#i wonder why my skin becomes transparent like this under water though. funny thing

[emulation-0]

one thing about me is the thumb part of my palms are always blue

[tsuumu]

beautiful stranger.

oikawa x reader

a short piece in which oikawa tooru approaches you on a idyllic evening. it’s a little awkward though, since you’re trying to die.

word count: 3.3k

tw: indirect and direct implications of suicide.

your warm hands stay gripped onto the metal rails in front of you, applying enough force to watch your knuckles turn white. you find yourself doing it over and over until your fingers numb from the continued pressure. alone, you’re mulling over mundane affairs. you’d rather not be thinking about them but find this loop all too easy to fall into.

the shadow of the railing casts over a large canal, its water sifting freely, far beneath you. it laps over itself, slithers of fish break the transparent surface as they swim. some of their scales rise to kiss the sunlight in opaque relfections.

thin layers of petals scatter the ground beneath your feet that have slipped from overhead trees and continue to flutter down freely. glowers of dying sunlight seep through the shapes of them as they fall.

in this moment, autumn is alive.

it’s really lovely right now.

you’re here, all caught up in chasing that feeling of peace. safety in an open space. you have to cope with that fact that tranquility never comes easily for you.

there’s nothing that should be leaving you as deeply unsettled as you are. you’ve learnt to largely ignore feeling so overwhelmed, though it stirs and resurfaces times you wish it wouldn’t.

what’s bugging you is that you can’t quite get a grasp on your own life.

for starters, everything lacks coherent meaning. to you, there’s something constantly missing every single day. nothing purchasable, nothing attainable through hard-work and any level of perseverance. truly, it affects you so much so that even just standing here, feet glued to the very spot that is undeniably ‘lovely’, brings you nothing but unimaginable sadness.

earlier, you brushed it away as an off day but you know that’s not true. you’ve been feeling like this all the time.

it is, therefore, not at all abnormal to wonder: can a person have such thing as an off life?

you really don’t like to think about things like this too much. once you begin to muse over deep naysay you find yourself snowballing.

solutions are painfully unobtainable and it’s generally as productive as chasing pavements.

do i really enjoy being alone? or am i obsessed with the sensation loneliness brings?

“you know, if you stare long enough, you might end up wanting to jump in.”

at once, your vision snaps up, taken aback by the additional voice. you hadn’t realised that during your mindless lamenting, another person had quietly joined you by the evening canal-side.

fair skinned, dark eyed, chocolate curls brushed neatly over his features and cowlicks that bob against the light gusts of wind.

a boy offers you a smile, before shifting his feet towards the empty space to your left. you can’t seem to process him, staring at the empty spot he’d been in seconds earlier.

you’re not supposed to be here right now.

“i was totally kidding by the way.” he adds. “that was really dark, sorry.”

you’re silent in return, eyes casting back onto the running stream. the water is shallow and the fall long, so jumping in would certainly prove fatal. you know all of this too well. it’d disturb the fish who are just here to live, though, it’ll only be for a moment. they won’t know any better.

you don’t really know what to say. it’s troubling that he’s here and hearing it out loud disturbs you, like a direct call out. at no point were you prepared for any kind of conversation prior.

the two of you stand there in complete silence. it’s not particularly awkward, you just don’t know why he’s approached you so easily, talking to you like he’s known you well enough to make outlandish jokes.

asking directly for his intentions seems rude, so you’ll put up with it until he leaves.

“do you always come here?” the stranger pipes up once more, though his focus doesn’t leave the water. you breathe in deeply.

“sometimes.”

“oh, i see.”

his palms lay flat and he pushes gently off of the rails, only to fall back onto them with all his weight. he does it again, repeating the process over and over at a steady pace. you stay hunched over, keeping your distance. he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest though, clearly absorbed in his surroundings.

“it’s like a set out of a movie, this place. seems like somewhere i’d ask my girlfriend to marry me.”

your tongue rolls around in your mouth.

yes. you think. his girlfriend would most likely be thrilled-over the top-squealing if he did. that’s entirely his business.

you really don’t care to hear of other people’s romantic endeavours.

is it out of jealousy? you don’t know. maybe.

this conversation is meaningless. you wish he’d go away sooner so you could have this time to yourself.

also, jealousy is an ugly word. you hate it.

he stops his movement with a exhale of air, tilting his head back to blink up at the warm sky. the last touches daylight mingle with the oncoming darkness, creating a deep tinge of orangey-yellow.

“when’s your birthday?”

‎a petal lands on the bridge of your hand, sticking to your skin.

“do you want my social security number?” you deject.

“what? no!”

“are you sure? really, i’ll give it to you.”

“no!”

“then why are you asking for my personal information?”

‎

he falls silent for a moment, before mumbling out a small: “just wondering.”

a tinge of guilt creeps over you at his apologetic tone. you admit, your answers thus far must make you seem like a completely unapproachable asswipe. you’re not at all. you just aren’t all that sure how to make small talk with strangers when you’re trying to part with the world by dinner time.

it feels like an unexpected guest at your very lonesome party.

“it’s (insert birth month).” you fold.

he purses his lips, face contorting a little.

“i see.”

he doesn’t continue down that path after your response. the both of you return to a mutual silence, staring into the portrait scenery ahead. the stream fills the soundscape pleasantly. fallen leaves have gathered at the base of your shoes, brushing over the tip gently with the turn of the wind. you observe them quietly.

“can i ask you another question?”

he seems a tad more timid now.

he definitely thinks you’re the type to blow up and give him an earful about minding his own business, doesn’t he?

you’d never raise your voice. in general, but also because it’d break the comfort of the scenery the world has so generously given you.

“sure.”

“do you believe in soulmates?”

‎the question is a little random but not impossible to answer by any means.

“no.”

“what?”

“i said not really.”

“you said no.”

“that’s the same thing.”

“...fair enough.”

‎he exhales out, sounding a little disheartened by your curt response. perhaps to him, you were a tough nut to crack; an ambiguity for him to understand. were all people like that? you weren’t playing hard to get, in fact, you’d answered every single enquiry he has had to offer. his efforts are amusing, though.

you raise a brow at him.

“i’m sorry, was that the wrong answer?”

for a moment, he doesn’t reply, stuffing his hands into his pockets, gazing down at the head of his shoe. pivoting his ankle, he draws small circles with the tip of his foot into the ground, into the dead leaves.

“not at all.”

“your expression says otherwise.”

“um, it was just a bit bleak, i guess.”

you let your arms droop way over the railing, fingers wading through the autumn air. you’d never really taken the concepts of soulmates to heart. it was romantic bullshit put out by somebody looking for a fantasy to indulge in. out of seven billion people, there could hardly be a singular person made for you. people aren’t born for other people. if that were the case, it wouldn’t be a rose-tinted fantasy. it would be suffocating. where’s the freedom in love?

“most people always answer like you these days anyway.”

“oh, sorry.”

he looks up at you, tilting his head.

“no, don’t be.”

back to a default mute, left with nothing but the faint chitter of overhead swallows and the odd rumble of cars passing by.

“tooru.” he states, after a while.

“what?”

“tooru. my name is tooru.”

“oh, okay.”

“oikawa tooru.”

‎your fingertips have become flushed. maybe you’d pressed a little too hard on that cold surface earlier. now that all your blood has come rushing back, the tingling sensation feels foreign.

his name slips of the tongue rather easily, don’t you think?

“nice to meet you, oikawa tooru.”

“it is nice, isn’t it?”

for the first time, your gazes meet properly and you offer him a crooked smile.

“i suppose so.”

off the side of the canal, almost right under the bridge, a small cluster of ducks have gathered. adult ducks tend to be considerably larger than its offspring —as is factual with any animal— so it’s easy for you to tell that there’s only one parent there, along with three of its ducklings.

people like to come to the canal to feed the ducks bread, though you’d heard somewhere that it’s actually quite bad for them.

you wonder. do ducks care particularly if one of its ducklings die? will it do something with the body, cry out, hurt?

or is grief exceptionally human?

“i don’t actually have a girlfriend, by the way.”

he sifts out his phone, tapping the screen and sliding it open. you watch him turn it to its side, before leaning over to take a picture of the depths below. you just watch.

“oh, okay.”

he doesn’t elaborate, focused intently on his current task. your attention returns to the shape of the birds, bobbing up and down rhythmically.

there’s only so much you can say about the canal. yeah, it’s beautiful. you don’t have the right vocabulary to describe the way it makes you feel. honestly, it feels abysmal to even try. you’re convinced though, that you’re in love with the way the water moves. you’ve always appriciated it whenever you walk past, told yourself jokingly that you could die there if you had to.

funny, that.

beautiful things tend to hurt in an unbearably amplified manner.

“say, tooru?”

“yeah?”

“if i climbed over the railing right now, would you stop me?”

you’re both fixated on the paddling now. his phone is back in his pocket, elbows propped up. he hums, taking his time to think over your question.

“most likely.”

your fingers meet one another and the tingling spreads to your palms.

“i’m thinking of jumping, actually.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“my joke earlier...”

“yeah.”

his fingers drum rhythmically on the slender poles under the rail top.

“then i’d jump right in with you.”

the corners of his mouth tug slightly at your perplexity, supressing a chortle. he’s not laughing at you, though. it’s more a gesture of understanding. this tooru doesn’t know you at all, yet he gets it. he gets it all too well.

you get that he gets it.

tooru clears his throat. “bad day?”

“that’s an understatement.”

“well, you’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

by now, the ducks have swam away, you can make out the general shape of them, melding into the distant, mute colours of the bankside. the sky look minutes away from being set alight. time has never been your friend, you see.

“i feel crazy for trying.” you’re rather blunt about it.

“fair enough.”

“…is that all?”

“well, do you want me to tell you that you’re not crazy?”

you lull into silence.

“i don’t know.”

with that, you shift to angle yourself so that he’s in your immediate peripheral, the thought of gawking at him seems ridiculous but you want to look at him. you find it hard to do it up front for some reason.

“i’m no suicide expert, but it’d probably be lonely doing something like that by yourself. wouldn’t it be comforting to know someone’s falling with you?”

your fingers run absently across the jagged surface of the rails, the old paint has been chipped away at, after all its years of protecting. in all it’s history, had anyone else hitched themselves over this very rail?

were they asking for the same answers as you?

god. that’s awful. you don’t want to think about that.

you catch each others’ eyes for a second but you resign quickly, focusing as hard as you can on the flecks of black on your thumb.

“that would be selfish of me.”

“not if i’m offering.”

you scramble to look anywhere else, abruptly turning. you’re facing away from the canal, stomach fluttering a little as you fall onto the rail’s length.

in all your time by yourself, you’d never been given an irrefutable reason to ‘be’. it’d always been a live-for-the-day type of experience. if a day is good, you’re utterly blissed out by it, totally in love with life. if it’s bad, you have little reason to go on. nothing particularly interests you enough to dedicate your days persuing it. fame seems tedious, looks are temporary, a six figure career sounds like emotional jail-time, or a slow, schedule-filled trek to death. whichever description sounds more sufferable.

you see, in essence, we all get off at the same bus stop. some journeys are simply shorter than others.

“you’re guilt-tripping me out of it.”

“i’m not!”

you’ve never stopped to ask yourself what it is you want.

death interests you, you suppose. though, you don’t see the reason to wait around and pretend to ignore it until one day it drags you kicking and screaming.

“oikawa tooru, don’t you have better things to be doing than offering to jump off bridges with strangers?”

that coy smile tugs at his lips once more. nothing you say seems to phase him. it’s like he knows you. he’s thinking: yeah, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.

“should i? you look at that water like it’s someone you hate. or love. maybe both. i got curious.”

“curious?”

“yes. and quite frankly, you’ve left me curious. practically starving. you haven’t even told me your name.”

“my name doesn’t matter.”

“boo. that’s not true at all.”

his tongue pokes out, tugging at the corner of his eye. you shake your head, genuinely unable to hide your amusement, turning to him properly this time.

and really, it’s like the canal side and oikawa tooru were made from the same stardust. he blends right into the picture, as effortlessly pretty as the rest of it.

the strands of hair out of place, a little disheveled from the breeze. the scarf buried into his nose, glasses a little misty from the heat of his own breath but when they clear, you see his eyes all too well.

you’d like to tuck those strands into place, they’re bothering you just a little.

“(y/n).”

your brows furrow a little.

really, this could all very well be some sort of fantastical dream. as nice as it all is, it feels painfully unreal. boys don’t look like that on autumn evenings or offer to die with you.

that’s it.

tooru must be a figment of your imagination.

no. wrong. not a dream.

this is a corner of your mind you haven’t ventured into yet, psychologically, some kind of safety net. a sliced off piece of reality you’ve come to hide in because you’ve utterly lost your mind. he is nothing but a part of you that makes you feel at ease as you come to terms with your self-destruction.

god, that bothers you more. you are crazy.

your hand extends, reaches out all on its own.

you just want to know if he’s real.

oikawa tooru glances down for a moment, he’s probably wondering about you, what’s left you in such a state. though, he’s happy to slide his palm against yours, latching onto it. he shakes once, twice. a little more. tightens his hold a bit.

the weight of his fingers as they brush lightly against your palm is fantastical. he’s so warm. you can feel it spread through you from the pads of your fingers.

he’s very real.

tooru has rather pretty hands.

the contact makes you feel kind of delirious, a produce of being utterly touch-starved. just a simple touch. you’re embarrassed to say it but it takes everything inside of you not to start weeping or hold on frantically in case he does disappear, do something bizzare that’ll scare him away forever.

hey, tooru. are you made of honey?

“well, (y/n), i’m offering you my life right now.”

the sun has set foot on the horizon, plunging in ever so slightly. as a child, the thought of night scared you, feeling largely betrayed by the sun’s farewell. now, it’s a unique kind of comfort to see the moon. it’s as lonely as those who lay their eyes upon it.

“i don’t want it.”

his fingers slip downwards against the dips of your palm.

“you don’t?”

“no, i mean... i don’t want death. not right now..”

you don’t even want to think about it anymore. funny, how things like that work. you were so sure of it. today was the day. your dark rendezvous. weren’t you itching for it?

this bastard.

this man you’ve never met. he clasps onto your hand once and suddenly he stops your nauseating rollercoaster of thoughts and leaves you wondering if, actually, you’d like to see the canal-side again tomorrow, or in fifty years.

who are you really, oikawa tooru?

“no?”

“yeah.”

“then what do you want to do?”

“stay right here, i think.”

your fingers curl, maintaining your hold on him. you should be shy or awkward about this whole ordeal but so you’re desperate for that warmth to continue.

you both stand there, facing one another, hands extended. it’s a little robotic looking. you’re pretty stiff but very sure this is what feels right.

to you, existence is based solely on feeling your way through stages of life. that sickeningly sweet innocence of youth. childhood memories that to you, are dwindled husks of gold, valuable in some aspects but almost meaningless in others. to laugh or to cry allows an individual to create a deep-set connection to the environment around them. it is no longer passing scenery but a moment in your life you once lived through.

that’s beautiful, isn’t it?

unfortunately, emotion provides both a living fantasy and the potential for agony. life is not sweet, nor innocent. it is what you make of it.

it is what your mind is forced to make of it.

and as much as one wishes they were as coddled and loved as they were children, life beyond those years is lonely, difficult and more than you were ever capable of.

were you weak? perhaps.

but maybe people aren’t built for life. we’re all weak.

and realistically, if you are unable to clamber over one obstacle after another -established by those before you- you’re doomed to fall behind.

that will hurt. you will hurt unforgivably because self-worth is no longer a beautiful gift of internal discovery and love but another way to be measured and downsized externally. a practice that leads to hatred. a desire to die.

that’s really where it all began for you. a romantic, a poet at heart, living inside your own, kinder world. that is until reality knocked on your door, invited itself in, just to set the entire thing on fire and leave you as vulnerable as the day you were born.

you aren’t allowed to hide. it comes looking for you eventually.

your stance on life hasn’t changed, afterall, you’ve spent nights mourning over how much it can hurt to live. to fall asleep exhausted with yourself, only to wake up and do it all over again. what you do know, however, is that droning, lonely feeling isn’t there right now. that ongoing, battering ruckus inside your head has ceased. tooru, the strange magician, has left you thoughtless and a little dumb.

you like being this stupid. for once, there’s nothing intrusive prodding the inside of your head.

it’s frightfully quiet, actually. you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. how much time has passed since he’d made that awful joke?

his gaze is on your lingering contact, before lightly pulling you closer, twisting his wrist down so you’re holding hands. your gaze moves to the bankside. you feel comforted. maybe it isn’t death, maybe all you want is a hand to hold.

probably not. that is a stupid, sappy thought. you’re still fanatic about ending your life.

you were so close to doing it, without even really understanding what you were doing. the canal scenery is overpowering, numbing, if you will. without oikawa tooru, you may well have kissed those fishs’ fluorescent scales with your own two lips, as cold as ice with some unfortunate early-morning runner discovering you by twilight.

“we can do that.” he hesitates. “if i’m honest, i would have been pretty scared to jump.”

“yet you still offered?”

tooru hums merrily in confirmation.

“why?”

“because you’re cute.”

you can’t believe your own ears.

“what? seriously?”

“yeah. originally, i wanted your number but things took a small turn.”

you burst out in gutteral laughter, free hand back onto the railing for support. for a moment, you look at him, shaking your head in utter amazement.

“you’re a piece of work, tooru, you know?”

“yeah, i know.”

he smiles back at you. the shadows cast by the setting sun only make him all the more enigmatic.

now that you think about it, you can’t figure this guy out at all. it’s like staring at a wordless piece of paper and trying to find something legible.

“how do you know i won’t come back and repeat all of this tomorrow?”

tooru tilts his head ever so slightly, observing you. his eyes flutter down to your lips, speaking like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“because you told me your name.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“well, now that i know that, you’re no longer just a beautiful stranger.”

you understood now. he hadn’t just offered you his life, he’d offered you him. by living on, you’d accepted graciously. he knows that if you visit the canal side again, you’ll only remember this moment.

a bad moment that he, in all his glory, turned into a good one. the day you two first met.

oh, clever boy. he saved you.

though you must say, oikawa tooru, you’re very much mistaken.

you are the beautiful stranger.

a tear runs down your cheek, a little warmer than you could’ve expected.

one turns into two, slipping more and more. eventually, you’re standing over the canal, hand in hand with oikawa tooru, sobbing quietly as the water runs peacefully below the both of you.

[yugyummygot7reactions]

Into the Night - 6

Prelude | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

Finale tomorrow!!!! 8pm!!!

Pairing: Youngjae x You

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1819

Warnings: Solo Play

And just like that he was gone. As you drifted to sleep, you thought you felt someone still watching you, but you didn’t think Jinyoung would have stayed around for a round two.

You looked around and saw no one there, but what you didn’t know is that when the clock struck midnight there would be someone standing in the corner, ready for his own fun with you.

As midnight passed, a young man appeared in the room next to the bed, inches from your sleeping face. “I hope you don’t sleep as long as last time,” he said as he tried to brush your hair from your eyes, his hand instead gliding through your skin, “I only have one day a year to be seen and heard safely and I don’t want to waste it alone. Why do ghosts have to only have Devil’s Night to wander? Wouldn’t it make more sense for a demon to have that restriction?” The voice woke you up. It was smooth and gave you goosebumps. You slowly looked around and saw the faint image of a young man next to your bed. A transparent man. “You’re awake!” he loudly exclaimed, shocking you off of the opposite side of the bed. “Sorry,” he immediately apologized before floating towards you. “Who-“ You started, “I’m Youngjae,” He smiled and held out his hand. You reached out to shake it and your hand went right through his. “Well…I was Youngjae when I was living. Now I’m just your other world boy next door.” You stared dumbfounded. “You’re one of the monsters?” You asked as you approached him, looking at all of his features as closely as you could. “Monster? Sure, I guess. I’m not from here if that’s what you mean…well…this world…now…I used to be from this world. This was actually my old house before I died.” “How did you…” You didn’t know how to politely ask the question. “Die?” he laughed at your concern for his feelings, “Jaebeom.” He shrugged like that was normal. “Did you meet him yet? He’s actually quite cool. We crossed the threshold to this realm together during the portal opening.” “He killed you and you’re friends with him?” You looked at him confused as you adjusted the sheets that were acting as your only cover from the attractive man in front of you. “I mean…killing me was an accident and sort of my fault…so yea!” “How is him killing you your fault?” You were so confused. “He turned me into a vampire, with my permission, but then I freaked out when I had to drink blood from a living person to make the whole eternal life thing stick. I felt too guilty hurting someone else. So I just didn’t do it…and I died…” He looked so nonchalant, like he was telling you what he had for dinner last night. “You asked for eternal life in the living realm and ended up cutting your life short in the process?” “Yup,” He smiled, “I still have eternal life, but I can’t touch anyone. It’s annoying.” He pouted. “I did it to myself though. I didn’t think the whole vampire thing through before telling Jaebeom I wanted it.” You were astounded at his childishness. “So you can’t even touch other ghosts?” You put your hand through his chest. “Nope, but I do have a fun trick that lets me touch people for a while.” Before you knew it, the whisp of a man flew towards you at alarming speed. The next thing you knew, you had a voice in your head and no control of your body. “Cool, right?” He asked as he held your hands up in front of you. “Possession is fun in the right person. You smell like lemons. Jinyoung smells like amber, Jaebeom smells like old spice.” You laughed at his comments, but this was freaky. You had zero control. “Very funny, now get out. We can hang, but I want control of my body back.” “Mmmmmm…not quite yet.” He said with a hint of mischief, “I can only do this once a year and I think some fun is in order.” He made you tap your lips while he thought. “Jinyoung got to have some special fun with you, and now I want to too.” Within seconds the sheets were on the floor and you were back in bed. Your actions were not your own, but you could still feel all the movements and sensations from what Youngjae was doing to you. Your heart was pounding, breath racing, legs quaking. You were tingling all over, and a pleasant shiver going down your spine as Youngjae roamed your hands across your body. You realized you feel something else too; a dampness between your legs that was not there before. “I’ve never possessed a woman before,” Youngjae notified you, “Apparently me getting a ghostly boner gives you the female equivalent. Your hands dip down to your core and rub your slick for a moment before Youngjae brings your fingers up to your mouth. “Let’s both have a taste.” He hummed in delight as he tasted you. “I wish I could be down there tasting this with my own tongue.” He breathlessly said as his hands began to roam your body again. You blushed deep and your face goes hot as the thought of Youngjae not only controlling you, but feeling, seeing, and tasting what you were crossed your mind. You were being pleasured by a ghost. It was the young brunette with the beauty mark by his eye, the one who seemed the most innocent of all the monsters thus far. Your arousal was stronger this time than it had been with the others and you cannot just simply ignore and will it away. After a moment of trying to find a way to get Youngjae out of you, you decided to just cave in and let him help you pleasure yourself. Your hands were gliding over your body, enjoying the pleasant tingle it provides. Youngjae brings your hands up to your breasts and plays with your nipples, which have become hard and raised with the arousal from the both of you. He rubs and pinches them, the sensations traveling straight to your core. You can hear Youngjae shudder with pleasure. He keeps one hand there as he brings the other one down between your legs. Youngjae rubs a finger up and down your seam, collecting moisture, before rubbing the small bud of flesh and sensitive nerves that has become slightly engorged with your arousal. Youngjae gasps at the feeling, as it has been quite some time since he pleasured himself or anyone else. He rubs slow and steady circles with your finger while your other hand still pinches and rubs your nipple, slowly building your collective pleasure. Youngjae releases your nipple and brings your hand down to join the other one, only with this hand, he presses one of your long and slender fingers inside. Youngjae bites your lips at the slightly foreign action. He gives you a moment to adjust, bending your finger and thrusting lightly before he slides another finger inside, rubbing you a bit faster. He scissors your fingers open for a few minutes then adds a third. Despite the events of this week, you are tight, clamping down on your own fingers instinctively, but continues to rub your sensitive spot more firmly. Youngjae was coaxing you to relax. Speaking sweet nothings in your mind and trying to get you to imagine that it’s two of his fingers inside of you. It doesn’t take long before your muscles relax and Youngjae begins thrusting your fingers in and out of you slowly, enjoying the slide and pleasant feeling it provides. He twists your fingers and feels a slightly rough and bumpy patch at the front of your walls. He massages there gently and moans at the wonderful pleasure it causes you both.

You and he realize that your hand outside has stopped and he resumes pleasuring you there while also doing so from within. It doesn’t take long before you feel your climax approaching. Youngjae lifts your hips up as your legs tense, your back arching and your breath hitching as your minds go completely blank, your climax crashing down as wave upon wave of pleasure washes over the both of you. Your body quakes as your muscles clench and pulse around your fingers, which are still buried deep inside. "Oh Youngjae!" You regain control for a split second to call out on pure instinct, riding out your orgasm until your muscles relax again and you collapse back onto the mattress. Youngjae slowly pulls his fingers from your core. You were a bit oversensitive and twitching after experiencing your own pleasure as both yours and his. You both lie there for a few moments until your breathing and heart rate return to a more normal pace. As you both regain your senses and normal thought processes, you realize what you just let Youngjae do and flush red and hot color running across your chest and face, up to the tips of your ears. When Youngjae feels your body is able to stand without your legs giving out from under the both of you, he gets you up and goes to the bathroom to rinse off your fingers and wipe you clean. He even started a bath for you and made sure you were safely in the water relaxing before he pulled himself out of you and hovered near the tub. You instinctively go to cover up, but realize he has done so much more than just seen you naked and you settling for crossing your arms and legs for a little protection. Youngjae’s hair was still perfect, clothes nicely unwrinkled, skin pale as ever, the only change was that you could see his chest heaving. “That was wonderful,” he said as he floated over and settled himself into the tub so you were both sitting facing each other. “Thank you.” He smiled as he looked deep into your eyes. “To repay you for this wonderful time, other than providing you with a full day with me, totally PG rated mind you…well…mostly…” he laughed, “I’m going to help you catch the other monsters.” “I appreciate it, but you can’t grab them and the possession could be dangerous and you can’t possess all of them at once. I just don’t see how you can help.” “Mark Tuan,” He said with a smile. “Who?” You asked, confused. “Mark Tuan,” He said like this man was the most famous human on earth. “There is always a price to pay for his help, but if you need to catch all of them by tomorrow night without any hiccups or brushes with death, you go to Mark.” “How do I find him?” You asked, eager to get this over with. “You find out after a day of Netflix and chill with me.” He smiled, “No exceptions.” You nod in agreement and sigh. If he didn’t only get one day a year to communicate with other people, you would have told him to fuck off. “Who is he?” You ask, curious about how Youngjae might know of someone in the land of the living. “The seventh monster…and your only hope.”

[buzzwheeze]

the cardinal hits the window

a/n: this is the three-years-later sequel to and he takes and he takes. sorry it’s sad and sorry it’s late. love you guys! 

ao3

Ryan Bergara is crying and he doesn’t know why. It’s not a soft, small cry; he’s sitting in an empty hospital room, surrounded by a plethora of cards (but no flowers), he’s staring out the small window, and he’s sobbing. His chest is heaving, tears are streaming down his cheeks, but he knows that, if pressed, he could not name the reason his tears fell.

Because Ryan Bergara forgot. It’s the one thing that he promised himself he wouldn’t forget, the only thing in his whole life that he said to himself and meant—

For the life of him, he can’t remember what the fuck it was.

—

Shane Madej wasn’t the only ghost lingering in his home. In many ways, Ryan knew that he was a ghost.

He could pinpoint the moment he became one, too. After chasing ghosts and haunts for a large portion of his career, after believing in them for his whole life, he figured it would feel different. Ryan always assumed he would die first.

He became a ghost sitting alone on his bathroom floor. Blood was dribbling from his mouth, his body curled up, hunched over the toilet. The water was pooled at the bottom of the bowl and his reflection was transparent and almost unseeable. The water rippled, the blood curling down his bottom lip and dripping into the water, flowering and disrupting his pale reflection.

At the bottom of the water sat two flowers.

Earlier, when he had been choking and gasping for air, painful tears streaming down his face as he suffocated, for just a moment, he paused for a moment to look in the mirror. It was less than half a second, but the lips on the panicked face that looked back were a bluish-purple color as he tried, and failed, to breathe.

The petals of the sodden flowers that mocked him from the toilet were the same color. Pale, half-alive, bluish-purple flowers.

Blood dropped into the water again. His reflection rippled and dispersed.

He couldn’t even watch his eyes widen, but he felt his skin shift with realization.

The lonely feeling lodged under his skin. The grief he could feel in his gums, under his fingernails. The love he would never get to feel in return.

He wondered if Shane ever felt like this. The next drop of blood that dropped into the water was diluted slightly, pinkish in color and saltier than blood usually is.

He was a ghost. And he had at least gotten one thing right: ghosts were so, incredibly cold.

—

“Hey,” Sara opens the door to the hospital room, giving Ryan a little wave as the door gently clicks behind her, “How are you feeling?”

Ryan smiles, but he knows it looks strained and unhappy. Her face falls slightly, but she quickly picks it back up as she walks over to Ryan’s bed.

She sits down at the end of the bed, and for a moment there’s a silence. It’s a horrible, awkward silence as they both hold back questions that are too sensitive to ask. Ryan looks down at the thin, plastic hospital blanket, watching his fingers pick absently at the material.

“I don’t remember who it was,” he says quietly. Sara finally looks up at him.

“You never told me,” her voice is low. As if it’s a secret. As if it’s a regret. “So I can’t remind you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She sighs.

“It’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have told you, if it had been me,” she smiles, and she turns her face away from him to look out the window, “Shane told me, but that’s just the type of guy he was, I guess. It’s different for everyone.”

Ryan lays his head down on the pillow, his gaze turning toward the same window.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, as a small red bird hits the window. It falls to the sill, where it gets up, flits its wings, and then flies away.

“Hey,” he sits up again, the plastic sheets crunching as he does, “Who’s Shane?”

A beat.

Two beats.

Three beats, four.

The quiet stretches as Ryan’s question settles and fills the room. Sara is frozen, a veritable statue in her silence.

“Please,” her voice is suddenly ragged, “please, please tell me this isn’t happening.” She turns to face Ryan, and she isn’t crying. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she’s not crying. She’s biting her lip, probably the inside of her cheek as well.

Ryan’s heart is sinking down into the pit of his stomach.

“I am trying so hard not to be angry right now,” she whispers, looking down at the bed. She gets up abruptly, shoving her fingers into her curly hair.

“You’re— he— oh my God,” she’s facing the wall now, “He was so fucking stupid. I knew he should have just…”

She sinks down to the floor, slowly dissolving into a pile. Ryan thinks he can hear her finally start to cry.

Ryan watches her, her shoulders moving up and down as he tries to figure out something to say. The bed is loud as he swings his legs outward and lifts himself up. There’s a pain in his chest as he crosses the room and sits down beside Sara.

Ryan’s never been good at this kind of stuff. It’s not often that he becomes emotional, and it’s almost never that he knows how to make himself or other people feel better. He follows his curiosity instead.

“Who was he?” The question comes out louder than he intended, interrupting the soft crying in an abrupt way. It does make Sara pause for a moment, so Ryan counts it as a win.

“He was… an idiot,” she laughs softly, a sound that’s both grieving and nostalgic, “and he loved you so much. He... loved you, Ryan. He died from this—“ she weakly waved at Ryan’s hospital gown, “because he thought… he couldn’t have known but he should’ve tried… he didn’t know you loved him. He died not knowing you loved him—“

Sara’s explanation is cut off by a brief sob, the sound made when the lump in someone’s throat bubbles up and is released. She composes herself, and turns to look Ryan in the eye.

“I kind of resent you, Ryan, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help it,” She lays her hand on his thigh, “It’s just, you get to live the rest of your life now. He’s dead, and it’s completely unfair because you guys should’ve been together and happy but now he’s dead because that stupid, selfish asshole couldn’t own up to his own feelings and he didn’t want to stop loving you or forget you.”

She let out a breath.

“I’m so mad at him,” she released a long, shuddering sigh, “but now he’ll never get to hear about it. That’s the trade-off for you getting to live, I guess— you lost one of the most important pieces. One of the funniest, one of the most weird, amazing parts of your life. I’m sorry.”

She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand and stands. She helps Ryan up, then pulls him into a tight hug.

“I have to go,” she pulls back, then grabs her purse, “But google Buzzfeed Unsolved— surely you remember that, you can’t have forgotten Unsolved— and take a minute and watch all of the videos with him. Just watch and see how happy you made him and how happy he made you, and just…”

She opens the door and looks back at him.

“See what you lost.”

—

The day after Shane died, as Shane’s family tried to sort out their grief and the funeral plans, Ryan sat at his computer and watched Buzzfeed Unsolved.

The room was dark, and he was curled up underneath his blankets. The laptop’s screen reflected dim light onto his face as the videos played and played on. He sat there watching Shane move, breathe, laugh.

He never used to watch these videos, before Shane died. Didn’t like to see himself and hear his voice play back. Now, it felt like all he had left. His own presence in front of the camera didn’t even register with him: it was all Shane.

His chest hurt. He couldn’t tell if it was the violets coming back up or the gaping hole left in his heart by Shane’s death.

He couldn’t cry anymore. He felt as if he had spent all the tears he’d been allotted for his life the night he found out Shane had died in the back of an ambulance. Watching these captured pieces of time, in which Shane was with him and always would be, stopped in time, made him want to cry. But he couldn’t, and he wasn’t going to force himself to.

He coughed, a terrible, hacking cough. His next breath was difficult, and his next one didn’t come at all. He threw the blankets off and stumbled blindly to the bathroom.

The videos played on in the empty room, Shane’s voice and Ryan’s heaving the only sounds in the quiet apartment.

—

His nose was big, framed by warm eyes, with thick eyebrows and short hair, all three the same shade of dark brown. The first thing Ryan notices about him is the charming way the skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Ryan watches all of the videos he can find. He’s amazed he doesn’t remember a single thing about him. His own appearance in the videos isn’t surprising (he remembers Unsolved, of course he remembers Unsolved), but the other man isn’t involved in any of the memories he has. Their conversations are easy, funny, and Ryan knows that this is the man he was in love with.

Ryan doesn’t know if people can fall in love with someone they’ve never met, but if they can, Ryan knows he still loves Shane. It’s not all-consuming, it’s not fiery or feverish, it’s not sharp or cutting— it aches. It hurts like a headache: all over, not unbearable, but uncomfortable, and with no specific starting point.

The window outside his hospital room shows the night sky, and he looks toward it as the videos play. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound.

“I did meet some of the most insufferable people. But, they also met me.”

Ryan laughs, surprising himself.

In another universe, Shane didn’t die. In another universe, Shane told Ryan, or Ryan told Shane, and they were okay.

In this one, though, Ryan holds onto a man he doesn't remember through small vignettes of their time together. In this universe, Ryan is in love with someone who would never know, couldn’t know.

The video ends. Ryan turns his phone off and sits in the dark room.

There’s a sound outside the window. Ryan sits up, and slowly lifts himself from the bed, carefully so as not to upset the stitches from his surgery. He shuffles over and looks out.

Two birds sit in the bush directly outside. A cardinal and a blue jay, and, softly, they tweet back and forth to each other, copying each other’s songs.

He laughs to himself, quietly. Ryan feels like it’s a sign, but he knows Shane, based on what he saw in the videos, would hate the idea that he came back from the dead.

Maybe he’d like it, though, Ryan thought, watching the two animals interact, because he’s a bird and not a ghost.

As Ryan leans onto the window sill, he feels loved and seen. It hurts and doesn’t all at the same time.

Ryan starts to cry again, cathartic and painful, and the birds fly away. Ryan watches them through his tears, until he can’t see them anymore. He shuffles back to the hospital bed, climbs back in, and falls asleep thinking about Shane.

He doesn’t dream.

[padfootagain]

Welcome To Hell (I)

Part 1 : The Mission

 Here is part one of my new series for Logan! I hope you like it :) I honestly took too much fun imagining Hell hahaha!! I hope you like all this!

Gif not mine

Word count : 2400

The room was filled with sins. The curtains hid from the outside all the excess that had occurred during the night. Across empty bottles and broken glasses were scattered traces of drugs and clothes. A man and a woman were sleeping on the couch. Another man slept on the ground, his cheek resting in a skirt he used as a pillow. In the king-sized bed, Logan was asleep with a woman. Lying on his stomach, he enjoyed what he considered as a well-deserved rest.

The woman sleeping by his side had signed up and joined the side of the Devil the previous night. And as the demon who had recruited her, Logan was also responsible for celebrating the signing of the contract. And he had done a very good job.

The contract that had been signed the previous night was a rather classic one: her soul for the Devil to help her through whatever project she was aiming at.

Some wanted youth, beauty. Others wanted money. Sometimes it was all about revenge. For the woman he had convinced the prior night, she longed for power. Nothing that hard to get in this world, as long as you accepted to do what was necessary, no matter morality. A few lives destroyed would easily get her to the top. And soon, she would sit in this CEO chair she wanted so much to occupy.

But everything had a price…

For the help of powers bigger than her, she had sold her soul.

Not that Logan thought that it was an unfair bargain. He couldn’t see any disadvantage in being on the side of the bad guys. He had fun, he enjoyed all the pleasures that life could offer. What else could he want? Morality and conscience were overrated notions that were only meant to control people. Fixed rules that had no other purpose than to strengthen the powers of a few by dictating limits to the crowds. It was like putting blindfolds on every single human on the planet.

And Logan was definitely not stupid enough to get caught in the trap. He was too selfish for that.

And well, becoming a demon had allowed him a second life after his death. One that couldn't end that easily. One that offered him much more than his mortal life had ever been able to give him. How could he ever complain?

It is through this messy hotel room that Logan's boss walked, and he wore a disdainful look on his face. He had always thought that demons like Logan were futile. Agents were but children to him. He longed for biggest forms of chaos.

When Logan messed up with simple mortal lives, Joshua played with entire countries. Messing up with political affairs was his specialty. And these past few years, he had been particularly successful. It was so easy to rise a little hate and set up humans against each other… they loved imagining differences between each others. What a ridiculous species they made… unable to see that they were all the same, despite what they could see in mirrors… Pathetic.

Anyway, Joshua was not to complain on the simple nature of humanity, he loved to play with it. And these past few years, with the elections of many country leaders, he had been particularly successful at messing with people.

But his high rank also meant that Joshua was in charge of the demons who acted directly in the human world. And Logan Delos was one of them. And to appoint to him a new mission, Joshua often had to come to whatever hotel room Logan had been partying in this time.

He heaved a sigh. Agents were so superficial…

He picked up a bucket filled with melted ice-cubes where bottles of champagne must have been kept cold the previous night. He dipped a finger into it, and let a content smile spread across his features as he noticed that the water was still cold.

And without hesitation, he threw the icy water on Logan's sleeping frame.

The agent woke up in a jolt, gasping sharply at the sensation. He cursed fiercely, jumping out of bed. He shouted a few insults, before finally realizing what was happening. All the while, the rest of the mortals were still fast asleep.

"What the heck did you do that for?!" Logan angrily shouted at his boss.

"I can see you had a fun night," Joshua ignored his question and merely made his observation with a disgusted look on his face.

Logan gave him a toothy grin, not for a second embarrassed by the fact that he was standing before Joshua while completely naked.

"I did have a nice time indeed, "You should join us next time," Logan offered, but Joshua responded with a disdainful look.

"I don’t think so. And I am not here to talk about your… mortal activities."

"They are more than activities, Joshua. They’re pleasures. Mortal pleasures."

"How uncivilized," Joshua whispered under his breath, wincing. "Come with me. I have a new mission for you."

"A mission? Again?" Logan raised an eyebrow in surprise. "But I just finished this one!"

"Where is her contract?" Joshua asked, ignoring Logan’s protest.

"Right here."

Logan pushed aside a few cards, some poker chips and what was left of lines of cocaine. From under all this mess, he extracted the precious contract his target had signed the previous night, offering her soul to the devil.

Joshua finally let a satisfied expression colour his morose features. His dark skin contrasted with the yellowish paper as his black eyes ran across the contract. He gave Logan a nod.

"Good. Follow me then. We’ll see about this new mission of yours in my office. Just… put something on first," he added, vaguely gesturing towards Logan’s naked frame.

"Now… don’t be a prude," Logan laughed, but obeyed nonetheless, putting on his dark shirt and jeans.

He merely picked up his socks and shoes though, noticing that Joshua’s patience was wearing thin already. And Joshua was not the kind of demon that one wanted to annoy. He was much crueller than he seemed to be. And as a demon First Class, one of the highest ranks in the evil hierarchy, he could literally vaporize Logan with a mere snap of his fingers. After all, Logan was merely an agent. His job was only to recruit mortals to their side. He had no place in the greater schemes that the Devil planned. He guessed that a good comparison would be the one of a simple soldier, a general and the president, each representing Logan, Joshua and the Devil respectively. Joshua was said to be one of the few who were allowed to call the Devil by one of His names. If Logan had dared to call him Satan… dear God, he didn’t even want to imagine what kind of torments the Devil would unleash upon him.

So Logan had no choice but to follow Joshua, for now still barefoot, as he exited the hotel room and finally the hotel to reach an old telephone booth. Joshua dialled the number 666 before pressing the number 0 for 6 seconds, and in the blink of an eye, both he and Logan were in Hell.

The building they had entered looked altogether like a gigantic church, stones carved and ceiling gracefully bending. Hanging at the walls were torches alit with flames and candles were set here and there across the hall, the wax melting across the ground. The light was thus dim but quite warm, in contrast with the cold and impressive stones that made anyone who walked in the hall feel so impossibly small.

They followed a long corridor leading towards the demons' headquarters. The ground changed from stones to wood, and the walls took the form of large red bricks. The only things decorating the passage were honouring titles delivered to the most famous servants of the Devil.

They finally reached the main hall, and they both nodded at Cerberus, the lovely secretary and keeper of the building. Logan’s eyes lingered on the man’s attractive features, and couldn’t refrain a disappointed sigh. A shame that Cerberus was known to never sleep with demons… The receptionist didn't pay them much attention, too busy petting his three large dogs. Logan had always found the story of Cerberus's name rather funny. Mortals had apparently been so impressed by the three very large, black dogs that all they had memorized from the entrance of this building was a monster with three dog heads. And somehow, they had mistaken the name of the receptionist and attributed it to this monster their wild imagination had produced. The poor receptionist was thus forgotten, although his name was in many tales and legends. What made it all even funnier was the knowledge that the three dogs were absolutely adorable, and despite their large stature and powerful jaws, they would have never hurt a fly… Mortals had such a ridiculous imagination…

But Logan and Joshua abandoned the freckled face of Cerberus in favour of the glass lift. Through the transparency of the walls of the lift, they had a nice view of the gardens set at the back of the building. No wonder why the mortal archaeologists had never found the hanging gardens of Babylon. The Devil had moved them to Hell long ago. And as the lift went up and up, the sight of this treasure lost to mankind was more and more beautiful. While he was still human, Logan had always pictured Hell as filled with flames and terrible tortures. The vision was so archaic…

They went up to the 80th floor, where the First-Class demons held their offices. Each floor was named after an infamous demon or one of the names of the Devil. The 80th floor was thus called after Azazel, who had taught once to Men how to build and use weapons of war. And considering the work of those who worked at this floor, Logan reckoned that it fitted them well…

They abandoned the beautiful view of the lost gardens drenched in hues of green and a thousand of other colours brought by the flowers in eternal bloom. As soon as the glass doors opened, Logan and Joshua advanced through the corridor, their feet shushed by the thick layer of blue carpet. Offices were set on both sides of this corridor that ran through the whole length of the building. The ones set on the right had a beautiful view upon the gardens Logan loved so much to walk through, when the ones on the left were set above the long river that humans knew as the Stix. Many demons were on its banks no matter the hour of the day, either to walk on the soft sand of the shore or take a swim in these waters that always wore the perfect temperature. Again, the mortal vision of the river was quite archaic. And the ferryman Charon? Who was depicted as such a merciless guide? He was merely the one in charge of the renting of the boats to sail on the Stix.

Joshua’s office was set on the right side of the corridor, and thus, he gave a nice view on the peaceful beaches downwards. At such a height, a good part of the horizon was also made by the Top, as demons often called the pitch-black veil that towered Hell. Was it a starless sky that was above their heads? Or the ceiling of a cave? Logan had no idea. There was no notion of days and nights in Hell. Time passed, but demons had no biological need for sleep. Many agents had kept the habit, from the time that they were humans themselves, but elder demons such as Joshua had given up on this useless action a long while ago. With no sun nor moon dancing up there, it was hard to guess if they were outside or inside. Was this whole world set in a gigantic cave or on a planet with no stars? Logan had no clue. If they were in a secluded space, then he had never found the edges, no matter if they were made of stones or void. There were legends though, of course. Legends speaking of secret passages once created by rebellious Necromancers and Warlocks to walk in and out of hell without the Devil’s surveillance. But they were mere fairytales. And the Devil’s attention seemed to Logan way too sharp to let anyone slip through his ominous watch.

Joshua silently invited Logan to sit down while he took off his long leathery coat. He picked up an old-looking pair of glasses from the top of his desk and set the spectacles on his long, beak-like nose. They were slightly lopsided, as usual. Logan had no memory of seeing the glasses set in any other way.

They both sat down, each on a side of the desk, and Joshua quickly picked up a yellow file stained with coffee.

"Here she is!" Joshua opened the file with a focused expression and furrowed eyebrows. "She’s top priority, so don’t mess up!"

"Top priority? Why? What’s so special about her?"

"This one is good. And I mean it, Logan. Kind, generous… you’ll have trouble to turn this one to our side. But we need to take more risks. If we can make such good people join us, the balance will most definitely sway to our side. And that means victory! We’re trying on this one. It’s your job to finally prove that we can make anyone turn. We’ve tried this a few times before but it didn’t seem worth it. Takes a lot of work to finally convince one of the goods to follow us. Times have changed though. We have more opportunities nowadays."

He paused for a moment, his black eyes fixed upon Logan’s dark ones, and he leaned on his desk a little as he spoke again, a toothy grin on his lips.

"And who knows… you’ve been here long enough. Perhaps you could get a promotion out of this mission."

Logan’s lips curved in a smile.

"Now, you’re talking…"

"You could become Demon Third Class. That would mean more powers, and more… everything, really."

"I would be more that interested," Logan smiled.

Joshua smirked.

"I knew you would be. Don’t mess up with this one then."

"Have I ever let you down?" Logan asked back. "So, what is the name of this saint I must cut the wings of?"

"Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

***************************

Tag list : @geeksareunique @madamrogers @giggleberts @sad-orange-thoughts @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @newtstarmander @iammadeofstarsandlazyness @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynight-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0 @that-bwitch

[shyyynobi]

The Game

Here’s my first contribution for MultiSakuMonth!  I wasn’t going to post anything for SasoSaku, but I got so inspired and I had this idea in my head and it took over. Please forgive any mistakes, I wrote it in a few hours. I’m not even sure it makes sense, but I pushed it out anyway.  Pairing: SasoSaku Rating: M(ish)? Words: 2,559

Her fists could break mountains while his puppets tore through a battlefield.

She would heal him, her touch gently caressing his skin. 

She was refined, built and brought up exactly how he wanted her to be.

But — she was still her own person, a  kinetic ball of energy that would lash out at the world in a hellfire mess of emotion.

As they fought together, an unstoppable duo, their game would start. 

It was in her anger (especially towards him) that he found her most beautiful. Her eyebrows would scrunch and her face would twist as she fought her truth. Her beliefs were strong, so strong that sometimes she couldn’t contain herself. Her raw, viable emotions were painfully apparent, but it’s what made her endearing. Sakura Haruno always fascinated him, his fascination started the day she was brought to his lonely home when he was twelve, puffy faced and red-rimmed eyes from crying.

“Sasori, you’re in charge of this girl. She came from Konoha in the exchange unit program. I take it this won’t be an issue?” the Kazekage’s advisor questioned him, a mere child himself.

He looked over the…Pink haired girl. 

She couldn’t have been much younger than him, maybe a year at most.

“Is she any good?”

The advisor handed over her file, “exemplary grades. Excellent chakra control. I can assume they wanted one less orphan to subsidize and sent her here.” 

Sasori eyed her again, unimpressed. She was small, frail, boyishly thin, and didn’t look like she could harm a fly. 

Though it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice.

“Fine.”

At first glance she looked like any other girl, but when he sat her down in the silence of his studio — she remained frigid and unresponsive, refusing to look at him. Sasori, with an apathetic face stood in front of her and found her beauty. Her eyes glimmered with a renewed vigor for life that wasn’t beat out of her yet, and her skin was remarkably clean and hued in the prettiest color of pink. Her button nose led to wide-cheeks and a dainty pointed chin. Silently, his eyes swept down her slim neck — her worn clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in a week, and he reached forward to skim the back of his fingers against her shoulder. 

She didn’t budge, but swallowed.

“Don’t be scared,” he tried to reassure her, for reasons beyond him.

Sakura looked at his dozens of paintings and half worked sculptures, but her eyes rested on the two puppets under his studio lights.

Her gaze was stuck there in wonder, and she asked him a question that changed his entire perception of her, “…those your parents, aren’t they?” 

The normally stoic child doubled back from this foreign girl, in awe that she picked up on it so quickly.

She turned to look at him, sympathy for him abundant in her face, when she was the one scorn to the desert by her village.

Sasori saw a new girl in front of him, one with such high perception and intelligence he was thoroughly impressed. 

“Take your shirt off,” he commanded.

Sakura tilted her head, but his serious expression forced her to reconcile with the request.

When she did, her bandaged chest was minimal — and he memorized her body.

Perfect.

“Sit still.” 

He grabbed his sketchbook and pulled a stool in front of this odd girl.

And so he sketched the first drawing of hundreds that would litter their home.

Sasori of the Red Sand quickly found his muse that morning, which most artists search their entire lives for.

Their game was complex and simple all at once. An oxymoron in it’s purest form.

It started on their first meeting, where Sakura would impress him — and each time she impressed him he would gift her with something. Whether it be knowledge, a jutsu, healing, or affection — she strived to be the greatest. It helped mold her to his liking, and she took to this game eagerly — quickly understanding that she could become great. Like a pet eager to please it’s master, Sakura understood the terms of the game well. Most teachers wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like her, a fiery female that drew forth the best in people — even him. Her chakra control was all he needed. After an exasperating spar session on her thirteen birthday when she took him to the ground, the warmth between her thighs settling on him — he decided to teach her how to utilize her chakra to become explosive. It was a technique he witnessed Tsunade Senju use once, and as a legendary puppeteer he easily saw how she mended her chakra to be so destructive. 

Like a fish in water, Sakura took to the method. 

When she destroyed one of his puppets, he knew it had been the right decision.

They trained day in and out. 

They became friends. 

Sometimes he questioned the line of  visibility that was their relationship. 

He hated it, but he became thoroughly attached to Sakura.

He knew on her fifteenth birthday that…Changes were happening.

As an artist he was keen on details, and he could sculpt her body with his eyes closed — so when he noticed her breasts swell miraculously over night and her hips widen, it became distracting. When they would walk in the village men’s eyes would drag and linger as they passed. An odd, stuffy feeling grew in his chest — but he ignored it for the time being. That year he taught her how to create poisons and antidotes, which she learned with a guarded expression, wondering what she did to deserve such rare knowledge — something so precious to him. 

“You’re acting funny,” she accused him, stopping her ministrations on the herbs.

“How so?” 

“I didn’t do anything worthy of learning this. So I’m wondering why you’re teaching me this for free,” she didn’t play around with words like most women, and he was grateful for that.

“You did,” Sasori said calmly, turning to her, “you’re a woman now. I think that’s deserving enough.”

She scoffed at him, “that’s not only sexist, but annoying. Every female turns into a woman. Tell me the real reason.” 

He didn’t want to tell her that he loved her, if that was the correct word. 

Sasori wasn’t sure what love really was, maybe he saw a glimpse of it as a child — but he found himself in an odd predicament. As an artist he found his muse, but as a man there was a new emotion that he was trying to overcome that he didn’t fully understand. This confusion became painfully transparent when he heard her the other night making odd noises, and when he crept over to inspect — her door was cracked open, and on her futon she had one hand in her shorts and the other in her shirt, playing with herself.

He wasn’t acquainted with women, he didn’t find the use in sexual activity — it seemed too distracting and impractical, so this was new for him to see.

And the cheeky girl knew he was there, she flicked her gaze to the door, and he swore in the moonlight he could see the barest smirk on her face. His member stirred to life, and he watched his subordinate touch herself. Slowly, and in pure fascination, he licked his palm and gripped himself beneath his pants. They masturbated to the thought of each other — the only thing stopping them was a door, but the thrill of it was much more enticing.

“You knew I was watching you the other night,” Sasori continued working, stating it matter-of-fact.

Sakura blushed, clenching her thighs at the memory, “no—“

“Don’t lie to me,” this time he looked at her, eyes smoldering.

She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t find it in her to lie to him, “I did.”

“I didn’t take you for that kind of girl.”

“I’m not a lifeless puppet,” she threw at him, making him jostle in annoyance,“I’m human — and I’m going to have urges like any other person.”

He didn’t bait her anger any further, “that’s fine. And I was impressed by your bravado, hence why I’m teaching you my pois—“

“You liked watching me, didn’t you?” she leaned on the counter, smirk back on her face.

Sasori hated when she had the upper hand, and he looked away from her, “Sakura—“

“Just tell me, Sasori-sama,” she teased him, inching closer.

This wouldn’t do.

If this foreign brat thought she held power over him, he would make her think twice.

He kissed her.

She was sweet and fresh, like a mint tea in the dreaded summer months in this horrid village. And just like mint tea, she served as a refreshment, a small break in the longevity of his days when he wasn’t creating his pieces.

Fueled with years of repressed sexual urges, their hormones flared as he lifted her onto the work bench, her thighs hugged his middle and he pressed against her, nimble hands treading over her bare stomach. He could sense her fear, and he told her everyday to not fear anyone or anything, but her hesitation drenched the heat of the moment.

Both of their lips bruised, they relented their assault — wondering where this could lead.

“I…I need to go,” Sakura murmured before scooting off the table and leaving him for the rest of the day.

And with an unsightly hard on, at that.

Their game continued, but from that point on it morphed from him mentoring her, to how far they could test one another. They would each impress one another, and when that happened lust would glimmer in their eyes and they would find their hands and mouths sneaking over one another’s body later on, only to forcibly stop themselves. 

They were saving that moment for a sublime test of their game. 

The only time they weren’t playing the game was when she would sneak into his room late at night and cuddle beside him. Two teenagers used as weapons and tools for the sake of their village. Two people caught in a storm, unsure of where to go. 

When they became partners, the game only intensified. 

Paired as possibly the most lethal duo to emerge from Sunagakure — they were sent on reserved missions that a normal team couldn’t possibly take. When Konoha sent a letter requesting Sakura’s skills back in Konoha after hearing about her wide ranging success as a prominent kunoichi and healer, the Kazekage and council adamantly refused. 

Part of him feared she would leave him, but he never said anything about it.

Which is why now — as she’s carrying him on her back, trudging their way through the sand dunes in the hundreds of miles of Sand country, the poison is seeping through his body and he’s slipping into unconsciousness.

“You better stay awake! I’ll kill you if you fall asleep!” her harsh voice berated him. Contrary to that, tears are slipping down her cheeks — she knows he doesn’t have much time left.

These memories come back to him after six years because he’s dying.

But Kami she looked beautiful, like a poised puppet that would be in his memory for eternity, she twisted and fought her way to him. Sakura was the picture of grace as blood covered her body, those eyes that came to him on the first day crying were flooded with worry for him. They managed to take down an army that was leeching their way to Suna. It wasn’t easy task but they managed to do it. They saved their damnable village, but at what cost? 

Sasori didn’t see the blade coming from one of the last remaining soldiers, and before he could stop it with his puppet, the kunai pierced his stomach. 

It was a delayed poison because he didn’t realize he was sick until they were halfway home, caught in a sandstorm. With no medical supplies, no herbs, barely any water — they were stuck. So Sakura decided she would carry him through the storm all the way home. 

When did he become so weak?

“That’s it,” she growled. Deciding enough was enough, Sakura set him down and reserved a minuscule amount of chakra in her fist to create a trench to dodge the storm. 

He can’t remember much from this point because he’s half unconscious. But Sasori reached forward and touched her cheek, his thumb wiping the blood off of her lip, “I’m proud of you.” 

Sakura ignores him, she understands what he’s saying — “this isn’t a game anymore!” she cries.

 “It never was,” he admits.

The irony of him dying by a poison is laughable, some poison master he is -- but Sakura refuses to let go, “no! I’m going to get you home, I promise!”

She uses the last of her chakra to push it into his chest, her soothing chakra makes it easier to pass. But then came pain, a bright red flash of pain that made him sweat and see white as she pulled the poison out of him. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and the sharp, unforgiving pain of the extraction continues until he passes out. Somwhere in his dreams he comes to realize where his life might have been if not for Sakura stepping through the door to his home. He would probably be a criminal by now, wanted by not only Suna but the shinobi nations, his name printed in the bingo book. 

She saved him twice now, he figures.

When he comes to, he’s in their home.

Unsure of how he got there, he can hear Sakura humming in his studio. 

Weakly, Sasori wonders if this is his after-life. He wouldn’t mind it, because being here with her is his haven. For all the men and people he killed, he’s being given a blessed afterlife. 

But he knows he’s alive when he sees her meticulously working on his favorite puppets. The same ones that resembled his parents and held him for years when no one else did. Her hair is in a bun and she’s wearing her spandex and a sports bra to fight the insatiable heat, but she’s there and feels his presence.

Silently, he walks over and sits behind her. 

Neither say a word.

The sight of the three most important things in his life could bring him to tears, and he’s bursting with so much pride he wants to tell her — but instead he rests his forehead on her shoulder and murmurs a small, “thank you.”

She’s contemplating his thanks and stops working on the puppet, “…it was never a game to you?” 

Silence. Then he answers with a simple, “never.” 

The innocence of her gasp perfectly captures the innocence she tries to hide. 

He kisses her neck, her shoulder, her arm until goosebumps rise on her skin.

In his weakened state he wants to show her his form of love. 

She sets down the puppets and turns to face him, tears ashen in her eyes, “…don’t ever leave me.” 

Sasori closes his eyes ad breathes against her skin, “I won’t.”

In hindsight, he should have known when they took each other’s virginity it would be the day after her seventeenth birthday. They’ve played their game for years, but he didn’t want to play anymore. She was his master piece, his crescendo in a life of loneliness, and she proved herself time and time again.

Their bodies are tired and worn by the time they’re done, and in the glowing light of his studio she kisses his lips, naked and cuddled to his side, “we should run away.”

The idea piques his interest, and he smiles down at his devilish muse, “tell me when.”

Sakura climbs on top of him and straddles his hips, ready to go again, “tonight.”

She’s testing him, and Sasori realized that with Sakura, there will always be a game to play. 

[doodlewash]

Great ideas are happening at Da Vinci Paint Company! I’m so thrilled to share with you an awesome project that I’ve been working on with Marcello there, to kick off an upcoming line of 8ml Da Vinci watercolor tubes (adding to the collection of 15ml and 37ml watercolor tubes). These little 8ml tubes are perfect for trying out some new colors at a great price!

Painted Using Only My “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio

So, we thought a fun way to introduce them would be to invite a trio of artists, (one of the three being me!) to choose their favorite three Da Vinci Watercolor tubes and create three new watercolor trio products (which I’m pleased to say are all available to purchase now! Read on to learn more about the project, the other artists, and my own “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio and mixes!).

We thought it would be fun if these artists could also share their great ideas about color mixes and painting, or as we like to call it when using Da Vinci paints – a #DaVinciMoment.

About Da Vinci Watercolor Trios

As many of you who’ve seen my watercolor illustrations in my blog posts know, I’m a huge fan of using a limited palette as well as painting with Da Vinci watercolors (if you’re visiting me for the first time today, hey there, welcome! Nice to meet you!) The idea behind this project was to have each artist select only three Da Vinci watercolor tubes to create their personal trios.

Painted Using Only My “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio

These aren’t necessarily triads, or colors that are evenly spaced around the color wheel, but simply three colors that we each felt, when used in various combinations, produced some really lovely mixes. Each artist was given about 9 colors in those cute little 8ml tubes, and had to choose only three. This bit turned out to be tougher than I expected!

I’ve used duos and quattros, but getting to a mix of just three colors was actually a fun challenge. Next up, I’ll share more about our trio of artists, a little about myself if you’re new to Doodlewash, share the trio I personally chose along with some sample watercolor illustrations, and provide a mixing chart showing how I mix the colors. 

(If you want to know a bit more about Da Vinci watercolor you can also check out Jessica Seacrest’s review here on Doodlewash.)

Our Trio of Artists

And now, presenting our trio of artists! Is it me or should there really be a way to add a drumroll to a blog post? Okay, so the first artist up is me and most of you who visit this blog often are used to reading my rambles and already know a lot about me. For those of you who are wondering who the heck this guy is, then I’ll take a quick moment to share a little bit about my myself, via this little interview each of the artists completed.

Charlie O’Shields – Doodlewash®

My name is Charlie O’Shields and I’m the creator of this very site, Doodlewash®, which is a global community of watercolor painters, illustrators and sketchers. I’ve featured over 440 artists painting and sketching on every continent (yep! Even Antarctica!) and host a community where artists who draw and use watercolor can post and share their work right here on this site. If you love watercolor painting and sketching, then please join us!

I’m also the founder of World Watercolor Group and World Watercolor Month in July – a 31 watercolors in 31 days challenge to raise awareness for arts education.

What do you like about Da Vinci watercolor?

Da Vinci watercolor is rich and vibrant and contains a rewetting agent makes it behave very similarly to honey-based paints, which I had used exclusively prior to discovering Da Vinci watercolor. And if I need to grab a color that I don’t already have waiting in my pans, they work beautifully straight out of the tube! I had the pleasure of visiting Da Vinci Paint Co. in California, U.S.A. and watching how the colors are created. The attention to detail and demand for quality is stunning. And at the end of the process, all of the colors are lovingly hand-poured. It’s a rare and wonderful thing to witness in this day and age of automation and I was immediately smitten with both the paints and the company.

Why do you paint?

Once I started sketching and painting each day, I quickly realized it was amazingly therapeutic and calming. After a long day at work, coming home to create a little watercolor illustration became something I not only looked forward to doing, but something that helped me transition my day and relax into my evening feeling refreshed. Okay, I admit, it also became a completely unstoppable habit. I recently just passed the mark of 1,000 days of consecutive watercolor painting and sketching.

What do you love to do besides painting?

I’m a big kid, so I also enjoy playing games on my phone as well as console games on Xbox and Playstation. I grew up during a period when arcade games were all the rage and I guess it just stuck with me. I also love Lego and creating things with those little colorful bricks. I have shelves full of Lego architecture sets mixed with random Star Wars memorabilia. When not playing with toys, I do also like to read lots of books, even the ones written for adults and without pictures.

Favorite Things Trio

Dessert (really any kind)

Funny childhood memories

Getting lost in a good book

Bucket List Trio

Publish an illustrated memoir

Go on an African safari

Learn how to speak French

Completing The Artist Trio

I’m happy to introduce my two lovely artist friends who agreed to be guinea pigs for this first outing of the project. I say that because I didn’t have all of the idea in place before just jumping in and going for it. Something that will not surprise my regular readers in the least.

I don’t like to set severe parameters as it allows the artists to help complete the idea. You can’t know where to build the sidewalks until you see the paths that people make. And they both forged a brilliant path indeed! So thank you Tonya and Jennifer for your patience and your wonderful ideas that made this project truly come to life! Check out their links below and read on to learn more about my Da Vinci watercolor trio and an overview of how I mix colors with wonderful paints.

Tonya Lee – Scratchmade Journal

Tonya Lee lives in the Appalachian Mountains with her family of four and one cat. She enjoys nature study, sketching, gardening, and limited interaction with city life, but she’ll happily fight traffic for a great restaurant, museum, or thrift store.

Visit Tonya at Scratchmade Journal to learn about her Da Vinci trio!

Jennifer McLean – Just Add Water Silly

Jennifer McLean is a watercolor and mixed media artist and an avid reader, so you’ll always find either a book or a paintbrush in her hand.

Visit Jennifer at Just Add Water Silly to learn about her Da Vinci Trio!

Charlie’s “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio!

SO, what did I ultimately choose for my watercolor trio? Well, a little set of my three favorite Da Vinci watercolor tubes that I use to make shiny happy things, of course! For those who know me, they know I love painting shiny metal things and glassy objects. I think they’re a joy to paint, and particularly suited to the watercolor medium. I can barely paint a flower without jamming it into a glass vase, sneaking in my chance to paint something shiny!

Painted Using Only My “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio

There are many ways to paint glass and metallic surfaces, but as an illustrator, one of the tricks I personally enjoy to create an illusion of realism is to really push contrast. By this, I mean deep blacks next to nearly pure whites. This creates a “shiny” look that can be amped up to make something metallic or softened a bit to create the effect of glass. So, I present to you now the three Da Vinci Watercolor tubes in my “Shiny” Trio.

Terra Cotta (PR102 – Semi-opaque)

This is undoubtedly one of my favorite Da Vinci watercolor tubes. It’s a rich color when used with just a little water and dilutes to a lovely reddish and ruddy pale color that can be used to add a bit of random warmth to areas of my watercolor illustrations. I don’t often paint people, but have mixed it to create pleasing skin tones as well, with just a bit of Quinacridone Red or Opus (Vivid Pink) and a touch of Yellow Ochre. With a bit of Nickel Azo Yellow it can become a lovely, glowing orange.

Cobalt Blue (PB28 – Transparent)

Though I had previously used Ultramarine Blue, this little tube has become my number one go-to blue. It’s a deep and bright blue that can be used on its own to create shadows under objects or mixed with Terra Cotta to create a very balanced neutral gray. It can always provide the right tint to shadows in a snowy landscape, or more likely in my case, a dollop of whipped cream (be sure to always add a touch of yellow to whipped cream. Though paintings are always calorie-free, there’s a bit of fat there in reality and yellow helps add that bit of decadence).

Nickel Azo Yellow (PY150 – Transparent)

This color is created with one of the two pigments used in Da Vinci’s Quinacridone Gold, which I also enjoy. The color looks incredibly dark and not yellow at all in the pan and dilutes with water to create an impossibly sunny and bright yellow. It’s rather magical, so I have to admit that this is also part of the allure. I can also use it in a low to nearly no-water fashion to create depth and a darker, browner edge when I want a bit more outline to an area of my watercolor illustrations.

My Mixes, Or Finding My Da Vinci Moment

Here’s a little color wheel showing mixes you can get from this trio. Note, that since this isn’t a triad, you won’t be able to get a red/purple from this mix. My core triad is Cobalt Blue, Nickel Azo Yellow, and Quinacridone Red, which creates a very beautiful and balanced primary palette of all transparent colors, but lacks the punch to create deep, dark grays or blacks. That’s where Terra Cotta comes in and saves the day!

As for swatches, I swear I started with traditional swatches, but I was growing frustrated with the process. I’ve never actually made swatches before and began to wonder why. Perhaps it was painting inside the box or mostly it was because the usual approach requires drying time. I have the patience of a 5-year old child and rarely ever let my paint dry completely in my quick daily paintings. I work in a circular fashion to let bits sort of dry while working on others.

Painted Using Only My “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio

So, something about the usual swatch method just didn’t feel like a fit for me. I tried a couple times and both were messy failures. I felt like I was losing my marbles. Hey, wait?! That’s it! I’ll make some marbles instead!

My Watercolor Marble Mixing Chart

So, I invented this little alternative doodlewash approach to traditional swatches. This is based on something I actually do often, when I want a lightening quick test of new colors and/or combinations. Which is pretty much all of the time, given my short attention span. I make a quick circular outline of the marble by using less water and getting a more saturated version of the color for the exterior of the marble.

Then, I rinse my brush and wet the center with water creating a rough approximation of a marble, leaving bits of highlights as dry paper. After that, I quickly add bits of color, letting the watercolor do what it likes and popping in a shadow at the end with a wetter wash of a diluted version of whatever color mix was left on my brush. I used only one color, then made some marbles adding two colors, and then some more adding bits all three colors.

In just a few seconds, this quickly shows me how the color granulates, how it mixes with other colors, how it can perform to create shadows, and even how well highlights stand out in various color combinations for my shiny things. The entire full chart you’ll find below took less than 10 minutes, about 20 seconds a marble, but to my brain, at least, shows me all I need to know about the colors and how they might work together.

I went back in to be a bit more helpful and organized them with a color key below, in case we don’t all share the same brain. The first little box is the color I started with for the outline (in a more saturated lower water form) and a general idea of the amount of the other colors present that I quickly dropped into the wet wash in the middle and then diluted to create the shadow. One note, if the center is too dark, I just push the wet color out of the way towards the edge which creates an even stronger outline of the marble and lets me see how the pigments interact together). It’s also a lot of fun! And I always feel like I learn a bit more when I’m just messing about like a kid.

Charlie’s “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio – Two Color Mixes

What I love most about these particular colors is the depth and range you can get from using only two of them at a time. Nickel Azo Yellow in particular is like getting a few colors in one if you play with the less diluted version of the paint. The marbles on the bottom left and far right look like they have more than two colors in them, but it’s mostly Nickel Azo Yellow with just a bit of Cobalt Blue. In the middle far right, you can see an example of the shiny orange that happens when just a bit of Terra Cotta is added instead.

Charlie’s “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio – Three Color Mixes

When you mix all three, the fun really begins as the saturation boosts even a bit more and interesting and often subtle interactions take place. The top far left marble’s shadow begins to resemble the sand on the beach, while the top far right’s shadows reminds me of a beach at sunset. The middle far right ended up looking like a Superman marble so I just let it be. It does show the nice pairing of warm and cool colors, but mostly I love it because it looks like it once belonged to Superman.

Charlie’s “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio – Neutral Mixes

For the neutrals in this particular trio, I often only use Terra Cotta And Cobalt Blue to mix light and lovely grays. All three will mix to a brown, which can be useful, but also loses some of the transparency so I stick with just these two colors. Then I use very low water mixes of them to get either a brownish or a bluish black.

This provides the high-contrast look you see in many of my glass and metal illustrations. And though I use a sepia ink pen in my work, I can use this mix to add a quick black outline for effect when I’d like something to pop forward more or have a greater sense of contrast (yep, just with the same regular round pointy brush I was already using, hence the wiggly line work).

The feathered highlights in the lower left on the plate? My friend the paper towel. Used to quickly blot, lift and dry the paint before it bleeds to create a hard edge.

Charlie’s “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio – Watercolor Marble Mixing Chart

Here’s the full chart of my marble mixes and neutrals so you can see how it all looks together. This is admittedly a rather unique way to swatch color, but I hope you’ll find it helpful. To me, it really shows what these colors can do together and the fun mixes you can create!

Painting Other Shiny Happy Things

These three lovely Da Vinci watercolor tubes aren’t just for glass and metal, of course, they can be used to paint lots of other shiny happy things as well, from puppies to sunflowers. The sunflower is an example of the greens you can get from this palette. I typically use Leaf Green to get a very bright spring green, but Cobalt Blue and Nickel Azo Yellow mix to create a lovely natural sunny green color.

I’m rather found of painting food, and I use Terra Cotta and Nickel Azo Yellow often to create the crust of pies and even for corn flakes with bananas on top as shown below.

Lastly, I’m a huge lover of animals, particularly dogs. Yep, you can even use only my “Shiny” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio to create furry friends as well, from puppies to continental bulldogs. The “blacks” you can create in this trio are also great for border collies as well in achieving both the bluish black and brownish black found in their fur.

Not many dogs are purple, so the lack of a true red in this palette makes it work, but if you would like a bit more purple or lovely bright red, simply add a Da Vinci watercolor tube of Quinacridone Red and you’ll have a quattro palette that will allow you paint anything on the planet! (here’s an example of those 4 colors via a couple glasses of wine, which I’ll be enjoying now that we’re at the end of this post! For the record, it is in the evening that I’m writing this.)

Da Vinci Watercolor Trios Are Available Now!

Click Here To Buy My Trio And Make Your Own #DaVinciMoment!

I hope you enjoyed my overview of mixes in my “Shiny” trio and if you’d like to purchase a set for yourself, well now you can! Each trio is only $19.95 and includes a little brochure with information about the artist on the back and opens to reveal their mixing chart as a reference. My trio contains colors that would cost a quite a bit more if purchased separately, so it’s really a wonderful deal!

Also be sure to check out Tonya’s post and Jennifer’s post. They both share their gorgeous trios, and the wonderful art and mixes they created with them. For a limited time, we each receive a portion of sales, so thank you so much for supporting your fellow artists!

And also, for a limited time, these trios come with a sample of Hahnemühle Cézanne watercolor paper if you buy now! 

Whew, that was a lot to cover in one post! Hope you’ll love these new Da Vinci watercolor trio sets, hand-selected by artists. I can’t wait to see what you’ll make! Happy Painting!

Da Vinci Watercolor Trios are available now! Click Here To Buy Them ALL And Make Your Own #DaVinciMoment! 

Introducing Da Vinci Watercolor Trios! - Make a #DaVinciMoment with these new 8ml tube sets from a trio of artists! My own trio is available to purchase now! Check it out! #doodlewash #WorldWatercolorGroup #watercolor #watercolour Great ideas are happening at Da Vinci Paint Company! I'm so thrilled to share with you an awesome project that I've been working on with Marcello there, to kick off an upcoming line of 8ml Da Vinci watercolor tubes (adding to the collection of 15ml and 37ml watercolor tubes).

[im-too-old-for-bts]

Instincts (Taehyung X Reader Oneshot)

Pairings: Taehyung X Reader

Genre: Smut, bit of angst i guess

Word Count: 3670

Summary: While Jin seems oblivious to your attempts at flirting, someone else has definitely taken notice...

AN: To the fellow noona who requested this particular topic: why do you hurt me so? Please have some consideration for my poor nerves. Seriously though, thank you so much for this request! This was such a nice topic and seeing as my patronus is Kim Taehyung I had no choice but to start with this one. I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

“It’s in my room. You should come see it.”

Your eyes widen at Jin’s words, the knife in your hand frozen above the fruit on the chopping board on the counter before you.

Sitting on a stool across the counter from you, Jungkook pauses with a chip halfway to his mouth, his eyes darting to yours.

On the couch behind him, Jimin’s head whips around to look at you and out of the corner of your eye Taehyung emerges from the fridge, a bottle of water in one hand and an amused look on his face.

Was it finally happening? After months of flirting, was Jin finally making a move?

Your eyes shoot between Jungkook’s open-mouthed stare and Jimin’s look of disbelief. Behind you, you can feel Taeyhyung’s gaze boring a hole into the back of your head.

The three of them were the only ones who knew about your feelings for Jin.

Well, to be honest, the three of them were the only ones who were unashamed to openly speak to you about your feelings for Jin. To your embarrassment, everyone else seemed just as knowledgeable about your feelings – everyone, that is, except Jin.

“Noona, you have to be a little more…” Jimin had said one day after you had tried particularly hard to catch Jin’s attention.

“Aggressive,” Jungkook had finished promptly.

“Aggressive?” you had repeated, awkwardly lowering yourself down to the couch, your tight dress not leaving much room for anything other than the occasional breath. “Look what I’m wearing. The only way this could be more aggressive was if it transparent.”

“Noona, I don’t know why you don’t just ask him out,” Taehyung had said  as he had settled down next to you on the couch.

“Oh, my sweet, beautiful child,” you had sighed, reaching up to run your fingers lovingly across the smooth, warm skin of his cheek. “So young. So naïve.”

“You’re only a couple of years older than us,” Taehyung had said, trying to bite at your hand. “The truth is you’re just too scared to ask him out, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you had admitted, pulling your hand away from Taehyung’s snapping teeth. “So I’ll just do what I always do: stare at the person I’m attracted to until they become uncomfortable.”

“Just be yourself, noona” Jimin had said, trying not to smile. “I’m sure he’ll realize what’s going on soon enough.”

That had been pretty solid advice. The only problem was, over the past two years that you had gotten to know the guys you’d only ever been yourself. You had first met them after you had moved into their apartment building.

You had been working as an au pair for the family that lived next door to them and you had seen them several times around the building.

The first few times had been incredibly harrowing. At first you had only seen Namjoon and Jin. The two of them alone had been enough to set you on edge. By the time you realized there were seven of them wandering around, you were barely clinging to sanity.

How were you supposed to concentrate on work when you kept bumping into seven unfairly attracted men as you begged a screaming three-year old not to pee on someone’s welcome mat? Luckily, they had all turned out to be incredibly friendly. And since you were all so close in age, you had instantly gotten along with all of them. You had made friends with Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung first, mostly due to Taehyung’s uncanny ability with children. It was thanks to him that several urine-related disasters had been avoided.

But Jin was the one that had caught your eye. He had been especially easy to get along with. It only took two conversations and one movie night with the guys for you to dive headlong into a crush. At first you had attempted to ignore your attraction to him. But as time passed and your friendship with the guys grew, so did your attraction to Jin.

When you had finally made a concentrated effort to start flirting with him, it had been a train wreck.

“Painful to watch,” Taehyung often said. “Just painful. Both of you are so inept. It’s like a train wreck happening on top of another train wreck.”

“And then a giant boulder falling on the two wrecks,” Jungkook had helpfully added.

“Yes, thank you,” you had said tightly to them. “Now that we know what it looks like, how do we make it better?”

The three youngest were the only ones you felt comfortable enough to talk to about this. It was difficult to feel embarrassed around them, given their boundless enthusiasm for just about everything. Jungkook and Jimin were especially eager to help; Taehyung less so.

He would often just sit and listen to you speak, an amused look on his face. He was also always ready to dole out wildly unhelpful advice.

“You make it better by scrapping the whole thing and moving to a new track,” Taehyung had said with a shrug. “New track, new train, new possibilities.”

“No, don’t listen to him,” Jimin had said, shooting Taehyung a look. “He’s just being funny.”

  “Let’s go have a look,” Jin says, climbing to his feet.

Your thoughts snap back to the present and you put the knife down as calmly as possible. You ignore the thrilled look Jungkook shoots Jimin and you follow Jin down the passage and into his room.

You’re grateful that Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi aren’t here to witness this. Any of the three of them would probably have been able to tell you exactly what to do to grab Jin’s attention. But they were too respectful to just butt in with unsolicited advice, and you were too embarrassed to ask them about it.

Who keeps a cookbook in their room? You wonder, excitement beginning to bubble in your stomach. Surely it was just an excuse to get you alone? What would he do when you got alone? Make a dramatic declaration while pushing you up against the closed door?

Your mind cycles pleasantly through the many scenarios you had envisioned happening between the two of you. Jin throwing you on the bed and ravishing you; Jin ripping your clothes off and pushing you onto the floor; Jin’s naked body as he-

Your unfocused gaze ambles up to Jin’s face where he gives you an impatient look from the doorway to his room.

“Quickly,” he says softly and your heart skips several beats.

When you get into the room Jin closes the door with a snap and gives you a serious look, his back to the door. Your mind begins to fog over as he steps closer to you. You can see the fine hair of his eyelashes and your lips part slightly in anticipation of the coming kiss.

Oh god, it’s happening.

“I need to hide it from Yoongi,” Jin mutters, stepping around you and kneeling before his bookshelf.

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering closed.

Wait, what?

The foggy, tense excitement you’re feeling melts away and your eyes fly open just in time to see Jin pull a large cookbook out from the bottom shelf and take it to the bed.

“He’s a really good cook and if he gets his hands on this he’ll threaten my reputation as the best chef in the house,” Jin says, setting the book on his lap and patting the bed next to him. “Come see. This book is amazing.”

You move slowly to the bed and sit down stiffly next to Jin. Heat floods your face, but Jin is too absorbed in the book to notice. He moves half it onto your lap so you can get a better view.

“Okay,” he says, starting from the beginning. “Look at this. It begins with a little story about the author.”

Twenty minutes later you walk out of Jin’s room with your face still pink and a feeling of hopeless mortification slithering through your body.

Of course he wasn’t taking you to his room to have his dirty way with you. He really did just want to show you that stupid cookbook.

The only reason you had managed to escape the room was to tell him you needed the bathroom. Considering how slowly he had been paging through the book and how excited he had been to show you all the recipes, you would probably still be awkwardly sitting there several hours from now if you hadn’t made an excuse to leave.

When you had said you needed the bathroom Jin had responded with an absent, “hmm,” his full attention on a new recipe he had come across.

“I can do this,” you had heard him mumble under his breath when you had left the room. “I’ll need to check the ingredients and see if…”

You had closed the door softly and had taken a deep, rattling breath as you stood staring morosely down the passageway.

You didn’t want to return to the kitchen, not yet. You’d have to tell Jungkook and Jimin about what had happened and you could already see the barely-contained laughter on their faces.

Instead, you head for the nearest open door and collapse onto the bed before you. The room is neat and there’s a familiar, pleasant smell in the air but you can’t place it. You roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. “Fuck me,” you whisper to yourself.

Clearly there was a lot about this situation that you needed to re-evaluate.

“Noona?” You lift your head slightly off the pillow and see Taehyung enter the room. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Dying,” you respond bleakly, your head lolling back against the pillow and your gaze back on the ceiling.

Taehyung closes the door quietly and moves to lie down next to you on the bed, the pleasant smell suddenly becoming much stronger.

“That bad, huh?” he says, his gaze on the ceiling too. “Was it too much spit? Hyung looks like he’d be a spitty kisser.”

“No,” you say with a sigh. “I mean, I don’t know. He could be a spitty kisser. But I didn’t get a chance to find out.”

“Just went straight to business?” he asks, looking surprised. “I would not have guessed that from Jin-hyung.”

“Not that either,” you mumble.

Taehyung stills. “Are you telling me he actually showed you a cookbook?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” you can hear from Taehyung’s voice that the amused look is back on his face.

“I’m just going to leave it,” you say, closing your eyes. “It’s just not meant to be. He’s the wrong tree and I’m definitely the wrong dog.”

“Jungkook and Jimin are going to try to convince you to keep going,” Taehyung says. “They’ll say you just have to try a little harder.”

“No, fuck that,” you mutter, turning your head to look at him. After a second he turns his head to return your look. “You’re not going to try to convince me, though?”

“Nope,” he says, giving you a smile that could melt a glacier. “I never thought the two of you would make a good couple.”

“I thought we did,” you say miserably. “Right tree, right dog. Turns out…”

“Wrong tree, wrong dog,” Taehyung finishes, amusement back in his voice. “Don’t worry, your tree is out there and it’s closer than you think. Too bad you don’t have the best instincts when it comes to romance or you might have found it by now.”

“How dare you,” you say, reaching up to flick his nose. “I have the best instincts about all the romantic crap.”

Taehyung catches your hand as you move it back down to your side.

“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, bringing your hand up to his mouth and kissing the back of it.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the goose bumps that erupt over your arms at the feeling of his soft, warm lips against your skin.

You needed to pull yourself together. Taehyung was just being is normal, flirty self and you were being oversensitive.

“Is that to try to make me feel better?” you ask drily. “Because even a kiss from a prince charming like you won’t magically transform this awkward situation.”

Taehyung chuckles, his mouth still close enough to your hand that you can feel his lips brush softly against your skin. “So dramatic,” he says. “I wanted to show you how bad your instincts were.”

Your brows furrow together. “How does that sho-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Taehyung’s mouth leave the back of your hand and he takes one of your fingers and slowly slides it into his mouth.

Your mouth falls open as your body leaps to respond. The feeling of Taehyung’s warm tongue slowly sliding over your finger makes the muscles below your waist reflexively clench and the neat little room suddenly feels very hot and small.

“Taehyung,” you begin your voice slightly deeper than normal and a slight note of panic in your voice. You clear your throat lightly and try again, your eyes glued to the way your finger emerges wetly from his mouth.

“Tae,” you say, only this time your voice is even lower and instead of more words coming out of your mouth, your tongue darts out and you lick your lips, staring at his lips until your fingertip emerges slowly from his mouth.

Yes, noona?” he asks, shifting closer to you.

“We should…” you trail off as Taehyung leans forward, his nose rubbing softly over yours and his mouth almost painfully close to yours.

“What should we do?” he asks, his lips pressing softly against yours.

“Not… like…”

“Not like that?” he murmurs, pressing his mouth harder against yours. “Like this?”

The tip of his tongue teases its way between your lips and when it slowly slides it into your mouth you give up all rational thought and throw your arms around his neck, propelling yourself forward and tighter against his body.

Taehyung rolls you onto your back and stretches out on top of you, his mouth moving hotly over yours. After a few moments he sits up suddenly, breaking the kiss and causing you to let out a small noise of protestation.

“Do you like kissing me, noona?” he asks, looking down at you while he unbuttons your shirt.

“God help me, yes,” you say breathlessly. Taehyung’s fingers brush against your stomach as he undoes your shirt. “You’re undressing me,” you say, blinking up at him. “Why?”

“Right tree,” he says with a smirk. “Right dog.”

“Tae,” you whisper, reality biting at you. “I just got massively rejected by someone. If we do this, it will be like I’m taking advantage of you. Like I’m desperately looking for any sort of… anything… from anyone.”

“I’ve spent the last two years desperately looking for any sort of anything from you,” Taehyung replies softly. “If anyone’s taking advantage of what’s happened, it’s me.”

His fingers pause on your buttons. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your eyes stay locked on his and you hold your breath as your mind races through the possibilities of what was about to happen.

“No,” you eventually breathe, colour seeping back into your cheeks.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Taehyung sighs, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck. “I knew from the first moment I saw you that if anyone was going to be with you, it was going to be me.”

He finishes unbuttoning your shirt and his hands move slowly up and down your torso.

“I kept hoping Jin-hyung wouldn’t notice you flirting with him,” he whispers into your neck, his hands cupping around your breasts. You sigh at the feeling of his long fingers grazing softly over your nipples. “And he never did. I’m glad I’m the one that gets to see if my theory is true.”

“Theory?” you breathe, your skin starting to tingle as Taehyung’s lips begin to move slowly from your neck and down to your chest.

“Theory, yes,” he says, nuzzling your nipple through the thing material of your bra. “My theory is that you are someone who is very loud in bed.”

Taehyung’s tongue begins to lap slowly over your nipple through the fabric of your bra. “Am I right?” he asks, his tongue hot on your breast. “Are you loud?”

“No,” you sigh, your fingers lacing through his hair.

Taehyung suddenly clamps down on your nipple and you cry out, your back arching slightly.

“Such lies,” he says with a tut as he reaches under you to unclasp your bra and deftly pulls it off. He leans forward to run his tongue directly over your peak. “I’m going to make it very hard for you to keep quiet and I’m going to enjoy watching you struggle.”

Taehyung lifts his head and meets your eye, a mischievous look on his face. “Remember, noona, Jin-hyung is in the next room.  Don't scream if you don't want him to find out.”

Taehyung’s attention turns to your other nipple and you wrap your legs around his waist. “You think quite highly of your skills if you think you can make me scream,” you observe, your eyes closed as you savour the feeling of Taehyung’s mouth on you. He bites down on your nipple and this time you’re prepared, only letting out a muted groan when he does it.

“Very sneaky,” he murmurs, sitting up. He shifts away from you slightly to tug his shirt over his head but you stop him.

“Let me,” you say, sitting up. Taehyung’s grip on his shirt immediately loosens and he slips off the bed, pulling you to your feet with him.

For a second you feel self-conscious standing topless before him, but he leans forward and kisses you softly and electric desire pushes all other thoughts out of your mind. You pull his shirt over his head and immediately pull him back into a kiss, eager to feel his warm chest pressed against yours.

Your hands move down his body to his belt where you slowly begin to undo it. You pull away from the kiss to look down at your hands. It was like unwrapping a gift. Excitement begins to build feverishly in your body as you undo his belt and undo the button of his jeans open.

When you fingers secure around the zipper you look up at him, holding his gaze as you slowly pull it down. Taeyhyung’s breathing is heavy and a dark, heated look is on his face.

You move your hands to his hips and slowly push both his pants and underwear down. He steps out of them and you move your hand to slide slowly down his stomach and over his erection.

He sucks in a breath and watches as your hand flutters over him. His body is wiry and hard and your hands roam over his warm skin, tracing along his abodment and circling around his back to press him against you again.

His mouth is immediately back on yours and you push your hips against his, eager to feel his dick near your sensitive core. With his mouth still on yours, Taehyung pushes down your skirt and underwear and you kick them hurriedly away before rocking your hips against his.

Taehyung’s mouth moves up to your ear and you use the opportunity to press his dick between your legs, letting it lie heavy against your core.

You moan softly as you begin to rock against it, feeling his hard shaft just about rubbing against your clit.

Taehyung’s fingers dig into your hips and he moves you back to the bed, settling heavily on top of you.

“I can feel how wet you are,” he whispers into your ear and you angle your hips up to give him better access as he continues to massage your clit with his dick. “I bet I can make you come like this.”

“I’ll take that bet,” you respond breathlessly, your fingers pressing into his back and your eyes closed. “But you can’t use your fingers and you can’t go inside me, not yet.”

“Deal,” he murmurs. “Now what will I get if I win?”

“What do you want?” you ask, your toes starting to curl.

You knew you were going to come, but you had to at least try to make him work for it. Although, if negotiations took any longer the deal might be over before it even began.

“You,” he responds, biting at your earlobe. “You go on a date with me.”

“What?” you say, your eyes opening and your hips stilling. Taehyung’s hips stop moving too and he pulls back a little to look at you.

“A date,” he says with a shrug.

“Really?” you ask in disbelief. “A date? With me? Really?”

“Yes,” he says, amused. “Deal?”

When you don’t immediately respond Taehyung rolls his hips against you and the head of his cock slips deliciously over your clit.

“Ah, fuck,” you gasp, already resigning yourself to it losing this bet. “Yes, it’s a deal.”

“Good,” he says with a grin, his hands slipping down to your thighs to open your legs wider.

“Okay but what do I get if I make you come in the next minute?” Taehyung asks, his dick slipping away from your core as he looks up at you.

“Taehyung,” you groan loudly and he chuckles.

“Yes, just like that. See, I knew you were loud in bed. So if I make you come in the next minute you not only go out with me but scream my name as loud as you can, okay?”

Your disagreement is on the tip of your tongue but just as you’re about to say it, Taehyung’s hips roll hard against yours and his dick slides over your clit at just the right angle.

All thoughts evaporate from your mind and all words except one – a name – disappears from your vocabulary as white-hot pleasure crashes almost painfully through your body.

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