do more mushrooms as well; some with eyes and some with dice, but all with orange caps. I ordered 8 inch swatches and fat quarters from spoonflower for the caps and bought the rest of my fabric from a local quilting store.

(One of the fat quarters, as you may have noticed, ended up being generative ai and I'm mad about it and can't use it, and will not be buying from spoonflower again or at least for a while in the future, but I am happy with the rest of them for this project)

Cutting the pieces out for the mushrooms took forever, but would have taken ten times longer if I didn't get a roller cutter and clear quilting ruler. This is my first quilt and I'm so glad I decided to buy them.

I sewed the top halves together

Then the bottom halves, which did involve hand stitching the edges of the veil (the thin piece at the top of the stem) because my presser foot on my machine is too big to do such tight corners, but it's fiiiiiine. Pain in the ass, but so worth it for the end result.

I then mixed and matched so that each of the (20!) mushrooms is unique. Even though each cap comes in a pair I made sure that each sister cap got a different stem.

Mushrooms finished!

I love them and I think they turned out amazing! As I was pressing each one I kept thinking each one was my favorite they all look so goooood!

Now I can start on the fox!

Updates to come.

[l-1-z-a]

🧠💾🛠️ I've always had a fascination with The Sims franchise and I am currently looking to get into programming. How was The Sims created? What programs were used (Python, Java, etc.)? What programs and computer languages would I need to learn to emulate this sort of game? - Quora

Answer by Eric Bowman:

I was part of the core Sims team. The first Sims code was written by Jamie Doornbos, later I joined him along with Don Hopkins; the three of us wrote pretty much all of the core code using Visual C++ and used a lot of STL. We also adapted an internal Maxis framework called Gonzo, written by a few people including Paul Pedriana (Paul later drove EASTL). I ended up rewriting a lot of Gonzo specifically for The Sims, but it was a nice windowing abstraction to get started with. I'm still quite proud of my text edit widget, which had all kinds of features totally unnecessary for a computer game, but I had a little time to kill while the game play was coming together.

I think the precursor to the original character animation code was written by Jacques Servin, who was responsible for the famous SimCopter easter egg (SimCopter) and is now one of the Yes Men (in an odd twist of fate, along with a college acquaintance of mine, Igor Vamos). Or maybe Jamie helped him with that, I honestly can't remember.

We wrote a ton of code as a small team, and it was 100% C++ -- there wasn't a single line of assembly code in The Sims, at least not in the core code. By the time it shipped we were using a few internal EA libraries as well, in particular for font rendering. We also didn't use 3d acceleration at all, which turned out to be a good call for massive market penetration. We hit a sweet spot in terms of CPU requirements for smooth gameplay and Moore's Law. We also had basically no unit tests; back then Real Programmers didn't test their own code, which led to an army of testers (who were amazing) and basically a lot more pain that necessary. I'm really happy the world moved toward automated unit testing since then.

Jamie created the "tree language" which gave the characters behavior, which they received from the objects they interacted with. Patrick Barrett was the first and probably greatest tree programmer of them all, and added a huge amount to the game.

One thing that I recall is that the original prototype for The Sims, written by Jamie (in C++) was written for the Mac. When he ported it to Windows, he introduced some Mac-like data abstraction layer to make the Mac code work on Windows, and some of that survived in the shipped game. That must have made porting it back to the Mac particularly interesting (as did my somewhat flagrant use of the DirectX APIs in a way that I'm still embarrassed by).

One thing we considered doing was using Swatch Internet Time which looked like it might take off there for a minute or two, and that would have been an interesting twist how time worked in the game.

There is an ok history of The Sims at the Will-Wright Fansite ::.

Source: