#like i could literally open a canvas and just stare at it for hours or constantly lose focus on the artpiece—

[roboyomo]

i did pretty good today ^_^ actually drew some solid artpieces for my art blog layout without having troubles focusing and without constantly standing up from my desk and pacing around the room,, , it still happened a Couple of times but not a lot so i'm pretty proud of myself for being able to do anything today :]

[twistyfish]

prompt~ rafayel fluff -> angst where he’s rude and apologizes after. requested by anon!

“Why did you paint my acne scars so clearly?”

“Because they’re on your face!”

While you were normally impressed by Rafayel’s attention to detail, today it was making you very self conscious. “Was there really a reason to include them, though? They’re temporary marks that aren’t a part of me. And you literally drew the individual pores on my nose- Raf, this is so unflattering.”

“Quit micromanaging me. Art isn’t supposed to judge itself, you know.”

You huffed at his response. “But art is supposed to be pretty. This is not pretty. It’s uncanny. It looks too much like me, I don’t like it.”

He chuckled. “You don’t like that the portrait I’m painting of you looks like you? You’re so interesting, cutie.”

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

He didn’t turn his head, but his gaze flitted to meet yours before returning to the canvas. “Just trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

You watched the brush flutter around the canvas like moth wings, leaving intricate strokes in its wake. As Rafayel became more engrossed in his process, you left him to work and went out with a few girls from your team.

You had a nice time catching up with them and getting coffee. Well, two of you got coffee and Tara got hot chocolate.

When you returned a few hours later, he was staring at the painting with a look of intense scrutiny. You walked up to him quietly.

A little too quietly, because when you put a hand on his shoulder, he tensed and his paintbrush created a small splotch on the canvas mid-stroke.

“Oh! I’m sorr-“ you started, but he cut you off.

“Are you kidding me? I just finished painting that section.”

Your heart sank a little. You felt genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I don’t care what you meant to do. You ruined it. There’s a huge smudge over the nose.” His shoulders were tense, and he was holding himself more rigidly than he had been when you left.

“Raf, I think you should take a break.”

“Oh, so just because I’m upset that you interfered with my painting, I’m being irrational?”

“That’s not what I-“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. The spot where you made me mess up is right on top of the part you didn’t like. If you’re that insecure, you shouldn’t have asked me to paint you.”

Your mouth opened slightly. “What?” You said harshly.

“You heard me. Why ask me to paint your face if you’re going to criticize me every step of the way?”

“Stop. I accidentally startled you and you made a mistake because of it. Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging your painting because of that?”

“Maybe.”

You stared at him blankly. “I can’t believe you.”

“I can’t believe you either.”

You shook your head and picked up your bag, walking toward the exit. You weren’t going to argue with him like this.

Your mind spun. Why was he acting like this?

Fortunately, he seemed to come to his senses fast because you didn’t even make it halfway home before the phone rang. You accepted the call half heartedly.

“Hey,” his voice rang through the phone.

“Hi,” you said with a flat tone.

“I’m a dick.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have called you insecure and I shouldn’t have accused you of anything. I’m the one who messed up.”

“It’s not a huge deal, but yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

“No, it was unnecessary. And what I said about me not painting you? That was stupid. I love painting you. I would paint you all day if I could. I can’t capture your likeness perfectly, but trying to recreate that radiance makes me so, so happy.”

Your lips spread into a smile hearing that. “Really?”

“Really. I got too defensive over my art of you, but that wasn’t cool because I snapped at the real you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Raf. I forgive you.”

“Yay!”

[shelbgrey]

Doing Something unholy (Benedict Bridgerton)

Paring: Benedict Bridgerton x Wife!Reader

Summary: Benedict wants help with one of his "art projects"

Warrings: SMUT! Riding, getting dirty with paint both metaphorically and literally, unprotected sex, painting body parts, praise kink, dirty talk, married couple.

MasterList ML2

Benedict had been locked in his room for hours, I was missing my husband and getting bored of hearing yet another story about Colin's travels. As much as I loved him, I couldn't take much more. I excused myself from the conversation with my brother-in-laws and walked down the hallway where I knew Benedict would be doing his painting.

I opened the door quietly. I smiled when I peaked around the corner, even in his most comfortable state he was the most handsome I've ever seen. He was wearing nothing but his ruffled white shirt, the collar open wide to reveal most of his chest and his suspenders were sitting somewhat loose on his shoulders. His gray eyes staring intently on his canvas as his hand moved the brush with expertise.

I came up behind the stool he was sitting on and my lips found his cheek. He turned his head slightly, catching my lips before they could make contact with his skin then returned to his work.

“don't let me distract you, My Love” I whispered as my hands found the opening of the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel his warm skin against mine even if it was just the palm of my hand.

“You always know how to distract me, Mrs. Bridgerton” he says softly as the brush continues to move gracefully across the canvas.

“Me?” I kissed his jaw as my palms moved down his bare chest. “never”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. His eyes never leave the canvas as he continues to paint, but his body leaned into my touch. “Mmm... I beg to differ, darling”

“Mhm” my fingers hooked on to the suspenders on his shoulder and pulled them down so they hung from his pants. “Just keep painting... I won't distract you” I said softly against his neck. I kissed the skin where his jaw and neck met as I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, my hands still brushing up and down his chest as I stood behind him.

His breath hitches as my lips meet his skin, fingers tightening on the brush for a moment. He releases a slow breath, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Darling…” His voice is husky, just a little rough, like his warning me even though he knows it'll be ignored.

“Yes, my love?” I asked innocently.

He turns his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “You may think you're not being a distraction, but you got that look on your face… that naughty one, my dear”

“I don't know what you're talking about” I smiled. I placed my hand on his jaw, turning his face towards me. The paintbrush falls to the floor with a clink as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling into his lap I set sideways on just one of his knees as his other hand reaches up to cup my cheek, staining my skin with the leftover paint on his fingers. “Oh, I think you do”

Our noses brush against each other as he cupped my cheek. I shivered when I felt the cool liquid of the paint touch my cheek. He smirks, his thumb brushing gently against the smear of paint. “It seems like I've left a little something on you”

I shook my head playfully, knowing the dirty thoughts that were probably circling his mind after that little inuwindo. I reached for the paint that was on the table next to us and dipped my finger tips into the liquid. I gave him a playfully smile as I smeared some paint on his bare chest to get him back for the mess he made on my cheek.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. his eyes watched me intently as the paint marks appeared on his chest. His free hand reached up and grabbed mine, making a paint blotch on his skin as he pressed our hands to his chest. A small smile playing on his lips. “You're a messy one, aren't you?”

“When it comes to you” I said softly, cupping his jaw and kissing him softly as more paint got stained his jaw.

The softness of the moment only broke when he pulled back, his breath slightly ragged as he looked at the smeared paint on my cheek and neck. “you want to try something... New?” He murmurs, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

I nodded softly, pressing my forehead against his. “Like what, My love?” I asked, slipping my hand under the unbuttoned white shirt that he was still wearing, showing the rest of his torso.

His breath hitches, he leans in and whispers against my lips. “I want to paint with you, use our bodies to do it”

I couldn't miss the sexual undertone and the sparkle in his eyes. The idea of our nude bodies in paint and rolling around, making an abstract design did something to me in a way I couldn't explain. We weren't strangers to trying new things in our sex life. I pressed my lips to his and nodded. In the corner of my eye I could see a huge piece of paper lying on the floor of his studio.

He presses a quick passionate kiss to my lips then pulls away with intensity. “Take your clothes off” He commands softly, the thought of getting covered in paint together turning him on.

I get up from his lap and pull my dress down, letting it pool to the floor. His eyes roam over my corset-clad body with nothing but intensity and admiration. He stands up and begins to remove his shirt. In a rushed pace, revealing his toned chest and arms.

His gray eyes stared at me with hunger as I quickly untied the corset and threw it to an unknown place in the room, leaving me completely bare to him. His breath hitches, taking in the sight of my nude form. He blindly picks up a large paintbrush, his eyes never leaving mine. “Lie down on the canvas, face up” instructs, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes, sir” I said softly, I placed a kiss on his lips before walking over the large piece of paper on the ground and layed down on it like I was told.

Benedict's breath catching at the sight of my bare body against the canvas. He reaches for a container of paint and dips the brush in, approaching the canvas. “You're so beautiful, so perfect”

I spread my legs slightly and let my arms lay above my head, watching him kneel between my legs with lust in my eyes. my eyes fluttered closed, moaning at the feeling of the cold liquid hitting my burning skin. He paints swirls and thick layers around my breasts, belly, and thighs. As he paints, he occasionally dips his fingers in paint and runs it over my skin. My eyes fluttered closed and my brain short circuited at feeling the cool liquid against my flesh, all I could focus on was him.

The brush glided over my nipples and down my stomach. He reaches for another container of paint, a deeper shade of purple. “Open your legs wider” He instructs softly.

He paints a large, thick swirling against my inner thighs, the purple paint standing out against our pale skin. He then sets the brush down and runs his finger tips over my skin. “So beautiful” He murmurs, our eyes locked as his hands travel up the inside of my thigh.

“Ben…” I moaned softly, feeling my stomach tighten from the pleasure. I wanted to squeeze my thighs together for some sorta friction, feeling myself getting wetter for him. My hips arched and a sinful noise was forced from my lips as his fingers brushed through my folds, gathering the juices before teasing my clit with a thin, delicate touch. “So wet for me already”

I moaned softly, arching my hips up instinctively as His hands ran over my burning cheek. He smirked, watching me squirm on the canvas. “You're so beautiful... I'm going to give you a final touch here”

“Benedict” moaned softly.

“Yes, my love? Shall we continue?” He asks, his voice soothing yet dominating and teasing.

“Y-yes” I tested his patience by quickly flipping us on the canvas. I pushed him gently to his back and I straddled his hips.

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise as he registered he was on the canvas now, flat on his back. He looks around at the canvas, smirking as he layed in the center. “What are you doing, love?” He asks, his voice slightly breathless.

He watched intently as I dipped my fingers in the paint and slowly made a stroke of red from his collarbone and down his chest. I could feel his heart racing with anticipation under the tips of my fingers as the red paint trails down his chest, he can't help but let out a soft gasp. “Fuck,” He breathes, his hands squeezing my paint stained hips. “Keep going”

He lets out a sharp intake of breath as my fingers slowly brushed from his neck and down to one of his nipples. Benedict's back arched off the canvas as his gray eyes stared into mine. He huffs and before I knew it he was setting up and I remained in his lap. I moaned against his lips, kissing him roughly as I blindly took a glob of paint and ran both of my hands down his back, gripping his shoulders. My nails dug into the back of his shoulders when I felt his erection poking against my aching core, I instinctively rock my hips.

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving, his eyes holding a feral gaze. “Enough games” He growls, the grip on my hips tighten as pressed his erection against my slick folds. “bloody hell”

I threw my head back in pleasure as he suddenly buried himself inside me. I let out a moan, arching my hips as the paint on our skin mixed, creating a messy, beautiful scene.

“Benedict!” I moaned. He thrusts roughly, his need and desire filling every movement. The paint on our bodies mixes and smears on the canvas beneath us, creating a masterpiece worthy of the love between the artist and his muse. “Fuck, you're so tight, love”

I moaned at the fast pace he set, I placed my hands on his chest, leaving handprints all over his skin as I tried to keep balance. I rocked my hips at a rough, rushed pace. I moaned his name like a prayer.

“I can't get enough of you, Darling” Benedict groans possessively. I moaned and cried his name as he continued to thrust and rock our bodies together like a mad man. His pace unrelenting as he claimed my body without missing a movement. Paint mixed with our sweat, leaving trails of color on our skin and the canvas beneath. “Stay with me, y/n... Fuck me back”

“Benedict” I moaned desperately, rolling my hips, riding him at a fast pace. “oh, God” I moaned out, lifting my hips up so only his tip remained then swiftly setting myself back down, so I felt every inch of him.

He growls, he blindly dips his hand in paint then grip on your hips, making the cold liquid smear over my hips and back as his hips moved with mine, driving himself deeper, hitting every spot that had me seeing stars. The scene before us became an abstract explosion of passion, paint and sweat.

“God, Benny!” I moaned, rocking my hips and trying to keep up with his thrusts. My head falls back in pleasure as every inch of him stretches me out and his tip repeatedly hits my g-spot.

“You feel so good, Darling, so perfect” Benedict's voice was thick, husky against my neck. Every word was filled with his desire and lust. Our hands never stop roaming over each other, leaving trails of color and feeling wherever he could touch. My cry of pleasure encouraged his movements to become more urgent.

Feeling of our hot bodies and the cold paint that covered us consumed me with pleasure. It was something that felt so good but scandalous even for a married couple. I didn't care, it felt too good to stop now. The sinful activities was for our eyes only and all that mattered was the two of us. I moaned and cried out his name like it was the only thing in knew. I arched my hips as the knot in my stomach got dangerously tight with pleasure.

There's something wildly intoxicating about the act. Benedict's hand wrapped around the back of my neck with his painted covered hand and pressed our lips together and swiftly flipped our bodies, pressing my paint covered back to the abstracted canvas.

I moaned, tugging at his hair as I sunk underneath his body. I arched my hips off the canvas, the mixture of paint and our releases making the paper stick to our skin. I let out a high pitched moan, my head falling back in pleasure against the canvas

“Benedict... B-ben I'm close” I moaned desperately.

His hips bucked, the pace became faster and more urgent. He nipped at my ear lobe, whispering. “Come for me Darling” his voice was like a siren call, pulling me into the depth of pleasure that was him.

I dug my nails into his back as my walls clenched around him. I wrap my legs around his waist, pushing him deeper Inside me. My body arches, our body pressed firmly together, leaving no space between us and allowing the paint on our skin to become one.

shivers went down my spine. He thrust harder and deeper, his eyes locked with mine as pushes me over the edge. “I want to see you fall apart for me” He said, his voice strained and desire glowing in his eyes.

I let out a sinful moan, digging my nails into his shoulders as our eyes locked. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make the knot in my stomach snap. I held on to him tightly like he was the only thing keeping from slipping away. I arched my hips as I came, my orgasm drowning me in pleasure “Benedict!”

He growled low, as I convulsed around him triggering his release. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, kissing and biting at my skin as he rode his orgasm out. His hips kept bucking until we were both spent. “Christ you're beautiful”

I moaned softly, feeling the mixture of our releases pool in between my thighs and onto the canvas. He carefully pulled, leaving me moaning at the emptiness I felt. A satisfying smile spread across his face as his softening member left my warmth. He looked down at the canvas and saw the mess we made, the paint and our releases creating an abstract art piece.

“I'm going to clean you up, Darling,” Benedict said softly and carried me to the bathroom. He filled up the tub with hot water. Then sat down gently into the water, I sighed constantly as the warm water kissed my skin. Benedict slowly sat himself behind me in the water and began to wash the paint and our releases off my skin gently. “We make quite the mess, don't we?” He said, smiling against my shoulder as he kissed it lovingly.

“we always do one way or another” It was always something with us, we still haven't told violet about the couch we broke. Luckily Anthony was able to find an identical one to replace it before their mother found out.

He chuckled as he continued to run the washcloth over my skin. His fingers gently massaging my spent muscles as he cleaned the remaining paint off. “And I wouldn't change it for the world”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“when did you do that?” Anthony asked, looking at the large abstract canvas that was now hanging in Benedict's room.

“the other day” Benedict said as anthony got closer to the piece of art. His eyes squinted and he tilted his head, studding the odd canvas.

Colin added “since when do you do abstract art? It's quite large too”

“trying something new” Benedict said, glancing up at his two brothers for a moment. He tried to hide his smirk at the thought of the process it took to make the piece.

“is that a hand print?” colin asked, he got closer and stared at all the random blotches and strokes. “it's too small to be yours-oh...” he stepped back and Anthony turned his head to benedict, smirking. “oh you didn't, brother you sly-”

“a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell” Benedict said, cutting off Anthony's teasing. “oh, but brothers don't keep secrets” Colin added, raising an eyebrow.

“carriages, canvases... Can nothing stay innocent in this family?” Anthony asked, shaking his head at his little brothers.

[spooky-bunnys]

This is a special prompt for a close and sick friend of mine. Or my god as I like to call him lol. Here you go, enjoy Romie! @rome-alone I even did it with mermaids since I know you love them so much! Here's your husband Smiley lol

Smiley huffed again. Watching the male on stage go on and on. He had been assigned by Kisaki and Mikey, to go to tonights auction since apparently a rare treasure was gonna sold tonight. His bosses were interested about the treasure so to speak. So here he was, watching the male in charge blabbering on stage.

Smiley rolld his eyes and looked at his surroundings. To his surprise, there wasn't as many gangsters or gang lords as he thought there'd be. He figured the place would be full of greedy people. But no, there was barely anyone here. Maybe the rare treasure was just a rumor.

Smiley looked at his watch checking the time. He's been here for over an hour already. He was getting extremely bored, since this wasn't like his usual assignments. He turned back to the stage seeing a piece of so called art on stage. It didn't look like art in his opinion. It looked like someone sneezed colors all over a canvas and called it a day.

This continued on for almost another hour. Before his attention was caught by a large object being rolled onto the stage. His thoughts were cut off from the male on stage, explaining that this is the last object up for bid. Smiley didn't think much off it. Until the cover was removed from the object.

It was a tank full of water, and a male with a tail?! Smiley opened his eyes. Shocked that there was a literal mermaid on stage. He stared at the male. He was absolutely breath taking. His beautifully long (hair color) hair. His creamy skin. His amazing (color) tail and fins.

He actually looked quite familiar. That was until his eyes meet the mermaids. (Eye color) eyes filled with fear. Smiley knew those eyes, he just didn't remember where from. That's when he saw the shell necklace around his neck. It was then he remembered who that was.

He was given a matching necklace when he was only just a kid. He remembers making friends with a resident on an island. He can't remember the name of the island, but he remembers going there for a vacation. A lot of the kids on the island didn't like him or his brother. But there was one incredibly sweet boy they met.

He would play with them, and didn't treat them any differently. Smiley had developed a crush on the male, but he knew it wouldn't last. At least that's what he thought. But now that he's staring back into the eyes that was so bright, now filled with nothing but pure fear. He lost his smile. His staring was interrupted by the male on stage slapping the tank.

Frightening the trapped mermaid even more. "Hey! Off the glass! Now for the final object for auction, we have this rare male mermaid. He was found off the coast of (Island name). Now let's start the bidding at let's say, hmm 25 million?" The mermaid squeezed himself in the corner of the tank. Trying to hid himself and not see the way they were looking at him.

Smiley felt his heart break. He raised his hand, letting the male on stage know he was bidding. That had started a war within the auction house. The price for the mermaid raising rapidly. Smiley could feel his chest tighten at the thought of someone else winning the auction. He refused to let them win.

"1 BILLION!" He stood up, hand high in the air. Eyes completely open, smile not anywhere on his face. The room was silent. Everyone's Jaws on the floor when they saw who had bid. Kawata "Smiley" Nahoya. An executive of Toman. The fourth executive if they remembered correctly.

The male on stage looked like he had won the lottery. Smiling widely and laughing loudly. "Anyone else? 1 Billion going once. Twice. SOLD!" He felt like the air had finally been returned to his lungs. Smiley grinned and made his way to the stave. Everyone just watched him, confused on why he'd pay so much for the mermaid.

Once he made it on stage, he could completely see him. The way he was trembling. Trying to make himself as small as he could in the corner of the tank. It broke him. He bent down and carefully placed his hand on the Gass. "Hey. It's okay. I'm gonna get you out of here okay? I won't let anything hurt you again."

The mermaid made a trill sound and slowly placed a hand against the other side. Smiley nodded and turned to the man leading the auction house. "Can I take him now?" The said male shook his head before walking close to them. "I need payment first before you can leave with him." Smiley rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. After a few clicks he turned to the male.

"Alright. I sent it to the auctions account. Now I'm taking my prize and leaving." He motioned one of the guard forward. Explaining how he wanted the male delivered to his house. Giving him the address before motioning another forward. "I need you to go and get the best tank. Along with whatever else a mermaid would need."

When he made it to his and his brother mansion, he expected the guards to already be there. But to his surprise his brother was pacing on their front steps. He paused confused and slightly concerned. "Souya what's going on?" The younger twin turned and began explaining, how a guard had showed up with a male wearing nothing but a necklace and covered with a blanket.

He then went on to explain how he had sent the guard away. "Nahoya what exactly did you do at that auction house?" His brother demanded. Smiley gave off his signature grin. "I saved an old friend of ours." He held up the necklace and Souya's face lit up. "The male was wearing that exact necklace!"

Smiley then explained what happened at the auction. While he was explaining the brothers had entered the mansion. Making their way to where the younger twin had left the other male. When they arrived the "mermaid" was standing by a large window. Looking up at the stars. Smiley motioned his brother to stay before slowly making his way over.

"Hey. I forgot to ask for your name. I don't know if you remember us, but we had met when we were kids. I'm Nahoya and that's Souya. See look. You even gave me a matching necklace to yours." He held up the necklace and it was like the mermaid had been given a pearl. He lit up and threw himself at the other male. Talking in a language neither brother could understand.

But the way he was rubbing his face against the older twin, they could semi understand what he was doing. He was happy to see the twins but also thanking the older twin for saving him. Nahoya could only smile wider and hug the other male. He promises that he will now do everything to protect him.

It's been a few months since (Name) had joined the Kawata household. When he could finally speak some Japanese he had told them his name. Well he's learning Japanese while the twins are trying to learn mermaiden. Which is easier said then done. Right now (Name) was swimming in the indoor pool, while Nahoya was relaxing on a float in the pool.

Souya had been assigned a new mission. So it was just them today and (Name) had mentioned he needed to swim. So here they are in the indoor pool. The twins had decided to turn their indoor pool into (Name)'s own mini ocean. So every once and a while he'd place a pearl on Smiley's float. Smiley would just thank the male with a bright smile and watch him swim away.

He didn't think much of it honestly. But he was getting quite a pile of pearls. He slowly pushed the pearls back into the water. Not noticing the heart broken expression on (Name). After that (Name) didn't go near the older Kawata. Smiley confused had asked his brother when he came back about it.

That's when the younger informed him that, that was the mermaids way of proposing to the older twin. Smiley then understood why (Name) was avoiding him. So in turn the smiling male bought (Name) a beautiful (color) pearl ring. He thought that, maybe by proposing to the mermaid in his own way, the mermaid would forgive him.

Well he was forgiven but (Name) was pouting for almost 2 months after that.

[blueberrybladelemonade]

Colors of Expression

Inspired by this little comic by @pervertedindividual

💜While I usually don't write for other PizzaTower characters, this was fun to do a short fic on. Apologies if there's any errors, there was no drafts or planning as I wrote this 💜

Pepperman x Reader

Contains: Enemies to lovers (kinda?), Questionable art, Bullying an anthropomorphic pepper, kinda crack-ish/crack fic. 

You stared out from the window, concentrating. Rain was still gently falling. You watched as the water in some spots cascaded from the awnings below. It had been raining on and off like this for almost two hours now, not that you were complaining, and didn't show signs of stopping. Your head dipped down again and in a fluid motion a pencil scraped across paper. 

Music from the studio played overhead, light notes from the piano added a cliche but relaxing atmosphere while you worked. Your pencil flicked across a few select areas, following the contour of the other lines. 

Humming in approval, you raise your arms and stretch, deciding you might as well stand up.  As you sigh contently you feel the pressure from your back ease up. Maybe you'll go downstairs and treat yourself to a nice coffee. Or maybe you'll try a tea today.

You pause. Should you take a break now? It's not like anyone else was here in the room. While you didn't mind others in the studio (it was a public space, anyways) you did enjoy the feeling of having the entire place to yourself.

You cast another glance down at your piece. With the groundwork mostly done, you can finally begin the "point of no return" as you dubbed it. Once you begun adding colors you wouldn't be able to erase them. 

You shrug, you'll paint a little bit before you go downstairs. Every drop of paint and color had to be carefully calculated. One placement gone wrong and it'd be difficult to correct it, if it even could be. 

* * * * 

You wince, feeling a streak of paint fall onto your pant leg. At least you weren't wearing your nice clothes today. You jump at the voice that was suddenly beside you. 

"Oh my, not only is that a poor rendition of a Chinese brush painting, those colors weren't even used then".

You glance to the side, looking at the giant pepper that was standing nearby. What. 

"This style of painting is a tragic amalgam of a brush painting and what ever this style is you're also using. Might I suggest-

"I'll have you know that art is a form of personal expression!" You snap, rising to your feet. How rude. 

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's not art!"

You take a step closer. Throwing a hand up. "Someone taped a banana to a wall and as ridiculous as I think that is, that's still art!

You pause. I think. That counts right?

"Hell I put a cup of coffee on the floor in an art gallery to take a closer picture and when I got back, people were standing over it taking pictures of my coffee. It wasn't even part of the gallery! People are just weird! But they seen that as art"! 

The pepper seeming to shrink as you inch closer. Literally. 

"Art is a personal expression so if I want to paint with purple and paint an aurora sky with a cherry blossom tree, on a damn mountain, you can sit down and shut up"! You stare down at the Pepper, small and only coming up to your hips in height.  

"So you better respect my art you pompous jerk"!

With that you spin back around and lift your canvas. With a sharp click you folded up your tools and began marching towards the door. You'll just have your coffee now. 

Pepperman stood motionless, flinching as the door slammed shut. Staring vacantly at the space, he felt a sudden heat rush to his face. 

Why was that hot?

* * * * 

Days later you returned to the studio. As you swing the door open you groan. 

Not this pepper bitch again you curse. Whatever. You were here to paint, so you were going to paint. If he wanted to try you today you were going to demand to see what he dubs "real art". 

You shoot a sideways glance at him before your attention falls onto his painting, and the one set on the counter nearby. You snort, "Dude you're painting yourself"?

He turns to you, giving you a questioning look. "And, pray tell, what is the problem"?

You move to hover over his shoulder as you get a better look at his current illustration.

"You trash talk my art but your art is just drawings of yourself"! 

"I have illustrated myself in dozens of styles. Cubism, Fauvism, Nouveau, Neocla- Why are you laughing?" the Pepper snaps. 

You had doubled over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you laughed. Of course. Of course this pompous ass pepper would only draw himself. You notice his name signed in the corner. 

You heard it here folks, your art pales in comparison to the pinnacle of true art. Behold, Phil Pepperman. Historians shall one day sing praises of enlightenment as Pepperman bestows his talent those in this mortal coil. 

His art wasn't bad though, you'd admit. You wave him off before regaining your composure. Instead you suck in a breath and simply grin. "Sorry. Just expected someone that was so high and mighty about how bad my art was to not just draw themselves".

"I did not say your art was bad! I simply called it a tragic amalgam." he retorts. 

You roll your eyes in response. Instead you set your canvas and tools up.

* * * * 

You were seated across from Pepperman, two large canvases separating you both. Weeks had went by and you had grown accustomed to your interactions. While you both would make sarcastic remarks and shoot back insults to each other, there was an edge of playfulness to it now. 

Though you'd swear Pepperman would insult you on occasion just to watch your expression turn indignant. You recall the incident last week. 

You had shown Pepperman your finished painting, this time a lake with mountains. He eyed the piece quietly before looking up at you, in a deadpan voice "My dear, your trees look like broccoli".

He laughed as you made a face before demanding to see how great his art was in comparison. 

After shuffling around a few papers, he showed you the newest drawing of himself. 

"Why did you draw yourself as an apple"? You asked. 

Huh. Now that you thought about it, he kept being more secretive with what he had been working on for the last two weeks. Any time you would get up to stretch Pepperman eyed you carefully. If you were to walk past, he'd scramble to hide or put another drawing over it. 

As you stood up, you decided to test that theory. Sure enough, the moment you began to walk past, Pepperman started to cover something up.

"Man, what ever your drawing must be hideous if you're not showing it off." you comment, studying his expression. Oddly enough, no wise crack comes from his mouth. Confirming your suspicion, you go to sit back down. 

Minutes pass by before you decide to poke your head out to the side. 

"So uh...what ARE you drawing anyways?" you ask. 

Silence.

"The most beautiful piece I've done yet". Pepperman finally speaks up. He tilts off to the side to meet your gaze. You scoff. "A tad narcissistic don't ya think"?

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Would you mind offering your critique"?

"The great 'Phil Pepperman' is asking for the opinion of Y/N? My, I didn't know you'd trust a mere peasant with such a task!" You chuckle as you make your way around to his side of the work station. 

As your eyes fixed on the painting he had been working on, the laugher died in your throat. No sound came from you as your mouth simply hung open. 

"How hideous is it, that even the sharp tongued Y/N has been rendered silent". he said, although it lacked the usual edge you were familiar with.

"Nnn..?"

The illustration was of you. The colors and shading were vibrant, as if the sun was reflecting off you. You had your eyes half closed in contentment. As you looked farther down at the painting of you, one hand had a cup of what looked like tea while the other had a pencil. In the painting it looked like you were sitting outside, the sky behind containing various hues.

It was beautiful. 

"I..."

Pepperman leaned in slightly, tentatively. As if what you were about to say would physically sting. 

"It's beautiful". 

[byanyan]

when they decided to use his arm as a blank canvas, he let them, finishing a book he’d finally sat down to read. no stranger to letting them draw on him, this time was no different, he made no attempts to stop them. eventually, once he finishes the last page, he finally looks down to see what they’ve been doodling…. and when he sees what they’ve come up with, his eyes light up. he’s liked everything they’ve done so far, but this… this is different.

a line of stars, all different sizes, that all absolutely loves. he stares fondly down at their design, admiring every little detail. and then, he looks up at them, excitement written all over his face. “ i really like this design, i think it’s my favorite thing you’ve drawn on me… ” there’s a pause, his gaze falling back onto his arm. “ i want you to tattoo me, maybe you can squeeze me into your work schedule. ”

ㅤthey're just vibing. music playing too loud in their ears, head bobbing along to the beat as they leave trails of ink on the skin of sol's arm, they're bouncing between markers with nibs of different sizes, but they're not putting that much effort in. they're trying, yeah, but it's more for fun than it is anything serious so, when they're nearly finished and sol's book closes over, his attention turning to their work, they're surprised when they glance up at his face and he meets their gaze, excited. a smile isn't unexpected; it's actually quite common to see when he looks at what they've drawn on him, something which always makes them feel all warm inside, but there's a light in his eyes this time that's a little... different. more enthusiastic than usual.

before his mouth can even open, byan is pulling their headphones off, dropping them to rest across the back of their neck as their other hand draws to a halt mid-stroke. sol speaks, and they simply blink at him, expressionless. they're stunned. eyes fall back down to the line of stars they've been drawing, almost as if to figure out what's so special about them, to make him that happy. to make him... want a tattoo? —a tattoo of this?

ㅤㅤ" wh— ...huh? "ㅤhow do words work, again?ㅤ" ...for real? "ㅤhe's... never expressed interest in getting a tattoo before. admired theirs, sure, which is something they've always loved, but he's never seemed interested in having any of his own and, while that's something that's never bothered them, they're afraid to let their hopes get too high. afraid that he might change his mind, that this might be a spur of the moment thought brought on by a doodle they've done on his arm that he happens to like more than the usuals.

ㅤㅤ" i mean, i can— "ㅤthey'd literally bring him in tomorrow after all their appointments are done and work an extra couple hours just to do it for him if he really wanted—ㅤ" but if you're actually that interested... like, i kinda based this one on mine... "ㅤturning the hand still holding their marker over, byan reveals the line of stars drawn in white ink which dot their inner wrist, a tattoo they've had since they were fourteen that he's surely seen thousands of times by now.ㅤ" but i could sketch out somethin' nicer for you, y'know? let you make some changes where you want 'em so it's yours instead'a just some shitty doodle'a mine. "

even thinking about it is exciting, though. their own eyes light up the more they speak, the more they think about it, about really getting to share their passion for tattoos with sol in such a permanent way... it's difficult to not get caught up in the excitement of it, even if it is just a concept for the time being.

ㅤㅤ" 'cause i'd totally do that, y'know. work ya into the schedule too, or bring ya in after hours, whatever works better for you with the shop— "ㅤthough they don't realize it, byan is beaming as they pop the cap back onto their pen, practically vibrating as they resist the urge to get up and run to grab one of their sketchbooks right this second.ㅤ" —but i'd wanna make sure it's somethin' you want, y'know? somethin' that's yours, somethin' you're not gonna regret. nothin's stoppin' us from startin' tonight though, if you're serious, 'cause, like, honestly? i'd fuckin' love to design a tattoo for you, i'd love that so fuckin' much. "

[hwaightme]

gorrrllll i just finished bang bang. omg what a masterpiece once again!!! like i have no words!!!

first just gotta say paradigm hwa was the perfect fit for this! when you described the fingerless gloves, the slicked back hair… absolute devastation!! paradigm hwa’s got me in a chokehold and tbh i dont mind at all.

before i gush over the narrative, the character development and the ending (which you already know i loved it because… open endings>>>>>>) i want to talk about my fave excerpts!!

DISCLAIMER IF YOU DIDNT READ BANG BANG DONT SPOIL YOURSELF BY READING THIS AND GO READ IT

“He is a cutie, though, aren’t you, Sannie?” smirk gracing his lips, Seonghwa teased the cutie, who, judging by the sheer broadness of his shoulders, could probably snap a person in half with his bare hands. Not that the person would complain since the last thing they would see would be that pretty face… but that was besides the point. 

when she almost deviated from her goal for San… so relatable. we are all like mc. i mean im ready to give it all up for san anytime. and gosh the way he’s so strong and mighty then a small little docile kitten with hwa. ughhh i love this duality so much!!! tbh i wanna own him. i want him to be my guard dog in public and my docile kitten in private <3 (san if you read this give me once chance lol)

“Ah how I missed you saying my name.”

my heart: *instantly melts into a puddle of pure 100% simping*

Do you really think that the judge was benevolent? Fuck… girl, you’re naive. That bastard passes his bank account around the courtroom, you really think he woke up one day and felt like being nice just because? Oh no… 

the way i thought of judge jongho instantly hahaha that made it even better!

but girl this : You stared out at the metropolis through the windshield, registering your beloved criminal’s movements towards you. As you studied the glinting whites, reds and yellows that formed the urban starscape, you could not help but ponder how, out of all the millions of people, in this architectural phenomenon that seemed to stretch on forever, on a day when you were not even supposed to be where you had ended up being, you had run into none other than Park Seonghwa. And as fate would have it, you were naive enough to let him take everything from you. And being the loved up, hypnotised fool that you were, you thanked him for the misery in which you found yourself, because at least he made you feel. With him you were a disaster, but you saw life in colour. With him it was impossible to tell whether there would be a tomorrow, but you could exist in an exuberant today. With him, the everchanging palette of emotion had a canvas to paint on. And tonight, you were going to let the masterpiece create itself.

i literally ASCENDED!!! this is absolutely beautiful! the scenery! the resignation in mc! you can really feel she’s letting go, giving in to the monster! i loved that and the word choice!!!! every single one of them slapped in the face and i said thank you everytime!!!! such powerful poetry! 

ok the main course

i absolutely LOVED the narrative style in this!!!!! i loved how the exposition wasnt linear! how as the reader you kinda had to piece the info and hints together to actually understand what happened between mc and hwa. it was brilliant how you were able to keep me on the edge of my seat wondering what the hell he did to her. and when you finally get it when you piece that he framed her, that he killed her ex for her! it’s a beautiful and complete puzzle ughhh so good. 

and good god the character development!!!!!!! how mc goes from obsessed with revenge, obsessed with him and then resigned! it’s beautiful like as you read you can feel her very soul tearing with each conclusion she makes!!!!!! when she realizes hwa manipulated her fate once again with the dude in the back alley!!!!! and she just turns into a maniac for a second just to touch absolute serenity seconds later!! so gooooddd!

which brings me to the man of the hour!!!! hwa!!!!! i loved him !!!! i loved every wicked aspect of him! i loved that he was obsessed with mc but not really her more like the girl she could be. i love how you stated at the beginning that when hwa wants something he gets it. and what he wanted from mc was to break down the woman she was just to rebuild her into the woman he wanted her to be and he did that perfectly. planning every little detail until she was exactly where he wanted her to be. she became just as crazy as he wanted her. the cold hearted bitch he wanted. someone he could hate and love and love and hate on and on. until he would eventually grow tired of his toy and kill her and she accepted this fate she decided to own it ughhhh i love desperation so much <3333

AND THE ENDING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH that was legit my reaction!!!!!!

when mc said “didnt you say you’d keep my hands clean…” i was like omg nooooo bai is about to go there isnt she ???????? then she continued with the questions and i was just screaming!!!!!!!!!! and i just know hwa knew that he succeeded!!! he knew he transformed her!!!! i just know he had the biggest boner hahaha and the fact that throughout this masterpiece you depicted him well enough that we KNOW he could do it!!! he could just take the gun to his head and shoot because he’s that crazy!!! that would be the ultimate test for mc! framing her for his own murderrrrrr omgggg im foaming at the mouth like a rabid racoon because im going completely crazy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

it was so good thanks bai for this once again!!!! it was perfection !!!!! you’re so so good it’s crazy!!!!!

AAAAAHHHH CAT!!!!! Thank you so very much for your time, for sharing this space and for this beautiful review oh my goodness ;~; <333 I am out here melting into a puddle of joy ;~; (also completely agree with you there, paradigm Hwa is… something else… really…)

For the main course <3 :

Honestly you mention this just as I am currently on a little bit of a san brainrot wave, and this is hitting different – perhaps the signs had been there even earlier and I was either in denial or oblivious to them lol; Both mc and Seonghwa try to act all ‘cool’ and smooth, be it to inflict wounds of jealousy or desire, or to present an odd version of nonchalance either way they are on interesting terms~ Ahahaah and the way I was thinking of Jongho when writing that part you mentioned~~ corrupt judge Jongho is pretty much canon so it had to be done~

;~; please you are too kind, thank you from my whole soul <33 Imagery is something that I enjoy quite a bit, since I would say I am a visual person generally and need to imagine how things look like to understand them, so I am really really glad that this flowed for you and was even… POETIC!?!?! Pls I am ;~; <33

Aaaah I am really happy that you liked the narrative style <3 I wanted to try my best to keep to a more ‘show’ rather than ‘tell’ style here, since there is more dark aspects to the story, crime/mystery tinges here and there (at least attempts at them), and I wanted the ‘what in the world happened’ to be hanging above the character’s heads like a sword, and then come together as these memories, that betrayal, the intensity of it all comes flying back. <3 And dfkjsglfsdf please I bow to you, am on my knees, bless you, really; thank you so much for your words on character development ;~; <3 I wanted to interlace emotional development (or turmoil lol) with the narrative itself so I am just incredibly glad that you enjoyed that!

Oh my goodness I am genuinely speechless, thank you ;~; It was a challenge to try and depict Seonghwa in a villain role (especially when constantly seeing updates on SNS and edits etc of him being literally the softest sunshine ahah) so really I am grateful that you liked his character in Bang Bang <33 At the end of the day, mafia!Hwa does not love, and if he does, it is the idea that he has crafted in his head, and will stop at nothing to bend the foundation (aka the person) to fit said idea. He wants to see people break, and he wants to be their demise and then their creator. And then, decide exactly when their time has run out. Effectively, he loves control. He desires nothing more than to take it away from others. Really I am just elated that you enjoyed!!!!! <33

Cat I am so so happy that you enjoyed the ending and the way in which mafia!Hwa’s character has been set up and grew to be the man, the monster, who actually could play into this ‘final request’ and potentially still win in some sense, or at least have his final thought be that he did. Also, while writing this I had the notion of the ‘sunrise’ and what that time of day means kind of replaying in my head, since if such an event (that is implied) is to occur, it could be seen as redemption, it could be seen as a new chapter, or it could be seen as an eradication of darkness (but who is it that perishes?). Overall the ending was in some ways a surprise even for myself, because initially I had one avenue planned out, and then… well I guess the two characters in the Rolls Royce steered themselves in another direction (and ahah I am right there with you in terms of open endings – closure? What? Huh? Lol)

Again, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your kind words, for the time that you took to read and to respond, and generally for being such an amazing person <3333 Much love<3

[dewcrafter]

Tea and sketches (pt. 4 of the painter)

It's been a week since I met Omi Omi, his name is Sakusa Kiyoomi but i'm sticking to calling him Omi Omi which he doesn't seem to mind and it turns out he actually had a name for me throughout the years and it was lotus because the first drawing he ever drew of me was me smelling a lotus, samu says that one of the lotus's meanings is rebirth which got us both thinking about our art and throughout the week we've been looking through old art, getting Omi Omi's dad and my mom to dig out old art that wasn't easy to find but we got enough to really show that we were really drawing things from our perspective and with the pieces together it showed a beautiful story, well that's just my opinion I don't know how Omi Omi feels about it all but he seems content "lotus?" said Omi Omi, catching my attention 

"yeah?" I asked looking up from the green tea I was zoning out at 

"we should make a painting together" he said, making my mind race for what we could paint together "yeah! What should we paint?" I asked curiously 

"why don't we paint this" he said looking away and to his koi as he threw some food in for them "that's a great idea!" I said smiling at him as I pulled the lotus tea cup to my lips to take a sip, he had a very cute lotus tea set the cups we're all blue with little lotus plants and petals with fish in the background while the tea pot was shaped with a lotus flower as the top with fake vines covering the handle and the body of the teapot faded from the flower head to underneath the painted water showing a koi and the stem of the beautiful flower "you really like the teapot huh?" said Omi Omi making me look away from it's beauty to an even lovelier sight 

"yeah, everything in your house is so mesmerizing" I said looking away at the surrounding area "I can't believe you paint and also do ceramics and it's so cool how your the definition of perfection at both" I said thinking back to his collection of ceramic fruit cups that are literally the cutest things ever. 

After tea we went off to a a very popular art store called Sekaido Art Supplies and there we bought a 20x40 in canvas, after getting the canvas and stopping by my house for some extra paint and my easel we went back to Omi Omi's house and sat down on a tarp he put on his floor and got to work sketching our sides of the canvas, often getting up to stare outside and put together all the pieces of the scene. 

After hours of talking and sketching we found that the sun had set and it was getting dark so I grabbed my things, said goodbye to Omi Omi and headed home on the walk home I thought about Omi Omi and how he calls me lotus, the nickname I like it and it's very cute but talking to him reminds me of how in three months i'll be joining the volleyball team MSBY black jackals in osaka which is really exciting and all but i'll be not only leaving my twin in tokyo but also now Omi Omi and I guess suna too but it's also so exciting to get back into volleyball again I finished up my thoughts when I got home to see the lights still on which was weird because samu was usually totally out of it after work so I walked in to make sure he didn't pass out on the floor from overworking himself "atsumu!" he said when I opened the door "where have you been!? It's been more than 6 hours since you left the house to go hang out with Sakusa and you're only getting back at 11?? Are you serious i've been worried if he killed you for goodness sake" he said storming over to me making me huff out a little laugh "you sound like ma" I said not really caring about his concerns "yeah yeah whatever" he said annoyed "don't ever come home this late again or I swear ima file a police report" he said crossing his arms 

"chill out samu I can handle myself perfectly fine" I said walking into my room and setting my things onto my table "what were you two even doing today?" questioned samu as he leaned against my door frame like a whore "drinking tea in his lovely backyard and feeding the koi and then he came up with the idea to paint a portrait together so we went to the store and bought a canvas and then while you were at work we dropped by and grabbed some extra paint to store at his for when we get to painting and then we started our sketching of it" I said happily 

"jeez what's with that love sick grin of yours" said samu frowning making me glare at him 

"well I bet it's the same smile you give sunarin when it's just the two of you" I fired at him 

"yeah okay so what's got you so into sakusa?" questioned samu 

"everything!" I said plopping down on my bed, getting the hint he walked over and layed down with me "did you hear the nickname he gave me!?" I questioned excitedly 

"yeah it's lotus" said samu sticking out his tongue and making a gagging gesture 

"yeah it is and it's ADORABLE" I said "just hearing him say lotus and knowing that i'm lotus is just so-" I said kicking my feet in happiness 

"yeah well suna calls me Hibiscus" said samu in his stupid i'm better than you tone 

"okay and? Lotus is a way cuter nickname" I said rolling my eyes 

"well lotus only means beauty, purity, prosperity and eternity while the hibiscus means love at first sight, beauty, love and emotional healing" said samu gloating about it 

"well at least lotus sounds way prettier than hibiscus and isn't a mouthful" I said shoving him lightly "yeah whatever you gremlin" he said sliding off my bed and walking off to his own, closing the door on his way out "GOODNIGHT SAMU" I yelled after him 

"GOODNIGHT TSUMU" he yelled back. 

[randynova]

hi! if request are still open, could i ask for some grand duke kaufman content? some smut would be amazing, but anything else would be just as awesome! thanks in advance ;v;

ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀʀᴇsᴛ

ɢʀᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴜᴋᴇ ᴋᴀᴜғᴍᴀɴ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬-𝐢𝐧-𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐊𝐚𝐮𝐟𝐦𝐚𝐧.

✦✦✦✦✦✦

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ sᴇx, ᴠᴀɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, ᴏɴᴇ-ɴɪ��ʜᴛ sᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴏᴠᴇʀsᴛɪᴍ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ɪɴғᴇᴅɪʟɪᴛʏ

✦✦✦✦✦✦

A.N.: I love you for requesting about Kaufman, he's literally my second favorite character [right next to Kosair ofc], and I'm finally getting a request just for the man😩🤚 thank you and I hope you enjoy.

✦✦✦✦✦✦

"Oh, your H-Highness…!" 

The high-pitched squeal comes from the carriage, muffled by the creaking of the wagon's wheels as the coach rocked back and forth. Mewls and groans ricochet off the enclosed space, mixing with the slapping of skin and wet squelching of the sacrilegious endeavor.

The windows panned with a thin layer of fog, curtains drawn aside, and allowing an obscure view of two silhouettes. The scene within could barely be made out unless one took a long, good look within. However, the sinful sounds painted quite a clear picture on its own, even from a few feet away.

It would surely cause a scandal and uproar within the Western Empire if one realized who was the one creating such noise. The headlines of the leader of a nation fucking one of the Empress's ladies-in-waiting could destroy both of you, yet, at this moment, who cares? Certainly, not you.

Afterall, it's improper for a lady to fraternize with an unmarried man who is not her fiance, unchaperoned, much less her innocence be plucked by a man she had only just met. But how could you deny such a wicked request from an attractive bachelor? The lingering touches and burning stares, how his stormy gaze racked your form whenever you passed, heart drumming in his ribcage —  the tension had been too much to bear or ignore. 

A coachman stood watch outside, whistling to themselves as they remained on alert for any stray folks coming by to collect their carriages, diverting their attention from the endeavor within the coach behind to assure the nobles were not caught. However, their mind was more focused on the leather pouch of gold the Duke granted him in exchange for their 'services'. They could only hope you two finished, tired from standing for a couple hours already.

Yet, the hope had been crushed when a high-pitched moan reached the coachman's ears.

Dear heavens, the Grand Duke couldn't get enough of hearing such shameless cries from his favorite noble lady, the need to hear more pitiful sounds as he clings to your supple form. Your spine curves as his cockhead hilts in your weeping heat, choking out a plea for him to please slow down.

Soft hands grasped onto his broad shoulders, giving them a squeeze before hooking around his neck as you sank down into his lap, gasping at every delicious stretch from each deep thrust. Fingers knot themselves in his silver locks, tugging at them as the man groans against your skin, nipping at your chest.  Vibrations caressed your flesh, the stuttering sounds trickling from his mouth stroking the smoldering flame in your body.

A moan drums in your throat, pulling harshly at his hair. "Kaufman, please,  ngh—nghhh…!" You whine, constricting around his twitching cock, and pulling another breathless moan from the Duke.

His hair tickled your nose as his lips grazed your soft flesh, lips brushing over your throat before he began suckling on the delicate surface of your windpipe. Like an artist, he carved dark welts into your velvet skin, painting lovebites in a trail as his teeth grazed and marked across his own personal canvas — you. In the Duke's eyes, you were simply a walking dream he needed, one he had to experience at least once in his life. Kaufman clasped his hands around your thighs, pawing and hastily pushing you down to meet every powerful rut in a pathetic attempt to keep himself nestled in your slick. 

"Please, we must stop, Your Highness…!" You beg, eyes glossy from the tears running down your cheeks and a hazy mind that could hardly grasp your climbing release. "I cannot—Lord— cannot continue….!"

Though, Kaufman ignored your attempts to cease and did not slow his movements in the slightest.  Dragging his girth and sending a shiver down your back, he sheathes himself back into your dripping pussy without hesitation, continuing to hit every sweet spot that has you ascending to heaven. Your muscles twitch in his palm and he begins to support much more of your weight into his grasp. No, no, not now, don't stop now.

"My lady, please, I need you… I need you to keep going. Ahh, mmm-ngh…," he breathes, kneading your plush and pressing his forehead to the curve of your shoulder. He pulls you closer, pelvis driving into you, determined to continue this fantasy for as long as possible.

Fuck, he couldn't bare to part and not be buried in such a tight cunt as great as yours, so warm and welcoming, sucking him in so greedily even as he split your poor pussy apart. Curses spill from Kaufman, clenching his jaw as he slips deeper into his pussy-drunken state, forgetting how you were struggling to keep up. 

"Kaufman, no, no, I can't….!" You whimper, screwing your eyes shut, knowing just one more thrust would have you crumbling and reaching your end. Each plea from before had been ignored, so all you could do was hope he had enough. You  didn't know how much more your body could take. "Heavens, Kaufman—ah!"

The pleasure is becoming too much and soon, you would slip into a state that was nothing more than a babbling sniveling whore, no longer able to think about anything else than royal cock stuffing you to the brim with his fertile cum. No longer putting in any effort, you hoped your lack of engagement would deter him — but no.

It merely spurred the Duke to take matters into his own hands and sink you onto his cock, hands clutching your thighs and lifting you off, only to repeat the process as he slams you back down. Cries ripped from your throat and you weakly tug and pull at his hair, sniffling as the pleasure had all become too much.

As you pleaded with him, Kaufamn became lost in his own head. How could he have gone so long without breeding such a fertile cunny? Without knowing how it grips him so snuggly whilst he plucks it for the first time? It is as if his whole being is being devoured — from every broken moan to every fleeting thought, consumed by the rapture of your lust. Yet he did not want it to stop. Even as he drowned and every fiber of his being begged for him to cease, he couldn't stop.

It didn't matter how his own body screamed for rest, the man became more obsessed with ingraining the way your pussy spasmed and creamed around him with every orgasm, adding more to the slick already coating the base of his cock.  A white ring painted his shaft as well, testament to how he could hardly get enough of you, proof you were just as hooked as him. But, God, he needed more. 

More than you were willing to give him.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Kaufamn's movements began to grow sloppy, biting back a moan as he bucked erratically into your tepid heat,  approaching his release once more.  The man melted easily into you, a layer of perspiration coating his temple, pleasure contorting his features from reeling with every bounce of your frame. 

If by any god out there you hated him for fucking you into a mindless cocksleeve after your requests to stop, he hoped you would forgive him when he was done, for he was far from being finished from using your cunt to his heart's content.

Your arousal drips onto his cock, walls squeezing around him as your release hits you, moaning pathetically as you couldn't take anymore stimulation to your poor abused cunt, snug slick tightening around him so deliciously, he could no longer push his own climax. The duke followed in suit, shutting his eyes tightly and letting out a shaky gasp.

The years of his own dirty endeavors in his homeland would have never prepared him for the moment he is in now, how a woman can mold so perfectly to a man as he sheathes himself into her, pulling melodious cries until her throat became raw as she milked him for all he was worth with no remorse, welcoming their fall from grace, and drowning in a sinful lake of their own creation.

The height of one’s own climax had always been a pivotal moment souls grew obsessed with chasing, to keep feeling the familiar sensation when the flame consumes you as the pot of pleasure spills over, letting you experience the moment between death and life as the air leaves your lungs — where your mind is no longer present and you are nothing but a shell of euphoria.

Praying incoherently under his breath, Kaufman spills a copious amount of hot and thick cum, painting your cunt a creamy white, rutting until the waves of his orgasm wash away. His eyes flutter open and he’s met with the sight of your teary expression, yet, his chest swells at the picture of your glossy eyes and fucked-out face. This is his own euphoria, a creation he cannot stop quite yet until he has fully destroyed you. Despite the teardrops running down your cheeks, the duke cannot see himself leaving you.

When will he see you again if you stop now? His fear of never experiencing this moment again fills him and before he knows it, he has already made up his mind, determined to have you needing and wanting him as much as he desires you.

Slowly pulling out, you do not notice how his gaze darkens, whimpering as he rests his flaccid length against your cunny. You become hopeful of the fact you would get a break and slip back into the palace unnoticed. 

However, the thought is pushed aside as he fluidly lifts your frame off his lap and moves it onto the seat, swiftly pushing you onto your back, opening your trembling legs apart as he slots himself between your thighs and sinks back inside your sensitive pussy.

Only now do you see the sick obsession pooling in his light hues, a look you have only seen once in your life, and right then and there, you know. Time stills as you stare back at him, yet regret does not fill you. Your heart squeezes as he presses his chest flush against yours, capturing your lips as he spills every ounce of his longing for you into the kiss. For now, you would forget your worries in the man who might still hold a flame for your  respected Empress.

But if you were going to stay here for a while more, you could only hope the ball lasted long enough for you to sneak back into your quarters. You could not have either of their Majesties question your whereabouts as the seed of a royal diplomat leaked from your slick. Heavens no. 

Why, what would your fiance say if they heard it from Heinrey and Navier instead of you?

✦✦✦✦✦✦

©ʀᴀɴᴅʏɴᴏᴠᴀ || ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ || ɴᴏ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴇᴅɪᴛs, ᴄᴏᴘʏɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ, ᴇᴛᴄ. ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs.

[charnelhouse]

Is it too much to ask to get railed against a tree and creampied by Rick in the middle of a mission so I have to go through the rest of the day feeling him drip down my thighs

A/N: Rick Flag x F!Reader. Semi-public sex. Creampie vibes. Dirty talk. Nasty trash ahead.

It’s like he can smell you.

Fighting gets you wet and gets him hard and he never knew that he could just act on those impulses.

We have a mission.

Waller doesn’t give a shit about either of us. Block out the coms for ten minutes. You and me.

It’s not right.

You pin him with that look - that petal lip smile like you can read his damn fucking mind and know all the fantasies he has for you - what he jerks himself off to alone in the shower.

Give in, Rick. For me. For you. It’ll help get your head on straight.

Really - he wanted to ask when has pussy ever made anyone relax? Especially yours because he just knew it was probably pretty and soft and he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else for the rest of his god damn life.

He didn’t though. He just let you take his hand and lead him into some dense foliage and well - it had peeled him open.

It was very unlike him, but he found you inevitable. A sour-candy addiction in which your presence literally wound around his ribs and lungs and took him for a damn ride. It had started slow - your mouth on his cock or him fingering you up against the hull of the jet. A quick respite from the chaos and from Flag having to herd Task Force X with a straight face.

Things had escalated. He wanted more - needed more and that’s really what it had come down to. He had discovered that he required you in a very real way. The stress of trying to handle a troop of near-useless bad guys was getting to him. Their missions didn’t necessarily fail, but the fatalities were off the fucking charts.

“Isn’t that the point?” you murmured as you rested your cheek on his bare stomach - nails skating across his abdomen and making his breath catch. “We’re the suicide squad, Flag.”

He traced the shell of your ear - letting your warmth sink into his skin. This quiet moment just for them - locked away in his shitty apartment where Waller couldn’t find you.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But one of these days it’s going to be you and I’m not going to be able to live with myself.”

“Way to kill the mood, Flaggy.”

“Nothing kills your mood.”

“You’re not wrong.”

You didn't mope over the possibilities - the statistics. You stuck to him and let him burn for you and that was that.

"Focus on me and then the mission and then all the dirty things we can do when we get home."

"You've turned me into a sex fiend."

"I know. It's fucking awesome."

***

So it's no surprise that Rick finds himself striding after you when they touchdown on another deserted beach - in another red-marked country. The intention in his steps is carved with that hunger - that near-panic he has until he's stuffed inside you.

It’s just the two of them and the air is soft with Spring heat - with the dull roar of the ocean rolling across their backs. The other teammates are scattered in different places and Rick knows Waller’s going to be too focused on her bigger villains. Her big dogs. You’re old news for her - reliable and sturdy as a Jaguar’s engine. She trusts Flag and she’s never had an issue with you so Rick is well aware that they’ve got time. Half an hour, maybe.

You glance at him over your shoulder - the telltale quirk of your lips. “Let’s use that cave.”

He stares past you - sees the dark maw disrupting the rocky canvas that hovers over the glittering blue of the ocean. Shadows and pebbles and it weirdly reminds him of sea-monsters. Starfish. One of the top missions he’d prefer to forget as his new robot-heart hammers beneath the shell of his ribs.

You’d saved him - your fingers firm around that shard of tile - preventing it from jerking a millimeter. “I’ve got you, Flag. You’re okay. You’ll live or I’ll kill you myself, you stupid big fucker.”

“Rick,” you call to him - the breeze ruffling your hair. “Come on, cowboy. We don’t have all day.”

There was that other step in their relationship - you calling him Rick. A habit you’d picked up post Corto-Maltese.

“I’m comin, doll,” he assures as he jogs toward you - chuckling at your pinched expression.

The cave really is a feasible option.

There’s just enough sand with the tide out for them to stand - just enough space for him to shove you against the craggy wall.

He presses himself to your back - his grip flexing around your shoulders as he noses at your hair. His nostrils flare at the scent of you - at the knowledge of how wet you probably are right this moment and how he’s going to be sinking himself into that velvet slick momentarily.

“Best get a move on, then,” he grunts as he gently pushes you forward.

***

I’ve become a total fucking perv.

Rick thinks this as he slides his fingers through your cunt - curling them over the band of your panties and yanking them up so hard the fabric rubs roughly against your clit. He smirks as he watches your palm smack against the cave wall. A hiss flaring hot from your mouth.

“Christ, Rick,” You push your ass out - grind it up against his crotch and they have so little time that he can’t treat you proper. He can’t do much of anything other than hitch your underwear to the side and bury his cock to the hilt. You’re wet enough - soaked and warm as he drives forward - as your perfect pussy spasms and sings around his length.

He curves his body over you - one arm banded beneath your tits while his other hand circles your neck - thumb stroking your jaw with each rut of his cock. He’s fucking you deep as he can - dropping his pelvis as he eases himself out before snapping forward. He does it again and again, the head of his dick deliberately knocking against the farthest piece of you to make you whimper and cry.

He nips your ear - his voice ragged and desperate when he speaks. “You gonna let me cum in you, sweetheart?”

You nod - pushing back against him with your own well-qualified strength. Your cunt is soaked - blooming blood-hot around his cock as he takes you. It’s noisy - the sound of slapping skin and the furious squelch of his thickness splitting you apart echoes long and loud through the cave. Your broken voice falling away before returning to knock him flat. There’s sweat at the nape of his neck - slipping down his spine.

He puts his fingertips against the bud of your sex - thumb circling in torturously smooth motions.

“Fuck, Flag,” you moan. “I’m close...I’m so close.”

“I know,” he mumbles - peppering kisses along your throat - your cheek. He’s wrapped around you - your shape small between his hands as he holds you flush to him. He likes it like this - whether he’s pinning you to a wall or a bed - he likes to cover you completely. He’s tender and sometimes too soft - even during their most brutal, kinky sex. He can’t not kiss you - cradle your face - tell you you’re perfect. He enjoys marking you - making you flush molten if he says something intentionally kind. But he also can be nasty - likes to be - and that was all shit you had taught him.

His grip on your chin tightens as he keeps you locked to his chest. He’s sliding right towards his peak - slamming close with the urgency of a freight train. Pleasure rippling up from the rod of his cock as it stretches your tight little pussy.

“I want to be dripping out of you all day,” he growls. “I want you fighting with me inside you - spilling down those perfect thighs of yours and then when we’re back on that jet, I’ll eat it out of your cunt.”

He feels you contract sharply around him - the urgent inhale from your lungs. He had never said cunt in his life - not until you. He had thought it - sure - but it had not left his mouth until he discovered it made you gush like a river.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant. “Fuck - you’ve turned into such a bad boy.”

“Shit, darlin,” he wheezes - trapping your earlobe between his teeth. “Call me that again.”

Your walls flex around him - violently clamping down as your nails dig into his forearm. “Bad boy,” you repeat before the words dry out on your tongue while another softer climax winks through your core. “Bad...so fucking bad.”

His hips stutter - lose his pace as you milk him for all he’s worth. “For you,” he reminds - voice gone hoarse and ruined. “Only for you, baby.”

His cock spits deep - threads and threads of warm spend that bloom and swell. His grip on you is unforgivably tight - probably bruising - but you just shudder and tremble - pussy twitching with sensitivity as he grinds himself against your plump ass.

He can’t get enough and so he eases himself out of you - drops straight to his knees and spreads you open. The cool air stroking across your flexing cunt - the pearl-white of his cum oozing out of your fluttering hole as he breathes against it. You jerk - your flesh tender and puffy and too wet.

“Flag,” you warn. “Need - need a break.”

He slaps your ass affectionately - pressing a dirty kiss to your parted folds - tasting himself and you and fuck it makes him shiver all over - makes his blood scorch with an untouchable kind of hunger. A swing of adrenaline.

He’s ready to fucking go and he helps ruck your pants up - turns you around and lifts you against the wall before kissing you fiercely.

“You gonna be a good little thing,” he drawls. “Keep me in there?”

You laugh - lunging forward to latch to his mouth - your tongue sweet against his. “Yeah,” you sigh between kisses. “Only if you do what you promised after.”

“I’m nothing if not a man of his word.”

“Then challenge accepted.”

[atozfic]

overdrive.

pairing. kim hongjoong x fem!reader.

synopsis. a lonely artist finds himself in need of some human contact, so he joins a dating app but with a very specific request: he doesn’t want a relationship, he wants the experience of one. when someone contacts him, interested and willing to aid him in his search for artistic inspiration, the rules quickly become simple: no real names, no personal details, no feelings. so what the hell is kim hongjoong supposed to do when he catches himself daydreaming about their future together?- or, can you fall in love with a stranger?

warnings. strangers to lovers, fake dating au (kinda?), artist!hongjoong, aged up!ateez (irl age + 5 years), angst, fluff,heavy themes of mental health, depictions of depression, trauma and anxiety, brief mentions of cheating, death, bullying, drugs and alcohol, way too many attempts at humour. smut: dom!hongjoong, sub!reader, nipple play, hair pulling, dirty talk, finger-sucking, spit used as lube, use of the word “doll”, unprotected sex, penetrative sex. 

word count. 17.8k

hyde’s input. this fic is my baby. i love it with my whole heart. it’s been in the making long before i even opened this account. all it took was listening to overdrive by conan gray once and this entire monster of a fic started to unravel in my brain. any feedback is appreciated, same goes for any like or simple reblog! if there’s any spelling mistakes, look the other way: this is 17.8k, i’ve re-read it ten times, i’m sorry!

“I don't know what you're on about, dude. It looks pretty good to me.”

Praise and positive reviews were not what Hongjoong wanted to hear. In fact, all he wanted to do in that moment was kick his own foot through the tainted canvas, until no sign remained of the painting he'd finished in the early hours of the morning; to drench the palette in whatever alcohol he could find laying around the messy studio and light it up into flames.

“I've seen your child make a finger painting better than this. Don't lie to me, Park Seonghwa!” Hongjoong groaned, slouching back in a huff as he melted further into the old leathered sofa. His head tilted back and his eyes snapped shut whilst he inhaled deeply, the offensive smell of fresh paint entering his system.

“I can't help it!” The other male exclaimed and Hongjoong could perfectly picture how he threw his hands up into the air in self-defence, eyes wide and a smile threatening to make itself known. “Being your friend comes way before being your agent, I can't help but be biased!”

Hongjoong’s eyes snapped open. “I literally pay you to not be biased!”

“Yeah, well, I think we've already established that you make mistakes.” With a sheepish smile, the older male gestured towards the canvas and Hongjoong couldn't even find it within himself to try and disagree.

He really had gambled on the fact that this one piece would turn out the way he wanted it to. The truth was, he'd known deep down the work wouldn't turn out well. Through the months of working at it, he kept his optimism up and repeated how if he just added a few more shades, a few more details, the painting would magically morph itself into exactly what he wanted from it. And now he was less than five months away from his submission deadline and missing one painting from his collection. The one which he'd promised himself would be the real kicker, the centre piece, the main character of the exhibition.

“This is hopeless, Hwa!” Sulking came easier than inspiration to the petite artist as of late, a fact which depressed him a little more than he'd ever let another person know. “I don't get what I'm missing here. The concept is so basic yet, every time I go to press brush to canvas, it's like I'm faced with a foreign language and telling myself that if I just stare a little longer, the letters will figure themselves out and I'll miraculously become fluent.”

“Because you're not feeling it, Hongjoong.”

“Feeling what?”

“The concept.” When the taller male was met with nothing but a blank expression, he gestured around with his hand and continued. “Moving on. I mean, you've been single for, what now? Sixteen months? And in that whole time, you've not even entertained the idea of meeting someone new, or even just going on a date.”

“Forgive me for not rushing to throw myself back into a relationship after my last one.” Hongjoong always hated when he failed to control his darker feelings, hating to expose how weak he actually was to things like anger, sadness, depression.

It's why he turned to art in the first place, during his teenage years, which were plagued with awful and painful experiences. Rather than facing them head-on, Hongjoong melted his emotions into colours, presented them on a plain background and worked his way into a scholarship. And, so, that's how it had always been for him. He never had to talk his feelings out, he just painted and others took what they could understand from it.

The leather squeaked under the new pressure of Seonghwa sitting next to him. Hongjoong's eyes shot to the male's lap, where he could see his friend nervously fidgeting with the ring on his left hand. Whatever Seonghwa was about to say next, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

“Look, I get it. I know how hurt you were after things ended between you and...” She'd become the Voldemort of his life, everyone else around him refusing to utter her name out loud and all treating him like the fragile child who'd survived her attack and came out alive with nothing but a scar. Only, his scar was less lightning shaped and more like a cracked heart. “But don't you think it's time you try move on? You're letting... her effect you more than she deserves to. She wasn't the one for you but someone, somewhere, is. You're not going to meet them in here, you need to be outside, experiencing life, waiting for the moment you both cross paths.”

Hongjoong had always envied Seonghwa and his hopeful attitude towards love.

Of course he didn't understand, even if he claimed to. Seonghwa had never even experienced a break up, never mind heartbreak. He met the love of his life at the age of fifteen and married her at the age of twenty five, welcoming their first child together not even a year after.

“Chae wanted me to ask you if maybe you'd consider meeting a girl from her faculty.” Ah, there it was. The whole reason Seonghwa had even brought up his love life in the first place. “She's really sweet! And she's new to the city. And Chae figured, since you know all the best places here out of all of us, you'd be a great tour guide.”

“San literally works in real estate, Hwa. His job is knowing this city like the back of his hand.”

“San is also happily engaged. Come on, what is there to lose? One date, that's all I'm asking you to try.” Seonghwa whined, reminding Hongjoong of the man's child. “You need to start living life again, dude. Because this life of self pity isn't working out for you anymore, it's beginning to affect your career. Just put yourself out there and, if it goes shit, you can blame me.”

“Oh, I'll do more than blame you.”

“So, does that mean you're agreeing to it?”

Hongjoong sighed, pushing himself to stand up from the couch, his hands stinging from the dried paint and his muscles aching with the need for a warm shower. Eyeing the repulsive piece once more, he mentally cursed Seonghwa for playing the career card. He couldn't pretend the man didn't have a point, his art was in need of a new muse, sooner rather than later if he intended to not be a one hit wonder.

“Only because I really need to make that deadline.”

The evening should have been nothing short from perfect: a fresh bouquet handed to her at her front door, a pleasant evening stroll to the restaurant, a mouth-watering meal, not a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two of them. So, why did Hongjoong feel like something was missing?

It was somehow nothing and, yet, everything personal. His date, who he'd forgotten the name of two hours into the night and was now doing his best to avoid having to say it, was by all means conventionally attractive. She had a strong sense of self, the kind of woman he pictured his mother wanting for him. From the many stories she'd shared through the evening, he could tell she loved her job just as much as she loved to talk. They could work as a couple, theoretically. Hongjoong wasn't quite the talker- unless the topic of conversation pertained to one of his obscure, niche interests-, whereas she looked like she could talk for the whole republic of Korea. Her clothing was loud, colourful, a reflection of her personality. Meanwhile, his were dark, plain. She was a social butterfly, he was a solitary caterpillar.

If opposites truly did attract, she would have been his soulmate.

Hongjoong was the issue, though. Or, at least that's what he thought of himself. There he was, on a date with a beautiful woman who was doing her best in life, thriving both socially and in her career. Meanwhile, he was a burnt out artist who rarely found the motivation to wash his hair and had seven friends, only one which he'd actually gone out of his way to make himself and that was in high school. He felt irritated by her perfection, by his inability to have his life put together in that same way. Only a few years away from hitting thirty, and what did he have to show for himself? A single exhibition in his whole career and a one bedroom apartment he'd been living in since college? The girl across from him deserved better than what he had to offer.

“...long story short, that's why Chaeyoung found me crying in the toilet on my first day.” Her flirtatious laughter attracted stares from surrounding tables. None malicious but all wondering why the poor girl's date seemed so miserable in the presence of someone so bubbly. “Speaking of toilets, I'm just going to go freshen up. Don't miss me too much.”

“No promises.” He smiled up at her when she rose from her seat, the guilt in the pit of his stomach growing heavier with each passing second.

As she disappeared from sight, Hongjoong sighed. Out of relief, sadness, exhaustion? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The events of the evening were pushed aside as he let his eyes trail around the restaurant's interior. The whole place had been refurbished since the last time he'd been.

The last time he'd stepped foot in the restaurant, the whole place was made up of different shades of blue. The walls, the seats, the tablecloths. Walking in felt like being slapped in the face by a raging ocean. When it came to his art, he hated the colour blue. But he'd put up with it in that restaurant because she always liked the service there.

Now, the restaurant had changed hands and the new owner clearly had a more minimalistic approach to things. The walls were a mirage of beige, an elegant design printed on the selected wallpaper. The furniture was a combination of black metals and wooden tops and, where a bunch of cheap chandeliers had once hung, a selection of fairy lights entwined with strings of fake leaves rested above everyone's head. If Hongjoong tried hard enough, he could picture his ex sat across from him in that moment, nose turned up while she failed to quietly bash the rugged look of the restaurant.

Clearing his throat, Hongjoong finished off the remnants of his drink. He figured taking this time to ask for the bill was the least he could do. His date had put in all the effort of conversation, he should be the one to cover the cost of the evening. Between waiting for the bill, and waiting for his date to return, his eyes drifted across the room to another couple.

It wasn't the girl's striking beauty nor the male's loud booming laughter that had caught his interest. It was the way they seemed the opposite of him and his date: the girl looked bored to death and the man seemed to only pause from talking to shovel a fork full of pasta into his mouth, not even waiting to swallow before speaking again. Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, hands occupying themselves with his napkin, more than sure that he was seeing exactly what other customers had seen when they looked at him and his date.

In another life, where everything was a rom-com and romance wasn't the root of all misery, Hongjoong would believe this girl was his soulmate, both of them destined to meet at the bar as they attempted to escape their talkative dates- who would likely be destined to meet that same evening too. Maybe they'd have a joint wedding, all laughing when they thought of the times they'd tried to end up with the other's spouse.

Instead of heading to the bar, Hongjoong payed the bill and, when his date returned, they both walked out of the restaurant; her a few steps ahead of him while he took one last glance at the opposite couple.

The walk back to her place was a little less awkward for Hongjoong than the rest of the evening, the prospect of finally being able to go back to the safe place that was his apartment giving him a buzz of energy. She'd asked him questions about the city, mostly just about the best places to go for specific things, and he'd answered her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket while hers swung freely at her side. Every couple of swings, he'd wonder if she was waiting for him to take a hold of it, intertwine his fingers with her own.

They arrived at her door and the echo of the nightlife around them was starting to pick up, people just beginning their evening together while they two were bringing theirs to an end.

“Thanks for tonight. I really... appreciated your company,” He internally groaned. He sounded like he was closing a business meeting, not saying goodnight to a girl he'd just went out with. “you're a really nice girl. It's been nice meeting you.”

“It was really nice meeting you too!” There it was again, that twinge of hatred towards her. She was just so happy, Hongjoong envied her.

“I'm really sorry for wasting your time.” A hand shot up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the bottom of the mullet he'd grown in the months of heartbreak. “I'm just, not really looking for anything with anyone right now? It's nothing personal.”

“Hey, no worries! In all honesty, this was more about just going out in the city. It's not easy being the new kid in town!” The smile never faltered from her face, not even at her next words. “Chaeyoung may or may have not explained a little bit of your situation to me and, I know my opinion as a stranger might mean nothing to you, and I totally respect that, but let me just say this. I think you're a really nice guy. A cool guy, with a lot to offer. You just seem to have forgotten who that guy is, which is a shame. I'd really like to be friends with him.”

“I,” He paused, a little stunned and unsure of what he should say. He'd been told similar things from friends, and it was easy to brush off. But, coming from this girl who barely knew him yet had read him so easily? It was hard. “yeah. I'm trying to remember, I think. Thanks for saying that. And for tonight. Hopefully you don't mind being stuck being friends with whoever I am right now.”

A colourful string of curses pierced the air of the apartment. Hongjoong pulled back from the sizzling pan, wishing he could punch the him from ten minutes ago who thought it was a smart idea to cook bacon in nothing but his underwear.

Growing into his own skin was something that had taken him years to achieve. He'd always been on the shorter end of height amongst those in his class, which hadn't helped with the singled-out bullying he endured in his formative years. There's only so many times a person, especially an impressionable teenager, needs to be told their supposed short-comings before they begin to believe it's all that defines them. He'd learnt to love himself through watching her love him, following in her footsteps like a baby duck followed it's mother. Out of everything the relationship had left him with- the heartbreak, the trust issues, the betrayal- he was happy it had brought him self-love.

The self-love that made him confident enough to lounge around in his boxers though? Yeah, that could get lost, as far as he was concerned.

His ringtone began to play, to which the already frustrated, and admittedly sleep deprived, Hongjoong groaned as he walked around the kitchen island into the living area. Like always, he found the damned device buried within the creases of his couch.

Seonghwa was calling him.

Hongjoong hit decline.

It was ten minutes past noon, he'd barely been awake for half an hour and his skin had already been tainted with burns from the oil spat at him by his pan. There was not a chance in hell, purgatory or heaven that he was about to answer and listen to his friend barrage him with questions about how the date went. Hongjoong wasn't ready to listen to the hopeless romantic in Park Seonghwa try to find moments of hope in the terribly mundane evening him and the girl had shared.

No second date would be happening, a fact which comforted Hongjoong. A weight had been removed from his chest, that sinking feeling gone. The accomplishment of having done what Seonghwa had asked of him, no matter the end result, was a small success in his books, a step in the right direction out of his cycle of misery. However, that one step didn't mean he was ready to run a marathon.

If Hongjoong really was going to walk the path back to his old self, or carve a new one, he'd be doing it on his own terms and at his own pace.

The influx of buzzing from his phone took his attention once again, this time coming from a familiar group chat. Hongjoong had told himself to mute it yet always forgot to.

[12:11 pm] wooshit: istg she's left me with 6 pulled muscles and a broken bed, best sex i've had in a long time.

Jung Wooyoung was one of those friends he hadn't gone out of his way to make but, rather, he just turned up one day in Hongjoong's life, slapping him on the ass and asking him if he would mind painting a nude portrait of him.

[12:13 pm] yeolo: you say that every time you have sex.

[12:14 pm] wooshit: kang yeosang stop being salty about me getting my dick wet challenge: failed.

Yeosang had been the one to blame for introducing Wooyoung to the group and, though he too was technically someone who simply showed up one day, Hongjoong had shared a class with him during college days.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: honey, we need to stop befriending these hets like we're a charity.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: oh shit.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: did i send that here?

[12:17 pm] minki: yeah, but you're right.

[12:17 pm] minki: from now on, you guys need to pay for the service of our company.

Then there was Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi, yet another golden couple in Hongjoong's life. Like Seonghwa and his wife, they'd met in school, the only difference being that they never fully accepted their feelings for each other until much later. They were the first new additions to Hongjoong and Seonghwa's life, the four sticking together after ending up sharing a dorm.

[12:22 pm] wooshit: i don't even pay for netflix, what makes you think i'd pay for you?

[12:23 pm] yeolo: idk how he keeps accessing my account, i've changed my password over six times!

[12:23 pm] jongno: adding another number at the end of hehet doesn't count as changing your password, yeo.

The latest friend among them all, Choi Jongho, was dragged into their mess by Seonghwa, who'd contacted him about singing at his wedding. Somehow, the night had ended with the lot of them embarrassing themselves on the mic during various rounds of drunken karaoke, while Chaeyoung looked on, unamused by her new husband's antics.

[12:26 pm] sanwitch: am i the only one still wondering how tf woo convinces these women to sleep with him?

If there were a voice of reason among them all, it certainly wasn't San. After meeting his fiancé, he'd tried to play off like he'd matured but they all knew he was still Wooyoung's double, one half of their dumb and dumber act.

[12:27 pm] wooshit: i don't appreciate your tone.

[12:28 pm] wooshit: i'm a suave casanova. a modern gentleman. ladies fall at my feet when i wink.

[12:29 pm] yeolo: he's on a hook up app.

[12:29 pm] wooshit: hate it here.

[12:30 pm] wooshit: it's not a hook up app, it's a dating app. the best one, actually.

[12:30 pm] yeolo: a dating app for horny singles.

[12:31 pm] wooshit: hey! horny singles want love too!

[12:34 pm] minki: what's so good about it anyway?

[12:36 pm] wooshit: i'm glad you asked, mingles.

[12:37 pm] yeolo: oh no, here we go.

At some point, Hongjoong had reclined himself against the arm of his couch, slowly but surely sinking into it whilst his eyes and thumbs scrolled over the screen. It wasn't like he had any intentions of join the conversation. No, that would risk Seonghwa seeing him online. The conversation was nothing special either compared to the countless other ones they'd spammed the chat with. Still, a magnetic force was pulling Hongjoong to keep reading, to pay attention.

[12:43 pm] wooshit: the app let's you choose who gets to see your private info, like your name, age, etc...

[12:43 pm] wooshit: so users just see your pictures and whatever description you write, until you approve them to see more. it's great, filters out people who're looking for anything long term.

[12:49 pm] sanwitch: isn't it weird to hook up with people and not know who they are?

[12:52 pm] yunhoe: not to mention, dangerous?

[12:53 pm] wooshit: that's the fun part!

[12:53 pm] wooshit: this is why i fear relationships.

[12:54 pm] wooshit: it's turned the two biggest man whores i knew into boring, dick/pussy whipped losers.

[12:58 pm] yeolo: wait, so what's the app called?

[13:03 pm] jongno: don't do it, yeo.

[13:05 pm] wooshit: stfu jongho.

[13:05 pm] wooshit: yeo don't listen to him, baby.

[13:06 pm] wooshit: the app's called checkmate.

[13:08 pm] jongno: can i just be the one to remind wy he's less than a year away from hitting 27?

[13:10 pm] yunhoe: don't join the dark side, yeo. you're better than that.

[13:04 pm] wooshit: yeo used to think darth vader was hot, he's always been on the dark side, yunho.

An offensive beeping rang out in the room, startling Hongjoong and sending him catapulting out of his seat, a hand clutching his chest. His heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. In a state of panic, he began to recount the safety measures she'd instilled in him for whenever the fire alarm went off. It was only once his eyes had settled on the fire extinguisher that a rather offensive smell hit his nose, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

His bacon had burnt.

There was something he despised about arriving early to things.

For starters, it made him panic that he'd gotten the days mixed up, more often than not finding himself unlocking his phone and aiming straight for his calendar. After confirming the plans aligned with the select day, he'd check the text history with whoever he was meeting, in case he'd written it down incorrectly in his phone.

Moving on from there, Hongjoong would fall down a spiral of believing everyone in the surrounding vicinity had their eyes on him. In his mind, they were all questioning why he was alone, what was he doing, if he was just a complete loner. He solved this by occupying himself with his phone, scrolling through his gallery or aimlessly rereading conversations in the Teezers group chat.

It would soothe him for a while, until his brain found something else to worry about: being stood up. The overwhelming feeling of abandonment was something he carried close to his heart, sneaking out at the minimum sign of someone not arriving for an arranged meeting. There were times, when he'd arrive first out of the Teezers, that his own fear was strong enough to convince himself that all seven of the boys had collectively agreed to not meet up and to leave Hongjoong waiting.

Right now, he was experiencing the second stage.

With half a cup of coffee left and a shredded napkin in his anxious hands, Hongjoong was doing his best to limit the number of times his eyes wandered over to the entry of the café. Eventually, the napkin was replaced by his phone, cringing as he forgot to turn his volume down before he opened the app. He would be more than ashamed if someone in the café recognized the app's signature tune, fearing the judgement he'd receive for being on such a site.

Hongjoong hadn't told anyone he'd joined Checkmate, not even his friends. Was it partially out of fear of judgement? Yes, the judgement from finding out the real reason he'd signed up.

Two weeks had passed since he'd set up his profile and he was still blaming it on a moment of weakness, born from lack of sleep, mild dehydration and the paint fumes he'd been inhaling indirectly all day in his studio. The feeling of needing a new muse returned to him, stronger than any previous time. Without much thought, Hongjoong had unlocked his phone, memories of Wooyoung and his self-proclaimed "best dating app" at the front of his mind. And, though Hongjoong had always despised the concept of a dating app- he much preferred the old fashioned way of falling in love, the artist in him seeking out that moment of fate where one gazed across a room and caught the sight of someone magnetic, someone they needed to meet-, the app was ideal for what he wanted.

He squirmed in his seat, turning the brightness of his screen down as his dating profile flashed onto it. He'd uploaded exactly three images of himself: one of him sat in a car, adorned with a beret and a camera in hand; another taken of him across a table, back when his hair was red and his eyes were happier; the last was a selfie he'd taken in an elevator with his face covered by a mask, he'd hoped it wasn't too obvious his ex had been cropped out of it.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Hongjoong grimaced as he read over his profile description.

this may sound strange but i'm not looking for a relationship or a casual hook-up. what i really need is someone to experience things with, experiences that my friends are too exhausting to give me and my family is too judgemental. i don't want to know you, and i don't want you to know me. i just want us to live a few moments together, as strangers. call them dates if you want, i don't care. maybe you don't understand what i'm asking for, maybe you think this sounds like a scam that ends with you dead. that's fine, you're not the person for the job, please move on from my profile. but, maybe you're like me and the past months have been you living in autopilot, waking up because you have to, not because you want to. maybe your friends are just like mine and they've told you to put yourself out there more or that they miss the old you. this is both of our chances to change that, to be our old selves again or become a newer, better version. if that's the case, message me but don't let me see your private info. be my stranger.

Given it's contents, he was amazed anyone had messaged him. Maybe he'd been hoping to get no response. He'd be able to remain sedated with the fact he'd tried, leaving him the perfect excuse to not do so again for a while.

But someone had replied. The person, from the few pictures Hongjoong had been permitted to view on their profile, was beautiful. To others, the word beauty could easily hold a single meaning, a specific look. To the artist, it meant everything. He had a knack for finding hidden treasures, glimpses of rarity. His fingers had itched to portrait such a face on paper the longer he'd stared at the pictures, which both terrified and satisfied him.

He'd not even met you yet and already he'd had a surge of inspiration, even if it died a few seconds later.

The third stage of arriving early was about to commence when, much to his relief, a figure sat across from him.

There you were, nervously pulling back your own seat and placing down your to-go cup. Details about your face were different in person than in pictures but it didn't diminish your beauty. No, it rather enhanced it.

“What did you order?” Hongjoong often thought someone's choice of drink could tell you a lot about them. Like how Seonghwa ordered a cortado because he was always in a rush, or how San had the habit of getting a mocha to kill two birds with one stone: satisfy the craving for coffee and chocolate, or how he himself tended to order plain black coffee to avoid any fuss for the person serving him.

“Mango tea.” Was your reply and Hongjoong wasn't sure what to make of it. In all honesty, he hadn't known there was such a thing. He really needed to start reading the menu at these places.

“Don't drink coffee?” His question was observational. Statistically speaking, didn't most people fall under the veil of a coffee or tea person, the drink version of the good old cat or dog debate?

“Only when I'm stressing.” There was something about the way you spoke to him, like you hated the small talk just as much as he did, that had Hongjoong gripping on to everything you said. Was this what it was like to speak to himself? “Sorry, not to be rude, but could we cut to the chase? I have to be back in class in,” You paused, pulling back the denim sleeve to read your watch’s face. “seventeen minutes.”

His eyes widened at the word class, like he was personally offended by it. All rational sense left, his prone-to-panic brain doing what it done best and throwing him down a spiral of dark thoughts.

“College!” You exclaimed, hands shooting up a little, your palms on display. “College class. I'm...” You seemed hesitant to speak, halting yourself mid-sentence. You knew what the man in front of you wanted and personal information was not it. “of age. Not some high school student, I swear.”

When Hongjoong gave you no reply, you continued to speak.

“Not that it really matters. We're not going to be doing anything. But still, you don't want to be... hanging out with some kid. I get it. Me neither. Yeah, I'm a college student.”

“I believe you.” Different to his previous date, Hongjoong didn't think you were much of a talker. A nervous talker, perhaps. He could relate to that a bit more. There was a humming in his veins, his body buzzing with the thrill of sitting across from a complete stranger and not having to worry about your impression of him, if he was showing all his best qualities, intriguing you to get to know him better. There never had to be a fear of you being disappointed with what you'd find in meeting the real Kim Hongjoong. “Anyway, yeah. Let's get into it quickly so you can make it back to class.”

“Okay, so you already said in our text conversation that you don't want to know any personal information.” Hongjoong nodded, affirming your statement. “What exactly do you consider personal information?”

“Anything that defines who you are. Your age, your hobbies, your hometown. Especially your name,” He finished off the last of his coffee, doing his best to ignore the bitter taste. “It's too easy to learn everything about someone these days with just their name and access to the internet.”

“Sheesh, these days? You talk like my middle-aged father.” You seemed to catch your mistake just as it left your mouth, looking off to the side momentarily before meeting his eyes again. “Shit, sorry, you just said you didn't want to share our ages.”

Hongjoong almost wanted to laugh out of pity, seeing so much of himself reflected in you yet finding you so different all at once. “Love that you apologise for that but not for insinuating that I'm old.”

“Hey, ain't no shame in a little age. I've heard having a glucose father helps cover the costs of college.”

“Glucose... father?”

“And then you wonder why I called you old?” For the first time since you'd approached the table, he saw a wave of confidence wash over you, burning in the satisfaction of whatever diss you seemed to believe you'd handed to him. “So, if we're not getting to share names, what am I supposed to call you?”

“That's... actually a good question. I didn't think that far ahead.” Before falling asleep the night before, Hongjoong had rehearsed every possible scenario he could think of regarding how this meeting would go. Hell, he'd even prepared for if you revealed mid-way that you were an alien lifeforce! He'd miraculously skimmed over how to get past the whole name situation. “I don't know, I guess we could just tell each other fake names.”

“Or,” You drummed your hands on the table. He found it a little annoying. “we could pick out names for each other.”

“You first, then.”

Hongjoong felt the urge to sit up straight instead of his usual slouched posture at the drag of your eyes over him. It was intimidating to know you were analysing everything about him based solely on his exterior, yet it filled him with a twisted pleasure. He hoped whatever conclusion you came to about him would be incorrect, his superiority complex needing a comeback.

“Clyde.” Not a name he expected. “Cause you seem like the complete opposite of that name, but I'm also kinda suspicious that you might be some sicko waiting to make a mask out of my face.”

“Who's to say it's not you who's going to make a mask out of mine?” His eyes caught the way you checked your watch again, time running by quickly. “Then I guess I'll be calling you Bonnie, to keep things on theme.”

“Well aren't you just the little romantic?”

Hongjoong didn't want to stay in your company any longer than necessary, he really didn't. But your bus stop just happened to be in the same direction of where he'd managed to park his car. Saying goodbye at the café door only walk in the same direction would have been too painfully awkward for Hongjoong to endure, so he offered to walk you to the stop.

You both managed to come to an agreement on your schedule: every Saturday. It was the only day you had free, the rest filled with school and work. He'd felt a little guilty admitting he lacked responsibilities in that department.

Watching you walk told him more than your drink order had. You seemed to pull into yourself, shoulders kinda tight, hands in your pockets, head a little low hanging like you were watching your own steps.

Spotting the bus stop up ahead, he picked up pace. His social battery was running out, a sight no one enjoyed witnessing. But you called him to stop and, out of politeness, he felt the need to obey.

“Hold on, I'll be back in a second, I swear.”

Off you'd disappeared into a convenience store, leaving Hongjoong abandoned in the middle of the pavement. That feeling of having eyes on him returned but he survived, resisting the urge to fake being occupied by his phone. You came bustling back out, a white plastic bag at your side and a look of success on your face.

“Here, take this.” You reached into the bag, holding out a cardboard box to him. Upon inspection, he quickly realised what you'd bought. You were smarter than he'd expected, what a relief. “Now we won't even have to share our real numbers.”

Hours later, the black, clunky burner phone would buzz in Hongjoong's back pocket, a single text on the grainy screen.

from: bonnie c u on saturday, grandpa.

“Maybe this wasn't a good idea.”

Hongjoong couldn't agree with you more, a frustrated sigh falling from his lips as he struggled to pack up his stuff. In his mind, he couldn't get away from there fast enough. Momentarily, his eyes skirted over to you, satisfied to find you also packing up and throwing your bag over your shoulder, not an ounce of hesitation. The look you both shared before commencing to run made it clear you were wondering the same thing.

How the hell had the date taken such a turn?

As promised, the two of you had met on a Saturday. Hongjoong picked you up from that same bus stop you'd parted ways at, figuring it was easier than finding out what other places you localled in your free time. Upon your arrival, Hongjoong did not notice the little things that had changed about you since he'd last seen you, like the way your hair was a couple shades darker or how you'd changed your phone case.

“Looking dapper, Clyde.” You'd said, taking in his outfit when you'd stepped off the bus.

He'd always prided himself on the ways he expressed himself, whether that be through his artwork, his words or his fashion sense. There'd been a time where his wardrobe was colourful, full of oddities and unique pieces, things he'd thrifted and renovated to suit his taste more. Nowadays, all the colour in his wardrobe was hidden behind piles of whites and greys and blacks. Hongjoong felt a shot of pride run through him at your comment, standing there in black cargo pants paired with a white graphic tee and a pair of faded black Doc Martins' he'd owned for a few too many years.

It felt good to be complimented still.

“I hope you don't have any allergies.” By the time you'd both sat yourselves in his car, Hongjoong was feeling a little less tense. The initial greetings with strangers was always the hardest part.

“Is that a trick question, Clyde?”

“Not at all, Bonnie. Why? And you're having a little bit too much fun calling me that, aren't you?”

“It's a cool name!” You threw your hands up in your own defence. “I thought we weren't supposed to share private info.”

“There's private information and then there's me accidentally putting your life at risk. Now answer the question.”

“And they say romance is dead.” You shifted in your seat, one hand playing with the zip of your jacket. “As long as you don't try force feed me a strawberry, we're good.”

Hongjoong didn't point out the fact you never asked him in return, not that he did have any allergies that needed pointed out. But you seemed disinterested in knowing, in caring. 

He'd picked the right person.

The car pulled up to an empty parking lot located in front of a field, a look of realization coming over you. Taking advantage of the trance you were in, Hongjoong shot out the car and made his way around to your door, effortlessly pulling it open and greeting you with a shy smile. He was hoping you liked the plans he'd made for you both. Not because he cared for your opinion, rather Hongjoong knew he needed an influx of colours to motivate him, inspire him.

And what better place to find colour than a field of blossoming flowers?

He closed the door behind you before leading you over to the boot of the car- which sparked several jokes about him murdering you and burying you in the field- and handed you a blanket before bringing out a basket. Conversation was scarce as you two ventured over the small fence and into the flowery field, the basket swinging with each of his steps and the blanket safely clutched against your chest. The smell was sweet, overwhelmingly fresh in contrast to the stiff air of Seoul.

“This looks like a good spot,” You said, coming to a stop in an empty patch surrounded by a rainbow made up of tulips. The artist in Hongjoong itched to take your picture, the sun creating the illusion of a halo above your head and the flowers a satisfying contrast to your monochromatic clothing. The person in him didn't want to carry the burden of your image in his gallery, a temptation to think of you on days that weren't Saturdays. “you agree?”

“Uh, yeah, seems fine to me.” He wanted to curse himself for taking a few moments to reply. Surely you didn't notice.

You laid the blanket down and he laid out the food: freshly cut fruit (no strawberry in sight), sandwiches without the crust (he always found the crust too dry), chocolate dipped almonds and honey drizzled pastries (he had a sweet tooth), different flavours of milk (banana was his favourite) and bottled water.

The date passed by slowly, neither of you willing to admit you were bored. It was hard to choose a topic of discussion when you weren't supposed to get to know each other, to care for what the other thought or felt. For a while, he'd told you facts about the different flowers around you until you took over and told him about different types of clouds. And then, you caved into the awkwardness.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

“I don't want to.”

“It doesn't have to be true.” You stated like it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That's the beauty of this, right? We don't have to be honest with who we are. So, tell me something about yourself, whether it's the truth or a lie. I'll never know, either way.”

Hongjoong paused mid bite of the pastry, tongue darting out to lick at the excess honey on his lips. “I'm an accountant.”

“Because no one asks what you do?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, boomer.”

“I'm not a boomer! I'm probably not much older than you!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.”

Hongjoong ignored the way peach juice dribbled down your chin as you took a bite. “It's your turn.”

“My cousin is a famous idol.”

Both of you lied.

And it worked, getting the conversation flowing a bit easier. Hongjoong enjoyed lying without the consequences that usually came along with it. It was like playing a character, no longer himself but Clyde, an accountant, career booming and social circle full. It was easier to be confident when nothing was reality.

But back to the present, where both you and Hongjoong were scrambling to grab your belongings and make a beeline for his car. A buzzing followed after you both, threatening to make you pay for intruding on the bees turf, who were hungry for nectar and not happy to find a pair of strangers sat among the flowers and eating the fruit of their labour.

Suddenly the prospect of a flower field was less romantically beautiful.

“Ow, ow, shit.” Hongjoong cursed, slamming the door to his car shut. With the adrenaline dissipating, the pain of the nasty sting he'd taken to the hand made itself known.

“Here, let me drive.” You called from the backseat, urging him to hop over to the passenger's side. Hongjoong hesitated, he didn't enjoy letting other's drive his car. But the itch in his hand only grew, leading him to give in. He grunted when you nearly elbowed him in the face while dragging yourself into the front. “Next time, let's just do something indoors.”

Hongjoong had certainly been on worse dates.

The dates continued on smoothly from there, with no more run ins with wildlife and less awkward silence each time.

You chose the second location, a pottery class, in which Hongjoong tried his best to not over-perform and you just tried to at least make a shape out of some clay. The third and fourth dates were chosen by him: a visit to a planetarium and a trust-building day of canoeing, by the end of that one, you both had nearly drank the whole lake away from the number of times you'd fallen in.

One thing remained consistent throughout. Without fail, there would come a time where one of you- usually you- would prompt the question "Tell me something about yourself."

He'd lied about being into clubbing and you lied about being a smoker.

He lied about having a sister and you lied about being fluent in four languages.

When you were honest about owning a cat, Hongjoong kept up the lies with saying he preferred dogs.

The fifth date was one you'd organised, giving Hongjoong nothing but an address and the instruction to dress like a pompous aristocrat. He felt a little silly, walking the street midday in his suit and tie, but he found himself caring less than he normally would. He quite liked being Clyde. He'd even nearly put on a teal tie, but he decided he still wasn't ready and stuck to a black one.

from: bonnie meet me inside.

Pulling the door open to the building, he was admittedly ashamed of not recognising the address of the art gallery. Back in college, he'd spent hours sat in the centre of some of the larger rooms, beautiful art encasing him as he worked away at whatever project he needed to complete before midnight.

He found you near the information desk, scrolling through your phone. He'd hate to ever admit he took this moment of liberty to give you a once-over. Your beauty was nothing new to him, a few dates in now. The way it morphed into something new every time, though, that never failed to intrigue him.

“You scrub up quite nicely, Bonnie.” Hongjoong no longer felt a shake in his voice whenever you two met up. It worried him that he may be getting used to you but, the smile you gave in retaliation to his greeting didn't worry him,

He actually liked it.

The two of you ventured through the gallery, shoulder to shoulder. You'd stare at the art and he would stare at you. For no reason other than he had seen these pieces all plenty of times, more than he'd seen you.

Hongjoong smiled, thinking of how wonderful it was to see someone experiencing the art for the first time. That smile faltered when you both came to a stop in front of a familiar painting. A portrait of a woman, naked skin tangled with rose vines and face stoic..

If only the thorns dug more into her skin, enough to draw blood, it would have satisfied him.

“This one makes me sad.” You spoke, unknowingly quenching some of the fiery anger burning up in him. He'd forgotten this piece was even hung here.

“Why?” He knew why it made him sad, but you? He couldn't understand. The painting was a supposed demonstration of love, a declaration of affection.

“It reminds me of unrequited love.” You took his lack of response as your sign to continue, clearing your throat. “It's like a shrine, or an artsy version of putting her up on a pedestal. Even it's name, Aphrodite's champion. It's like the artist is worshipping her like a goddess.”

He felt a lump swelling in his throat the more you spoke, the memories of her walking out on him playing out in his head. How she'd revealed her lies to him, stripped him away of his sanity, gaslit him into thinking he'd pushed her to the point of infidelity. It took many drunken nights in Seonghwa's company to get it through his head that nothing he'd done could ever excuse the way she treated him.

“I feel sorry for whoever the artist Kim Hongjoong is. They deserve better.”

He'd managed to make it to the bathroom in time for the first tear falling, you none-the-wiser to the emotional fractures ripping him apart in the tiny stall.

The sixth date went better.

He was relieved by the time Saturday arrived, his week filled with nothing but stress and heartache. On the Monday, Seonghwa had invited himself into his apartment, finding his friend dishevelled and puffy eyed in his studio room, an empty canvas in front of him and a paper scribbled with ideas in his hand. Wednesday saw the unexpected visit of his mother, which always went down a treat for him. On Thursday, he drank away the day that should've been his and his ex's fifth anniversary. By the time Friday had rolled around, Hongjoong started working, for the second time, on the final piece of his collection.

The reopening of his wounds had at least served some purpose.

Every other week so far, Saturday had been the day he dreaded. The day he had to mentally prepare for, the few hours of social interaction exhausting him. But the sixth Saturday was his saviour.

The day couldn't have gone better: he'd woken up early; he'd hummed along to the radio while cooking breakfast; he’d spent the afternoon painting, till his back ached and his fingers were cramped; he’d contemplated a hair cut but decided against it. And, when he'd stepped out the door that evening, twirling his keys on his finger, Hongjoong slipped on a red jacket.

“I can't believe drive-in cinema's are still a thing!” You exclaimed again, still in disbelief of where Hongjoong had brought you. His hands itched to reach up and wipe the mustard off the side of your mouth. Your napkin done it before he could lose his composure.

He nodded, mouth full of nachos. He was regretting asking for extra jalapeños, his tongue beginning to tingle. You, on the other hand, were smarter than him and stuck to a hotdog. As he swallowed, a tortilla chip scratched at his throat, leaving him coughing for a couple of seconds. “What, no joke about me being as old as the concept of drive-ins?”

“It's only a joke if you find it funny.”

“Who says I don't?”

“You've never laughed before at my jokes.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

The parking lot wasn't ridiculously busy. If Hongjoong had to, he would have guessed there was between ten to fifteen other cars apart from you two. A car to the left of his, four parking spaces between them, harboured what looked like two teenagers, one straddling the other's lap while they both took part in a dance of tongues and wandering hands.

Hongjoong believed their money would have been better spent on a motel room than the drive-in.

“What are we watching, anyway?” You piped up again after a while of comfortable silence, the radio softly playing a mix of early 2000s pop while you waited for the movie to play. He watched you sip from your cup, fingers drumming along to the beat coming through the speakers. Hongjoong liked it.

“Jurassic Park.”

“A movie about a group of prehistoric reptiles?” He'd expected the reaction you'd given him but that didn't make it any easier to suppress his smile at the sound of you laughing, cheeks puffed up from the stretch of your lips. “Isn't that based on your autobiography?”

Finally, he let laughter rip through his lungs, melodic waves of sound spreading in the small space of the vehicle. He was too lost in his own amusement to notice how your own laughter had died down or how you stared at him in content. Hongjoong really did look much better with a smile on his face, but you kept that thought to yourself out of fear of ruining the moment.

“Sorry Clyde, you just make it too easy for me.”

Once the movie started, the talking stopped, nothing but the sound of the characters pulsing through the speakers and the crunch of pop-corn. Your eyes hadn't left the screen once, sparkling a little with the bright reflection of the screen. Hongjoong, on the other hand, struggled to keep himself concentrated. His eyes were restless: watching the screen, watching you, watching the other cars, watching the sky, watching you, watching the pedals at his feet, watching you, watching you, watching you.

He craved your attention.

“Tell me something about you, Bonnie.” His whispered words had your eyes on him at last. You didn't seem bothered by the way he was interrupting the movie. Instead, you reached to turn down the radio.

“I hate the spelling of the word Wednesday.” You shifted yourself in your seat, leaning closer to him. His stomach turned at the smell of your perfume, lingering on his senses and threatening to get him hooked on it. “It's just so ugly looking, don't you agree?”

“Hmm...” Hongjoong had to spell it mentally, visualising all the times he'd written it in the corner of middle-school notebooks. “I get what you mean. It looks like it has more letters than it needs, kinda cramped?”

“Yes! Exactly! It's only got two e's but that somehow feels like too many.” Was he proud because he managed to relate to someone or because that someone was you? “Your turn, Clyde.”

“I hate the colour blue.”

“That's strange.” You didn't seem to be judging him, just commenting on it.

“You think?”

You hummed in approval, sipping the remnants of your drink. “Worldwide, that's the colour most people favour.”

“And yet the colour is associated with the feeling of sadness. Says more about everyone else than it does about me, wouldn't you agree?”

The radio was shortly turned back up. His eyes were more calm this time, only occasionally drifting over to where you were sat. Until he felt something drop against him. He found you, eyes shut by sleep.

You needed a place to rest your head and he let you have him, finding comfort in the weight of you on his shoulder.

Hongjoong couldn't stand hospitals.

They smelt like bleach coloured death and words left unsaid and fading heartbeats. The lights were too bright, like they were trying to mimic the light one sees at the end of the tunnel. Everything was used and touched and tainted by another person, yet things were presented as brand new and never used. For him, every inch of the building brought on a kaleidoscope of memories of the final months before his passing, before his mother was left spouseless and his older brother took over the role of man of the house, and Hongjoong turned to paint brushes and abstract emotions.

In his first ever therapy session- one he'd only attended at her request-, they'd quickly gotten on to the topic of his father. It wasn't a shock for him to realise his depressive days had began after his death, making him wonder why he was paying this stranger to tell him things he already knew.

Sighing, he brushed aside the unwanted memories and tightened his grip on the crutches, making his way out of the consultation office and back into the lobby, a prescription tucked into his back pocket. The pain in his ankle diminished slightly the second he caught sight of you, biting down on the tip of your pen and caught in a trance staring at your crossword. There was a strand of straw caught amongst your hair but you seemed none-the-wiser.

He pulled it out when he was close enough, smiling down at you sheepishly while you pushed the magazine to the side, eyes shooting down to his ankle.

“Well?” You asked expectantly.

“It's not broken.” You sighed in relief. “It just took some shock upon impact, so it's a little sensitive. Should heal up in a few days, but I've to come back if the pain worsens at any point.”

“So you won't be suing me for damages?”

“No!” He chuckled in disbelief. You'd stood yourself up and you both were now making your way through the lobby of the hospital. It was endearing to see you walk slower for him to keep up. “Why would I sue you, Bonnie?”

He'd started to use your false name more. Was it to stop himself from asking for your real one? To remind himself this wasn't real?

“You're hurt because of me! I knew horseback riding was too risky for your old bones, should've just taken you to the zoo like I originally planned.”

“I don't like zoos.” An elderly couple pointed towards you two as you passed them. Hongjoong wanted to know what they thought of you both. “Besides, I had fun today. Especially when your horse stopped to take a massive dump mid-way through the trail and then ate grass for about five minutes. Watching you struggle to get it moving again was the highlight of my week!”

“Oh haha, very funny. Starting to think you falling off your horse was just karma for enjoying my suffering.”

The sun was barely up anymore, hues of dark orange setting fire to the sky while the sun slowly disappeared for the day. Hongjoong wondered if you could feel the cold the same way he could. When you'd both met in the morning, it was much warmer and neither of you predicted you would still be together so late into the day.

“Did you get a hold of your friend?” Hongjoong shook his head at your question. He'd messaged Seonghwa after the doctor had given him the all clear, knowing that he wasn't capable of driving himself home.

“He's busy, stuck with his in-laws for the night.” He knew there were others he could have asked to help him, like the rest of the boys in the group chat. For some reason, he didn't want to.

“Then I guess you're just going to have to accept the fact I'm about to find out where you live, Clyde.”

“I'm sure I can live with that.”

The drive was relaxing. He let his eyes drop down and just enjoyed the humming of the engine, the classical music dancing out of the speakers, the sweet scent of you in the air. Every so often, his GPS would chime in and keep him from falling off the edge into sleep. If someone had told him weeks ago, dates back, that you would be driving toward his apartment, he would have cut contact with you straight away.

Right now, he wished you'd hurry up and step inside the four walls he called home.

“You must have a boring job.” The doors to the elevator shut slowly, a fact which Hongjoong had always hated about the building. It usually left him stuck having uncomfortable small talk with the older women in his building.

“Huh?”

“Boring jobs always pay the best.” You further elaborated. “To live in a place like this, you must get payed well.”

He'd never really thought about the paycheques he collected. For Hongjoong, his art wasn't a job. It was breathing, living, feeling. He often forgot it was also what payed his bills and funded his lifestyle. He supposed you were right, to an extent. He did get payed well, but his job was by no means boring. “I told you, I'm an accountant.”

He was glad to find his apartment clean, mentally noting to thank Seonghwa for tidying up for him last time he'd visited. He'd always been a clean freak but fatherhood seemed to have intensified it. You walked in after him, swinging the little white bag in sync with your steps, his medicine tossing around inside of it. Somewhere along the drive home, he remember the prescription in his pocket, prompting a sudden manhunt for an open pharmacy.

At your orders, Hongjoong dropped himself down onto the couch while you wandered into the kitchen, asking him where he kept his mugs and how he liked his coffee. Watching you struggle to open his monstrous size of a fridge, Hongjoong didn't hate the look of you in his safe space. You fit in quite well.

For the first time in years, he let himself be taken care of. You cooked up some kimchi stew, which you shared sat in his living room, laughing between bites at the cringey rom-com playing on the TV. You fluffed a cushion and helped him prop his foot up on the coffee table, wrapping it in a frozen bag of peas when you realized he had no ice. You poured him drink after drink, forced him to take his medicine, cleaned up the dishes you'd both used.

You kept him company.

“Tell me...” Hongjoong trailed off, deciding he didn't want to finish the sentence.

“Something about myself?” You finished it off, curling yourself further into his couch, legs pulled up to your chest and a mug of tea heating up your hands.

“No, actually.” You looked more surprised than he felt. “Tell me why you agreed to this.”

“You know, nobody really warns you about how lonely being an adult is.” Hongjoong wanted to scream out in agreement. He leaned closer to you instead, body language urging you to continue. “I always thought college would be wild nights and crazy parties and messy hook-ups. And it is but it's also stressful, difficult, isolating. There's times where I go days without speaking to my friends, ignoring their texts for no other reason than I'm so drained and conversations overwhelm me. When I do want to talk or see them, they're all too busy with their own lives, which I'm not angry about but hanging out isn't as easy as it was back when the only thing we had to worry about was having the dishes done by the time our parents came home. The feeling of being lonely took over the feeling of being alive somewhere along the way. I miss being busy with something other than responsibilities, I miss being hugged because I'm cared about and not because someone wants to cop a feel. I miss the feeling of company and understanding.”

Your word-vomit resonated with Hongjoong, the way you explained your feelings and your cravings mirroring things he'd been thinking for months. How would you react if he hugged you? He didn't want you to mistake it for pity. His arms stayed put.

“On the flipside, the intimacy of love is something I don't want. Which contradicts the things I do want, I know, but then I came across your profile. You sort of filled that hole and I didn't need to worry about the complications of relationships.” And now he was feeling guilty for his recent behaviour. You were strangers, that was the deal. “I guess that's why I agreed to it.”

The shame poured off you in waves, the realization of everything you'd just let out into the world hitting you like a truck. You took a few more drinks of your tea, the cup covering half your face.

“I needed a new muse.” Hongjoong thought it was only fair he shared his reason too. Another part of him, one he didn't want to acknowledge, wanted you to know about his past.

“I didn't know accountants needed muses.” You joked, choking a smile out of your saddened face.

“Yeah, well, let's just say this accountant has a side-job involving art.”

“What happened to your old muse? Did you outgrow them?”

“They outgrew me.” It had been so long since he'd had to tell this story to someone, he only hoped he could get it out without choking up. “Have you ever met someone and immediately realised you want them by your side till the day you die?” You looked at him, nodding your head affirmatively. “That was my ex. We met on campus. She was late to class and I accidentally spilt coffee all over her.”

“What a k-drama way of meeting.”

“Tell me about it. So anyway, we were together for three years. It was great, like living in some fantasy. We'd spend mornings sleeping, in the afternoon she'd drag me out to do something, no matter how much I wanted to stay home. And in the evening, she'd sit and I'd paint her. Until she started leaving in the morning, and coming home late, and girls nights out kept ending with her sleeping round her friends houses.”

“Clyde...” He wished you'd said his name with pity, not the meaningless name you'd anointed to him.

“But whatever, I thought nothing about it. We just moved on from the honeymoon phase, right? On our anniversary, I took her to her favourite restaurant, some fancy place covered in enough blue to make me nauseous. The whole night I felt like shit and just wanted to go home but she didn't even notice, eyes staring off at something behind me. It was during dessert that she broke the news of her pregnancy, the restaurant owner even appeared from behind me with a celebratory bottle of champagne for us.”

“Alcohol? Sounds exactly like what a pregnant lady needs.”

Hongjoong snorted back laughter, finding comedy in the fact you had no idea what was coming next. “So we start preparing for the baby, she even has me emptying out my studio room and turning it into a nursery.” He paused, blinking till his eyes had glassed over. “I never realized I was someone who wanted kids till she told me it wasn't mine. Five months along, after sitting with her through all the morning sickness, and holding her hand at the doctors, and massaging her swollen ankles every night, she finally decides she owes me the truth. And only because the real father finally stepped up and offered to take responsibility. Guess she preferred someone who owned a restaurant instead of someone who played with arts and craft supplies for a living.”

It was you who hugged him, carefully crossing the space between you both and wrapping your arms around his torso, hand rhythmically patting his back. He hesitated momentarily before letting his arms tangle themselves around you. The first thing he noted was how warm you felt, like soup on a cold day or hot chocolate on Christmas morning. The second thing was your perfume, different to any you'd worn before, one he swore smelt like tulips.

Hongjoong melted into you, forehead pressed against your shoulder and eyes shut, washing away the tears of self-pity. He sighed and took a breath, reminding himself of the breathing exercises he'd learn to calm himself down in moments of anguish. He was thankful you continued to hold him.

“Tell me something about you.” He said- no, begged. He needed the conversation to change. He needed you to be Bonnie and him to be Clyde, instead of Kim Hongjoong and a stranger he was growing attached to.

“Classical music reminds me of sex.” The way you made him laugh so easily wasn't helping his attachment. “Don't laugh! There's the soft beginning, which is like kissing. Then comes the gentle increase, the teasing moments of undressing. The build up, the foreplay. And then the crescendo is the climax. It's sex turned into music.”

“So, when you're trying to seduce a guy, what do you do? Put on some Beethoven and throw it back?”

“Don't make me poke your ankle!”

Neither of you moved back to your original positions, even after pulling away from the hug. You sat, face to face, talking over everything and nothing. For the first time, Hongjoong hadn't lied to you once, an achievement he found less scary than he would have a month ago. And you? You hadn't lied, necessarily, simply told a half-truth. Just one. 

It couldn't hurt, right?

When you'd succumbed to sleep on his shoulder, Hongjoong decided it was probably time for bed. If it weren't for his crutches, he would have carried you into his room, given up his bed in exchange for the couch. The best he could do was lay you down on a pillow and wrap you in a blanket, leaving the hallway light on in case you awoke startled in the night.

Hongjoong fell asleep wondering how much warmer the bed would've been with you beside him.

And he woke up to a scream.

Your scream.

Cursing after he forgot about his injury and stepped down onto his ankle, Hongjoong hobbled as quickly as he could over to his crutches, completely alert as he made his way out of his room, only to stumble onto the scene of the crime.

Your hair was messed up by sleep and your face was a little puffy while you held up your pillow defensively, facing the intruder who clearly was a threat to your life: Seonghwa with a baby strapped to his chest and an amused look on his face.

“Hongjoong! How nice of you to join us!”

Oh no. Oh no. His eyes shot to you, wide, seeing you processing just exactly what Seonghwa had said. It was too early in the morning for him to try and handle this smoothly.

“How did you get in here?” He decided to focus on his friend instead, hoping if he brushed it off enough you'd forget what you heard and keep seeing him as Clyde.

“The same way you did,” Seonghwa held up his hand, a set of keys in his grasp. “a key.” He'd forgotten all about the spare key he'd given to him. And the fact he had the worst timing. “Who's this, Joong?”

“That's...” The person I've been dating but not really dating for the past few months and it's starting to get complicated, and you aren't helping by saying my name. “my person.”

“Your person?” Seonghwa parroted, a dumbfounded look on his face. “You must be feeling better, you're starting to sound like a pretentious artist again.”

“Okay, what do you want? Why are you here?” If Hongjoong had found the courage to look at you, he'd have noticed the fondness in the way you watched the two men interact.

“I forget you're not a morning person. Why was your person sleeping on the couch? Trouble in paradise?” His questions were followed up by Seonghwa slowly sitting himself down on the couch, hand cradling his son's head to his chest.

“I fell asleep on the couch while we were watching a movie.” Hongjoong had never been happier to hear you speak. “Cl- Hongjoong couldn't move me because of his crutches. Paradise is still very much good, thanks.”

Seonghwa stared past him, right at you, eyes narrowing into a calculative glare. “I like you.”

“I'm flattered. But I need to leave, got work in a couple hours.”

“Let me walk you- actually, hobble you to the door.” Hongjoong was quick, following you over to the front door and, most importantly, out of Seonghwa's hearing range. “Thanks, for last night.”

“No problem. Don't forget to take your meds." You smiled, hand patting the top of his arm. He wanted to feel what it was like to hug you again. “See you next Saturday, Clyde.”

The dopiest of smiles rested on his face, only faltering when he returned to the living room and found a knowing look on Seonghwa's face.

“Oh, shut up!” He exclaimed, throwing himself down next to him on the couch.

“I didn't say anything!”

The whistle of the boiled kettle interrupted Hongjoong’s actions, as if to stop him from making a mistake. He shoved the burner phone back into his pocket, tending to his fourth coffee of the day. The clock had barely passed eleven am. 

Making his way back into the studio, a smile lit up his face instantly at the sight of his work in progress. The canvas was more than half-way done at this point, he’d finally reached his favourite part of any piece: the details. He loved to play with the shading, the swirls of different colours and the specs of different textures. 

The whole experience of working on this last painting had sent him down a trip of nostalgic memories, some good and some bad. By far, his favourite was the memory of the opening day of his first exhibit. He could remember swelling with pride when a little boy, no taller than the height of his knees, reached out to put his hands on a canvas. Even though the mother had scolded her son, Hongjoong enjoyed the way he was touching his art, experiencing it with all his senses.

Two sips into his coffee and his mobile buzzed. Hongjoong was disappointed it wasn’t the chunky one in his pocket, but his newer model thrown somewhere behind him on the old couch.

[11:27 am] ddeonghwa: don’t forget to bring the supplies for saturday or chaeyoung will kill both of us.

Hongjoong had never been so happy to receive a text from his friend, who was completely unaware of the excuse he’d just created for him, the window of opportunity he’d opened.

to: bonnie are you busy?

Your reply was instant, making Hongjoong less embarrassed to be messaging you.

from: bonnie if staring at my notes and pretending to study is busy, then yes.

to: bonnie you could do that anywhere, technically. 

from: bonnie i could.

to: bonnie i’ve heard art stimulates people’s brains.

from: bonnie everything stimulates the brain.

to: bonnie shut up and come over, i have mango tea.

from: bonnie you should’ve opened with that, i’d be there by now.

You’d arrived in no time, quenching the deep desire he’d had to see you. It appeared two hours after you’d left on Saturday and made itself at home in Hongjoong’s brain, eating away at his conscious and begging him to message you, to think about you on days that weren’t a Saturday. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” You asked him for the third time since you’d arrived. Your textbook lay in front of you on the kitchen island but your eyes were busy watching him struggle to make your tea. “You do realize it’s only Wednesday, right? Or has dementia finally caught a hold of your brain?”

“Careful or I might accidentally use salt instead of sugar.”

You ended up taking over, making your own drink. You didn’t mind, it gave you an excuse to shut your book and stand next to him. He looked cute in his paint splattered shirt and his iron man socks. His hair was messier than you’d seen before, looking soft to touch and like it smelled of high-end shampoo. 

“I’m busy on Saturday, but I didn’t want to deprive you of your weekly company.” 

“Busy? On a Saturday?!” The exclamation in your voice was exaggerated, you both knew that. You bumped your hip into his, careful to not knock the hand that was pouring hot water into his cup of coffee. “Here I thought Saturdays were something reserved just for me.”

He hated that fact more than anything, that it was only Saturdays.

Conversation came easy between you both as you drank your warm beverages, him perched on the counter and you on one of the bar stools. You told him about upcoming exams and he told you about the recent exhibit he’d been working on. You shared the story of some guy in class who’d accidentally taken ecstasy and Hongjoong exposed the story of how Yunho had once thought he was buying cocaine in college but it was just a bag of crushed chalk. 

“Can I see your studio?” You asked, dropping your empty mug into the kitchen sink. 

“Let me just...” Hongjoong was surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. His studio was his sanctuary. He could count on one hand the number of people he willingly allowed in there: himself, Seonghwa and Mingi once (by accident). Yet here he was, not even thinking over the choice of letting you see it. He just wanted external validation, that was all. Someone not in his immediate friend group. “clean up quickly.”

Which he did, shoving used tissue into a plastic bag, moving his dirty palette and used brushes to the sink he kept in there, turning the canvas that carried his final piece the other way, not ready for you to see it. Only once things seemed semi presentable did he call you in.

“So you’re like, the real deal?” You finally spoke for the first time since entering, eyes not sure what you wanted to stare at more. The room was so colourful, as if it contained all of Hongjoong’s personality.

“I guess? Yeah.” He’d never felt so sheepish, hands shoved in his pockets and mind racing with every worry under the sun. 

“What’s your most recent work then?”

“Oh, no no, that’s not ready for your prying eyes to see.” You groaned in frustration and he just laughed. An idea struck him, one he shouldn’t have had but there was no getting rid of it now. “I can paint you something right now though, if you want.” 

You nodded eagerly, eyes lit up in excitement. The look didn’t even fade when Hongjoong warned you it would take a few hours. “Talent can’t be rushed, I know.”

“Okay, take your top off.” You raised your eyebrows at him, a questioning look across your face. “Don’t look at me like that. Take it off and lay on the couch, on your front. You’re going to be my canvas.”

Hongjoong turned his back on you, giving you the privacy you need to undress yourself.  “That’s me done.” Your voice was muffled slightly by the leather cushion but he understood you. 

He gathered what he needed: the brushes, the paint, the sponges, the small basin of water. Setting it up next to the couch, he cleared is throat before straddling his legs over either side of you, refusing to let himself sink down completely. He wiped your back down slowly, ignoring the way you moved beneath him with every breath. 

“This might be cold.” Was his only warning before giving the first stroke of his brush. Just like he expected, you gasped beneath him, a series of inappropriate thoughts shooting through his mind. You quickly relaxed, eyes shutting while Hongjoong slowly spread the base colour over your skin.

At some point, he reached for a remote and flicked on the radio, soft music playing out and encompassing the feeling around you both. You giggled beneath him, squirming against his body and slowly killing his resolve. Hongjoong wanted to blame the paint fumes on the high he was feeling. 

“Sorry,” He heard you huff out lazily, eyes barely open. “it just tickles.”

“It’s fine.” He lied. “I used to do this with her.”

“Yeah?” You knew him so well, already aware of who he was speaking about.

“She was always impatient, rushing me to finish. It usually messed up my work.”

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, not quite understanding the smile he carried on his lips while talking about her. “she was the worst.”

By the time Hongjoong had finished, the sun had set and hours had passed. You’d drifted somewhere between sleeping and talking to him the whole time, the music keeping him company in the moments you closed your eyes. 

“Could you take a picture?” You whispered after he announced he’d finished, eyes slowly opening to readjust to the light. “My phone’s in my back pocket.”

So that’s what had been poking against him. Hongjoong was greeted by the picture of a cat, small and grey, displayed on your lockscreen. He now knew you hadn’t lied about owning one. 

His fingers worked quickly to snap a picture, body needing to remove himself from yours. He didn’t like how tight his trousers had become, the way you’d sighed and gasped and squirmed beneath him having done something to his head. He leaned over you, hands holding his weight up and off of the drying paint on your back, holding your phone out for you to see. 

“You’re...” Your words caught in your throat, eyes darting back and forth between the screen and his face. On your naked back lay a colourful field of flowers, the shadows of two people standing face to face, heads haloed by the sun. “insane.”

Maybe it was the way you were staring at his work or the way you smelt up close or the hours of growing tension in his body, but Hongjoong lost himself in the moment, lips diving down to claim your own against his. You reciprocated immediately, head angled uncomfortably to the side just to kiss him deeper.

He was glad to let you slip your tongue into him, tasting him, drinking him in while his arms gave out and he dropped down onto your back. Neither of you cared for the smudging paint between you and his shirt. He trailed his lips down your neck, breathing heavy when he felt you grind up against him, eyes rolling back as he began to match your hips with his own. 

You whined when he sat up, causing him to giggle and work at pulling his shirt off quicker, throwing it somewhere into the room. He didn’t care to watch it land on a pile of acrylic paint, too busy pressing himself back down to you, the cool paint making his nipples stand to attention and his hands sneaking under you to cup your chest, fingers tweaking at your nipples and dragging the sweetest of noises out of you. 

“Is this okay?” He mumbled between kisses along your shoulder, hands now down at the hem of your jeans, teasingly dipping under and threatening to pull them off. He just needed your consent first, to hear you wanted this as much as he did. 

“No,” Your breathing had begun to labour, chest stuttering over an inhalation. “there’s too much clothes on. Hurry up.”

He followed your command, hands dragging your jeans off with your help before your underwear followed, after he pinged the elastic onto your skin and laughed when you called him dumb. His shaky hands quickly worked at removing the rest of his own clothing. If he moved fast enough, there’d be no time to question if you two should have been doing this. 

Hongjoong was tired of thinking.

Once he was freed of the confines of clothing, cock hard against his stomach, Hongjoong spat onto his hands, grabbing himself by the base and spreading it over his shaft, lubricating his cock while you watched him from over your shoulder, your hips grinding down on the sofa, mouth agape at the little pleasure you were getting. 

When his eyes met yours, it was the last bit of encouragement he needed to align himself with your entrance, hand splayed out on your lower back while the other angled your hips up. Pushing his cock into your tightness left him feeling warmer than any hug ever could.

A few moments of stillness, and then he began to thrust, lighting both of your nerves on fire with pleasure. The music began to build gradually over the radio, in time with your rising heartbeat and racing breaths.

You began meeting his thrusts, hands trying to grip at the tattered leather under them while the sweat dripped down your back, colourful trails running down your sides and on to the couch. Hongjoong had never loved the sight of his own art so much, picking up the speed at which he pistoned his hips into yours, skin clapping against skin in time with the symphony playing over the stereo. 

The space between you became too much for Hongjoong. He needed you closer, till you were breathing the same air. Fingers tangled in your hair, he pulled you up to rest on your knees, your back meeting his chest and your face resting inches away from his own. It drove him wild to hear you moan, to see the way your eyes were hooded and your mouth failed to shut. He got cocky, shoving his fingers into your open mouth, eyes rolling back when your lips wrapped around his digits, tongue swirling over them. 

“You imagining that’s my cock in your mouth, doll?” He threw his head back when you moaned, mouth and hole stuffed full of him. 

He removed his fingers, dragging a trail of your saliva down till he found your nipples once more, covering you in your own fluids. You rocked back against him, taking his length deeper than before. His lips reattached to your neck, needing a way to filter out the string of lewd things he wanted to say.

“Clyde!” You cried out, hand shooting back to tangle itself in his hair, tugging on it and rousing a groan from his chest.

“Don’t call me that.” The music grew with his thrusts, the intensity bouncing off of the walls. “Please.”

“Hongjoong!” You corrected yourself and his hips stuttered, feeling you clench down on him in a vice grip, your orgasm washing over you without a warning. 

He fucked you through it, willing himself to hold on a little longer. The music and him reached their crescendo in sync, Hongjoong pulling out watching the thick ropes of his seed paint your back for the second time that evening, mixing in with the shades of colour you were both covered in by now.

That night, Hongjoong found out just how much warmer his bed was with you in it.

And how you looked first thing in the morning, fingers tangled with his own and a leg thrown over his hip, welcoming in every thrust he brought upon you, starting your days off in bliss. By noon, you dragged him out of bed, both your stomachs growling for food.

He left you to cook the bacon, laughing when you smacked his pyjama covered ass as he skirted past you to grab the eggs from his fridge. After cracking them into the pan next to the bacon, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest and nuzzling his head in your neck. You smelled like his shampoo, the shirt on your back tainting you in his cologne.

“Tell me something about you.” He peppered kisses over your neck, only to hear you laugh at how his hair tickled you.

“I like the deal we have.”

“Me too.”

You both lied but your lips met before either of you could call the other out on it, bacon sizzling below. His fingers met the hem of your shirt- his shirt, really-, inching it up slowly. He couldn’t recognise the man he’d become, hungry for your affection and desperately in need of you against him.

“What kind of porno have I walked into?”

You both jumped apart, eyes wide as you came face to face with none other than Park Seonghwa, who’s hands were shielding his eyes.

Hongjoong needed to take the spare key off of him. 

“Don’t you ever knock?” Hongjoong groaned in frustration, watching how you diverted your attention back to the breakfast you’d been cooking. 

“You knew I was coming over!” Seonghwa sat at the island, watching you in amusement while Hongjoong wished he’d go away. “Remember? You’re coming with me to make sure Wooyoung doesn’t try buy my daughter something inappropriate. It was bad enough he bought a bib with bros before hoes written across it for little Minho’s baby shower last year.”

You laughed, switching the stove off once the food was done and turned around to face them both. “Wooyoung sounds fun.”

“Yeah, till you meet him and realise he’s an adult who hasn’t grown out of his frat-boy phase.” Did Hongjoong feel a flash of green at the prospect of you finding Wooyoung fun? No, not at all, why would he care what you thought?

“Speaking of meeting that cretin, you should come to my daughter’s birthday party this Saturday. She’s two, so the party is just an excuse for a bunch of parents to get drunk while their kids make a mess of my back garden.” Seonghwa had been nagging Hongjoong since he’d met you last weekend to invite you to the party, and each time Hongjoong had said no. It seemed he’d decided to take matters into his own hands. “I never caught your name, by the way.”

“Uh...” Your eyes skirted over to Hongjoong. He just hoped you wouldn’t say Bonnie. Not after everything that happened in the last twenty four hours. “Y/N. That’s my... uh, name. Yeah.”

“Okay Y/N, I’ll make sure your boyfriend here brings you along to the party. Though, you might want to wear more than just his shirt, Wooyoung kinda has a thing for legs.”

Hongjoong held back from swearing, nearly tripping over the toddler that had just ran past his feet. 

The party was full, more children than adults and only a few poor sober, breastfeeding mothers stuck with the responsibility of taking care of them. Everyone else had been more than happy to indulge in the drinks Chaeyoung and Seonghwa had provided, the prior just excited to have her first drink since bringing the couple’s six month old son into the world.

He was glad to have you by his side. At the Park’s first birthday party for their daughter, Sodam, Hongjoong was fresh out of a break up and dealing with the looks of pity and apologetic words from his and the couple’s friends alike. It felt good to have them all keen to know how he’d met you, how long you’d been together, what plans you had, even if everything you two said was a lie. 

Yunho and Mingi had been made to believe the two of you met in a grocery store, while you were buying a bottle of rosé and him some celery. You’d insisted on coming up with that story, laughing for reasons Hongjoong couldn’t quite understand. San and his fiancé had been told it was in a museum, you a tour guide who’d been corrected by Hongjoong on some fact about Picasso. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho and his girlfriend were recounted the story of how you’d been a fan of him since his first exhibit, and were incapable of not approaching him when you spotted him in a coffee shop.

He now stood at a distance, Chaeyoung’s orders that he leave you alone for some time. Which apparently meant Chaeyoung, San’s fiancé and Jongho’s girlfriend giggling at everything you said. It warmed his heart to see you gain their approval, knowing they cared for him like a brother. The whole day had made him realise how much he had, more friends than he gave himself credit, more reasons to smile than he’d believed.

“You’re a lucky man.”

Hongjoong nearly jumped out of his own skin, turning around to come face to face with Chaeyoung’s co-worker. Hyeri! That was her name! “Huh? Oh, yeah, I am.”

“It’s nice to see you with someone,” She still had that smile on her face, just like she’d had on their date. Hongjoong no longer envied her because of it. “you seem more like the guy Seonghwa told me about.”

Her words meant everything to him. Hongjoong really did feel like himself again, no longer the empty shell. Sure, he still had a long way to go before he was fully there but, for now, he could accept no longer stopping himself from wearing colour and asking for milk in his coffee. “What about you? Anyone trying to sweep you off your feet?”

“Oh no, not for me. Though, your friend Wooyoung did try shoot his shot.” That sounded about right.

He was about to answer when his eyes drifted back over to you, where he found one of Seonghwa’s famous homemade cupcakes in your hand, moments away from taking your first bite. He excused himself quickly and hurried over, ripping the treat from your grasp and dropping it back onto the table, ignoring the look Chaeyoung was shooting his way and your protests.

Clearly no one had warned you about the special ingredient. “You can’t eat that, it’s full of strawberry jam.”

You stuck to the chocolate cookies for the rest of the night.

Come nine o’clock, the children had all crashed down from their sugar high and guests began to leave, Seonghwa waving you two off from the door. He’d nearly invited you to Hongjoong’s exhibition in two weeks but, fortunately, he understood the artist’s widened eyes and shaking head.

Hongjoong wanted to ask you privately, in his own time.

“It’s not quite your apartment but,” You moved aside, welcoming a tipsy Hongjoong into your home. “it’s enough for me.”

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye so early in the evening, convincing you to take him back to your place. You lived closer to Seonghwa, anyway. It made sense, right? Hongjoong was just thinking logically when he’d let you lead him to your door, hand intertwined in his, an occasional brush of his lips against your knuckles when he’d cover his drunken giggles with your hands.

Your apartment was much smaller than his, but it didn’t mean anything to him. He liked the way little details about you decorated the place, magazines and books and candles littered in odd places. He enjoyed being trusted into your safe space, knowing how difficult of a thing it was for him to do with people, with strangers. Were you two still strangers?

“Sorry, I need to go drop something off to my neighbour. They keep delivering her mail to me for some reason.” You announced after a while of sitting next to him on the couch, not doing much yet filling Hongjoong’s heart with joy. He pulled you into his kiss for the first time all day, hand cupping your cheek while his lips begged you to do it later, to stay with him right now. “I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Feel free to snoop around if you get bored.”

He originally wasn’t going to do as you said, telling himself he wasn’t so childish as to look through someone’s things. But, you had given him permission. And he was bored, alcohol hitting him harder than ever and demanding he stand up and move. So he filtered through your book case, laughing at the few romance novels you had, raising his eyebrows at the untouched copy of 50 Shades Of Grey. He imagined it was a gag gift, no pun intended. 

His hands picked up some of your textbooks, finding he quite liked your handwriting. It was a neat mess. And, from the writings on the pages, he gathered you were majoring in something like psychology, a lot of big words and talk of cognitive behaviour. He flicked to the more recent notes you’d made,

His heart dropped to his stomach.

“Okay, I’m back. Jeez that woman can talk, she kept trying to invite...” You stumbled back through the door, freezing in your tracks. Your eyes flickered between Hongjoong’s frown and the notebook in his hand. “Hongjoong...”

“What is this about?” His voice was eerily calm, that feeling of euphoria laced tipsiness long gone. 

“What do you mean?”

“Date one: the subject seems boring, like he lacks his own personality. He relies on facts and big words to get him by. Maybe he’s a narcissist? I’m not quite sure yet, but it certainly must take a level of arrogance to put yourself on a dating site, you need to rely on your looks to seem intriguing.” Hongjoong spat your own notes out at you, hand clenching the paper with the grip he had. “Date two: he’s more stiff than a plank of wood. I accidentally brushed my hand against him while we grabbed at the clay and he froze up completely. Do i need to keep going?”

“No, I understand.” You cleared your throat, nervous and unsure of what to do. You’d never seen him angry. “And I know how it looks-”

“Know how it looks?! Yeah, it looks like you were studying me like some lab rat.” He snapped, slapping the offensive notebook down onto your coffee table. “Is this what you’ve been using our dates for? Some sick, twisted study?”

“Yes- No! It’s more complicated than that! It’s not like I could even use those notes in my thesis! It would be unethical, since you didn’t know about it.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? That makes everything better, come let’s sit and talk about how you psychoanalyzed me!” His voice had begun to raise, not yelling but certainly not the soft tone he addressed you with. If only he flicked a few more pages, he’d have noticed how you’d stopped taking notes after the third date. “God, you’re such a liar, feeding me that bullshit about being lonely. Were you just telling me what I wanted to hear?”

“That wasn’t a lie!” You insisted, wanting to move closer but fearing it wasn’t what he wanted right now. “It was just some meaningless study on dating apps, okay? You weren’t going to be featured in it. I even changed my thesis subject weeks ago, just look for yourself!”

“If you think that makes me feel better, you’re dumber than I thought.” It stung to hear those words come from Hongjoong, your sad eyes only making him madder. How dare you be sad, as if he were the one who had wronged you, lied to you. “You’re just like her, you know? Full of shit.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re any better than me!” The frustration of his accusations and his ruthless words brought forth the anger in you. “Standing there like you haven’t been using me as some replacement for your ex. Newsflash! She’s moved on. She moved on before you even ended things, so why don’t you do the same?”

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he sighed. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing himself to not blow his last fuse. When he reopened his eyes, his hands grabbed his jacket off of the couch and he marched past you, ripping the door open. 

“Where are you going?” You called after him.

“Somewhere I don’t need to worry about being a test subject.”

As he slammed the door shut, he heard you yell after him: “See you next Saturday.”

Only, you never did see each other that day.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hongjoong had been zoning in and out from the conversation all morning, mind adrift somewhere else. He needed sleep, but all he had was lacklustre coffee and a headache. “Sorry, not been sleeping well.”

“Pre-exhibition jitters?” The woman, Mrs. Kwon, asked him from across the table, smiling politely. She was the art gallery’s director and she’d more or less overseen the entire process of preparing Hongjoong’s upcoming event.

“Something like that.”

“That’s understandable, I once had an artist burst into tears and beg that the whole event be cancelled... five minutes before the opening!” She laughed and Hongjoong tried to mimic it as earnestly as possible, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m sure your agent, Seonghwa, has briefed you on everything but I’d like to just go over it again to make sure everything is perfect come Saturday.”

Hongjoong zoned out again, drowning out the woman’s voice. He could always ask Seonghwa to change something if he changed his mind last minute. If there was one thing he had to commend that man for, it was his powers of persuasion. Just four days after the birthday party, he’d coaxed the truth out of Hongjoong. The whole truth.

While she rambled on about opening hours and the placements for each piece, Hongjoong’s eyes drifted over to the counter, a queue of people waiting to grab their order. His throat went dry as his eyes met a familiar pair, which stared back at him empty and unfeeling, like when he stared in the mirror.

He willed himself to ignore it, to turn back and pay attention to the woman in front of him. It worked for a few minutes before he heard the bell above the door ring, turning just in time to see your retreating form. He dashed out of his seat, ignoring Mrs. Kwon calling his name and pushed himself out the door. 

“Y/N!” He called out after you, stopping behind you when you whipped around to face him. It hurt to see your eyes hadn’t changed from the cafe. “It’s not what you think-”

“What I think doesn’t matter.” You refused to meet his stare, cheek turned to him while you stared through the window of the cafe, at his empty chair and the beautiful woman waiting for him to return. “And whatever it is, it’s none of my business. We’re nothing, we never have been. Now, if you’ll allow me, I have to get to class. My test subjects are awaiting me.”

“Y/N.” He tried reaching for your hand, begging you with the call of your name to wait, to let him talk. 

“Stop calling me that! We don’t call each other by real names, remember? That was the deal.”

“I think we crossed the boundaries of our deal long ago.”

“Well I’m cancelling it all together, officially.” You readjusted the strap of your bag, taking a step back. “Goodbye, Clyde.”

Hongjoong had forgotten how cold the air felt against his neck. 

He’d been unsure of the drastic change, up until the moment Yeosang had snipped off the first few strands of hair. The mullet was gone and, in it’s place, blonde hair paired with an undercut sat. When he’d woken up that morning, lazily running his fingers through his hair, he decided he quite liked the shorter, neater style.

All day, he’d received compliments on his looks, those who had attended his first exhibit noting how much he’d grown in the few years since and newer fans of his work claiming they’d had no idea he was so young. He liked that they expected someone older, it made him feel more solidified in the art world, like his work came across as mature and well-nurtured.

His speech was short, thanking those he had to before quickly handing the microphone over to Seonghwa, who was always a charmer with crowds. He had them all laughing in no time, recounting the horrors of dealing with Hongjoong as a client.

Finally, for the first moment all day, Hongjoong found a pocket of silence for himself, managing to drift away from the crowds of people and the flutes of champagne that had started to make him feel a little sick. He stood alone, staring at the last part of his collection. 

He was proud of his work, no matter the bittersweet story it told. 

Every piece in his collection chronicled the past two years of his life, starting from the moment his relationship had began to fall apart, carrying through the months of misery, the loneliness, the acceptance, the moving on. It was his visual presentation of the stages of grieving a relationship, the final part being the most important. 

Because he had to move. He had to keep living, for no one but himself.

He had moved on. 

He knew it from the way he no longer avoided old pictures of her, from the way he could think about her and feel nothing. Not even the anger remained. She wasn’t worth the energy he’d spent so long wasting on her.

“This one doesn’t make me sad.” Hongjoong’s silence was interrupted. 

He could feel you standing next to him, staring at the same art he was. He never bothered turning his head to look at you, he saw you behind his eyelids every time he blinked. 

“How come?” 

“It’s reminds me of self-love.”

The face in the painting was much like his own, spare for a few details. One half was littered in shades of blue and grey, rose thorns stabbing at his skin while dead flowers and sharp twigs replaces what should’ve been his eyes. The other half was colourful, bright, smiling with vines wrapped around it and blossoming tulips on his lips, eyes peacefully closed. 

He sighed, turning to look at you at last. You copied him, eyes not like the last time he’d seen you. You looked pensive, nervous, like you were shy to be in his company.

“I hope you know how sorry I am.” He said, wishing there was someway to tell you he wanted to touch you without having to actually say it.

He just wanted to know you were real.

“I do.” You nodded, lips pursing together. “Just like you know how sorry I am too. I should’ve been honest with you that night. It would’ve saved a lot of trouble.”

He couldn’t disagree with you. If you’d told him, the two of you wouldn’t have fought that night. He would’ve invited you to his exhibition and would’ve returned into your waiting arms after his speech. But things didn’t always go the way people planned.

He was learning to be okay with that.

“How did you know?” He stared down at your hands, fingers rubbing together as he contemplated reaching for one. “About today, I mean.”

“Seonghwa is really good at guilt tripping people.” He laughed, knowing fine well what you meant. He needed to thank Seonghwa for whatever he’d said.

Your gazes both returned to the painting, the distant chatting of approaching people buzzing around you. 

“Are you free next Saturday, Bonnie?” His heart was in his hand, waiting and begging for you to lay claim on it.

“No.”

He sighed in defeat.

Your hand tugged at his own, intertwining your fingers.

“I’m afraid I’ll be spending it with Kim Hongjoong, sorry.”

Seonghwa was calling him.

Hongjoong hit decline.

The man was only calling for two reasons: to panic talk all about Hongjoong’s fourth exhibit- that was still months away and by no means something that needed worrying about- or to ask him if he’d done it yet.

Both were conversations he wasn’t in the mood for.

His eyes only left your sleeping form to stare down at the sketching pad in his hand, graphite shading and soft lines making up the form of his muse, Chopin playing gently as background noise to his scribbling and your breathing.

As he bent down to grasp his mug of coffee, the weight of the little box dragged the inside of his sweatpants pocket down, a reminder of the question he'd been meaning to ask you.

There was no rush, you were enjoying your rest.

Hongjoong could wait a few more hours.

[angstama]

cigarettes | rindou.h

pairing:  rindou haitani x reader , mitsuya takashi x reader

genre: angst, fluff, romance

warnings: alcohol, smoking, cursing, suggestive, rejection!

✧. "hey, wanna smoke cigarettes together with me till the day we die?"

this is the alternate ending to mardy bum! where reader chooses executive rindou haitani instead of our dear mitsuya takashi :-)

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : cigarettes and feelings - the haunt

"for the love of god rin, you're so fucking slow!"

you gently tugged your cream coloured cardigan against your skin, pulling it close to shield you from the cooling air in the open as you excitedly roamed the streets of prague.

you were currently on the Europe leg of tour for your latest art series exhibition and finally had the day off to explore the little capital city with your lover and hopefully check off some of your bucket lists if rindou could only increase his pace just a little bit more.

you watched rindou roll his eyes, tapping the excess ash on his cigarette before stuffing his other hand into his pocket. "but you love it when i go slow and steady." he muses, a smug grin etched to the corner of his lips. your eyes widened, quickly looking around to see if anyone heard the suggestive comment that your boyfriend had made before shooting him a glare, "i swear rin, if you keep saying shit like this in public, i'll literally never let you fuck me again." you deadpanned.

rindou doesn't say anything but only slowly made his way towards where you've stopped to wait for him, eyes never leaving yours once. you raised your brows when he leans in to your ear, "i'd love to see you try darling." he whispers, voice husky from the lingering warm air of nicotine in his throat which only sent you squealing on the inside.

"whatever." you huffed, walking away to which rindou hastily grabs your wrist, stopping you from getting any further away from him. "cigarettes doesn't keep hands warm you know?" he says, intertwining your hands together before pulling you with him to visit the places you had in mind.

"man, i could sure do this everyday." you stretched your arms above your head and bending your body sideways before turning to face rindou and stealing the lighted cigarette in between his lips to place in yours. you allowed your lungs to inhale the ever so addictive nicotine into your system, mind slightly clouded which made the spectacular view of the cathedral in front of you even much more beautiful than it already was.

you were in awe. you've always wanted to come here and you remembered ever wanting to visit this very cathedral with your first love, mitsuya takashi. yet here you are right now with someone else who isn't him. someone else who held your hair back when you threw up from the excessive drinking in hopes to get rid of the aching feeling in your heart. someone else who would let you paint their body like a canvas when you were bored. someone else who would go on to make you forget that you've ever loved mitusya takashi.

the two of you sat in silence, both basking in the breathtaking view of the cathedral. it was peaceful and everything was perfect. the way the colours of red and orange skies blended together as the sun begins to set, the way your beloved cigarettes tasted almost sweet this very evening and the way rindou's warm hand was intertwined in yours, you never want this moment to end.

"hey," rindou whispered softly as you pried your gaze away from the view and to your man. "wanna smoke cigarettes together with me till the day we die?"

3 y e a r s a g o

you carefully lowered the needle on your spinning vinyl, gently swaying to the tune as you started to prep yourself for your very own art exhibition that would be showcasing tonight.

it had been almost three months since you had last seen mitsuya takashi and during these three months, you had resorted to throwing yourself into paintings after paintings while rindou had stayed by your side, supporting you through every step of the way wether you’re high or not and you were absolutely grateful for that.

your heard that mitsuya takashi had gone on to continue excelling in the fashion industry and you were genuinely happy for him. though a part of you still wished that you were the one who helped him make it through.

“how do i look today tiger?” you gently rubbed your cat’s tummy, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. you hear him meow a response as you unclipped the claw clip that held your hair together, letting your hair down on your shoulders.

your doorbell suddenly rang, catching you off guard. you weren’t expecting any visitors today you were sure of it. “rindou? is that you?” you called out, opening the doors only to be met with a pair of familiar lavender orbs staring back at you.

it was mitsuya takashi.

your breath hitched upon seeing the familiar face that you missed oh so very much. “ta-takashi? why are you here?” you stammered nervously when mitsuya leaned in closely towards you, causing you to stumble back slightly. “yours. i’ll always be yours if you want me to be.” mitsuya breathed. crashing his lips onto yours before you could say anything.

rindou.

your eyes widened when rindou's face flashes at the back of your head which caused you to roughly pushed mitsuya away. "wh-what?" you stumbled back. oh how you've waited so long for the day that mitsuya would declare himself to be yours. you've dreamt of the day that mitsuya would finally kiss you with those pretty soft lips that often utter words of affirmation to you so why did you think of another man when he kisses you?

"you've got to be kidding me right?" your lips trembled, staring wide eyed at mitsuya who reached out to your arms. "i'm not y/n. i love you y/n. i've always did and i'm sorry it took this long for me to say it to you." he looked at you with pleading eyes.

this isn't right. it can't be.

"you're fucking kidding me takashi?" you laughed hysterically when you felt your legs give up, the cold tiles hitting your bare legs. "you can't do this takashi. you can't!" you ran your fingers through your hair frustratedly.

why does he always have the right to hurt you like this?

"you can't just disappear for months and then come knocking on my door saying that you love me! that's so fucking unfair!" mitsuya lowered his gaze, he knew he had messed up and was now paying for all the times he had broken your heart.

you loved mitsuya takashi you were sure of it, but you remembered that mitsuya takashi only loved you when you were sober while rindou haitani had willingly accompanied you through your highs and lows without you even begging for it. and so, you had unconsciously decided that you wanted rindou to stay in your life.

perhaps maybe it was your fight or flight instincts. no, scratch that, you have to look for rindou. you wanted to tell him that mitsuya takashi isn't that great of a kisser than you had imagined.

"i- i have to go." you stammered, anxiously getting up and dashing out of your apartment and leaving mitsuya behind. you have to see rindou.

and so, after running out of your own place with half your make up done and getting on a cab, you finally arrived at the haitani's penthouse. you knew this place at the back of your head, often spending your weekends spinning and dancing with rindou.

you impatiently knocked on the door when the electronic door finally unlocked, revealing the man you've been dying to see for almost half an hour who's now looking at you, mouth slightly gaped.

"darling? thought i said i'll pick you up at your place?"

you wiped the sweat of your forehead with your knuckles, letting out a small exhale before taking rindou's hand in yours and grabbing his neck to pull him towards you which allowed you to finally crash your lips into his.

it wasn't your first time kissing rindou. but kissing him now felt right and it completely knocked the air out of your lungs when you could taste the lingering taste of strawberries and cigarettes on his lips and you loved it. "what's going on darling?" rindou asks when you pull away to look at him with the biggest grin on your face. "i realised i only wanna smoke cigarettes with you." you breathed.

it was a weird analogy. but rindou knows. rindou knew that it was your way of saying the words of "i love you". smoking was more than just an addiction to you, it was your only constant since you were sixteen and you'd never give that up despite the health consequences for you were perfectly okay with dying earlier.

rindou only pulls you into his chest, a hand resting on your head when you hear him mumble, voice muffled. "i'd gladly smoke with you everyday."

you felt the bustling street of prague slowly fade away in the background, leaving just the two of you and the enormous cathedral standing tall in front of you.

"w-what?" you stared at him, eyes wide and searching for any hint of joke or literally whatever that prompts an attempt to prank you in his eyes only to finally realise that he wasn't joking when he remained unfazed. "now?" you gasped.

rindou nods, "yeah. why not?" he squeezes your hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "unless you don't want to marry me?" he joked, raising a brow.

your brain finally fully processed what he had just said. rindou haitani wants to marry you. he wants to be yours till your last breath.

you shook your head frantically, "fuck rin- no! of course i want to marry you!"

"okay, then let's get married now." rindou stood up, dragging you along with him towards the cathedral that you love so very much where the two of you exchanged your vows that very day.

taglist: @theresapancakes <3

[oiiimakeu]

rendezvous and courtship

— wayv ver.

𝗸𝘂𝗻

*ੈ kun loves to take you up to the sky as you admire in awe the beautiful scenery below you.

*ੈ he'd pilot his plane for you and you'd be his assistant. he taught you a few flight tems and protocols and he could never pilot a plane without you by his side, he literally can't.

*ੈ kun was peacefully piloting as you stare your hot and masculine boyfriend driving an actual plane.

*ੈ your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping red light and he tried his best not to panic in front of you.

*ੈ kun told you to check every radio frequency to ask for an emergency landing but all you heard was the static through your headphones.

*ੈ he told you the second and last resort which is to mechanically do the emergency landing.

*ੈ you read the three step intrustions out loud, "make sure both pilots are ready for the engament." you read in between sobs and panic.

*ੈ "know that the pilot loves you very much no matter what." you looked at kun and proceeded to cry, doubting if it's actually the landing instructions or a goodbye letter.

*ੈ as you read the last bullet, that's when it all made sense, "grab the small box bellow your seat and open it."

*ੈ you opened the box, thinking it it was some sort of tool, but it was an engagement ring!

*ੈ you slapped kun's arm from making think that you were about to die, but he jus laghed at you.

*ੈ "so? what do you think? are you ready to pilot our lives together?"

𝘁𝗲𝗻

*ੈ ten took you to his backyard and from one art major to another, you took turns painting eachother's canvas; every five minutes you'd switch.

*ੈ you'd paint something symbolic that reminded you of eachother and you'd gradually add paint to fill in his work.

*ੈ it was an exciting couple activity—none of you knew what eachother meant by the painting but you'd just continue what he started.

*ੈ a few hours has passed and both of your canvas were already filled with various colours.

*ੈ when it was time to interpret eachother's painting, you had a hard time to understand what ten meant by his—his canvas was literally filled with scribbles and somewhat formed in an abstract art.

*ੈ you stared at his frame for a while till he gave you a hint, "look at it from a far." so you did.

*ੈ the painting that you once thought was abstract actually formed a figure, a figure of him kneeling down and putting a ring on your finger.

*ੈ "your colours caught my eye and you are art. our world is like an unfinished painting, gradually being filled in with colours, colours of love and memories and i can't wait to see our finished masterpiece. will you paint our world with me, y/n?"

𝘄𝗶𝗻𝘄𝗶𝗻

*ੈ you were about to go to bed till winwin jumped on you and begged you to have a late night walk at the snow.

*ੈ he made aegyos and hugged your arm till you finally agreed with him.

*ੈ you were both on your pajamas and you wore matching padded coats.

*ੈ you'd act like children—playfully chase eachother, toss some snow balls, slide on the slippery road, and build a cute little snow man.

*ੈ you'd lie down in he midde of the road and hold hands while making a snow angle.

*ੈ winwin would draw a huge heart on the snow and write both of your names in it.

*ੈ he asked you to raise up your hand till a snow flake lands on your palm, "see this snowflake, y/n? each falling snowflake has it's own unique and beautiful pattern."

*ੈ he asked you to stick out your hand once again, but this time he didn't tell you to catch a snowflake. he put a ring on your palm engraved with a snowflake pattern on it.

*ੈ "i've fallen for your beauty and uniqueness, you are my snowflake, y/n. will you marry me?"

𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀

*ੈ you sat beside your boyfriend—the live button was clicked and you were finallly streaming on vlive.

*ੈ lucas nervously greated the viewers and his manager raised the script behind the camera.

*ੈ he was about announce your relationship, "hi everyone! we are live here today to relay a special announcement to my dear fans, this is y/n, my girlfriend for almost two years now."

*ੈ he caressed your lap under the camera as you read your line behind the script, "hi eyeryone! nice to finally meet you all, i hope you take care of me!"

*ੈ you began to look at your phone and smiled at the welcoming comments the fans left for you.

*ੈ lucas read a bunch of comments and answered a few of it. there were also some questions for you and you also read and answered some of it.

*ੈ the manager signaled his hands to wrap things up as he raised the script for the ending remarks.

*ੈ you both looked at eachother to read you lines, but lucas interrupted you which caught everyone's attention, especially the staffs'.

*ੈ lucas let out an engament ring from his side pocket and everyone wide-eyed gasped. the comments were blowing up and you couldn't help but cover your rosey cheeks ands watery eyes.

*ੈ "we've been dating for quite some time now and i can't wait any longer. we have nothing to hide anymore and i'm ready to face the world with you and show everyone how much i really love you. will you marry me, y/n."

𝘅𝗶𝗮𝗼𝗷𝘂𝗻

*ੈ xiaojun surprised you to a 3 day camping at the beach.

*ੈ due to both of your busy schedule, you never had him for that long and you were definitely making it worth your time.

*ੈ he took you island hopping and cliff diving. you rowed a little boat together and explored the fish and pretty corals.

*ੈ the both of you would chase eachother by the sandy shore and pick pretty rocks and shells.

*ੈ you'd eventually just lay down on the sand, appreciate every moment with xiaojun.

*ੈ xiaojun waited for the sun to set and kiss the water as he pointed out the night sky above you.

*ੈ you stargazed under the moonlight and the both of you would point on the starts and form silly shapes and figures.

*ੈ he eventually hugged you to sleep as you both spooned eachother by the water.

*ੈ xiaojun woke you up to a beautiful sunrise as he prepared breakfast in front of you camping tent.

*ੈ you sat and ate together as you watch the sky form pretty hues of crimson and mustard.

*ੈ as you finished the dish he prepared for you, xiaojun gave you an annklet with all the stones and shells you've collected.

*ੈ "just like the deep as the sea and and wide sky, my love for you will always be infinite and boundless. will you marry me, y/n?"

𝗵𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘆

*ੈ hendery brought you to their concert and you fangirled and screamed your lungs out as if you've never met the men on the satge.

*ੈ you memorized every lyric and fan chant and hendery would cutely grin at you as he perform for you and see you enjoy the show.

*ੈ after a few songs, they went on a 10 minute break for a wardrobe change. you waved your vip pass to the guards and ran to hendery to give him a hug.

*ੈ you continued to baby hendery—wipe his sweat and give him some water and snacks. the rest of the boys would just make fun of him being taken care by his girlfriend.

*ੈ they show continued and when it was near the end, they each had a chance to talk and greet the crowd.

*ੈ when it was your boyfriend's time to talk, you fet your heart flutter as you hear his voice through the huge speakers.

*ੈ "i have an announcement to make," the whole crowd gasped including you, "to the beautiful and wonderful woman right there," the spotlight suddenly beamed on you as the security guards helped you up on stage.

*ੈ you stood beside him in front of the whole crowd, curious about what he was going to say.

*ੈ you were busy being amused by the number of people before you, you didn't expect hendery to sit on one knee. everyone, including the members, cheered as they anticipated what was about to happen next.

*ੈ "to my girl and number one fan who always supported me and gave love i never deserve, will you marry me?"

𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗴

*ੈ yangyang found out that you've never been to an amusement park, so he immediately cleared his schedule and dedicated a whole day for you.

*ੈ he walked you through the park and bought matching headbands.

*ੈ he treated you some churros, pretzels, cotton candy, and some snow cones—it felt like you snacked the whole day.

*ੈ he hesitated to get on the scary rides but seeing how excited you were, he wholeheartedly rode the rides with you.

*ੈ yangyang also played the minigames and carnival games just so you'll end up bringing home a large teddy bear.

*ੈ by night, there was a cute parade and watershow. he wrapped his arms around your shoulder and intently enjoyed the moment as a couple.

*ੈ before he brought you home, he took you to the ferris wheel to enjoy the city's night sky. you were so amazed since you've never seen the city so high up.

*ੈ you thought that nothing could get better than the view...till yangyang grabbed a ring from his pocket.

*ੈ "i've always enjoyed being around you and an hour, a day, a month, or even years isn't enough to make up the time to spend with you. i love you, y/n, and will you take my hand in marriage to spend the rest of the time with me for eternity."

— hiii everyone ^^ you can find me on instagram for more nct imagines~ <3

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

-

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light: Chapter 43.5

Notes: So when I posted last week I realised a few hours later that I hadn’t posted the whole chapter! So, here you go. An early, albeit short, update. Thanks as usual to my beta @noirshadow, who is incredibly patient with all my E&L ramblings and makes sure my writing actually makes sense!

Chapter 43.5

Nesta

Cold air snapped at Nesta’s body as Sala flew her to Lorrian and Frawley’s. Cassian travelled behind her, trailing her path, the beat of his wings grating on her until she wanted to scream. 

Of course, he hadn’t let her fly alone. He’d had to make sure that she was safe. That bond again, dictating his desires. Nesta didn’t understand why he couldn’t see that.

By the time she landed, Nesta had whipped herself into a fury that was frantic in its making—quivering with an energy that made her want to roar and sob until she was consumed with it.

“You’ve done your job,” she spat at Cassian, as he landed softly on his feet beside her with a neat retraction of his wings. “Now leave me alone.

They had landed just before the pine trees of the Eastern Steppes, where the forest decided to part for its witch and her home. The pine needles blocked out the sparkling stars above, casting the forest into smudgy shadows that made it near impossible for Nesta to pick her way across the ground, despite her fae eyesight. 

When she stumbled, Cassian flared his magic to light the way but, thankfully, he did not dare reach for her. Loose roots and fallen branches created obstacles underfoot, but Nesta let her body tackle them blindly until she cleared the tree line and suddenly she could see again.

Nesta picked up her pace, storming along the paddock fence as the cottage came into view. The building’s shape was blanketed by a coal-night hue, save for the buttery light that fogged around Lorrian and Frawley’s bedroom window. Besides the smoke puffing from the chimney, the night was alarmingly still, as if had taken in a gasping breath in anticipation of what was to unfold beneath it. 

The absence of Illyria’s fierce wind in Nesta’s anger felt foreign and infuriating, so Nesta walked faster, creating her own breeze. But the soft caress against her cheeks rather than the hurricane she longed for only served to sharpen the blade of her anger until it was lethal.

“Running away again,” Cassian growled from close behind her, his resolve to stay silent clearly breaking as Nesta stormed past the paddock entrance. He caught her wrist with a leather-clad hand and Nesta’s body jerked backwards as she was pulled towards him. 

“Why are you fighting this?” he asked as she snarled at him with such savagery it sounded like a wild animal. His voice cracked like ice over a river. “Why are you fighting something that I know makes you happy. I can make you happy, Nesta.”

“Stop it,” Nesta cut back, the slash in her voice a warning just as much as her words. Because Cassian sounded so agonisingly sad it bruised her lungs, every breath coiled with pain. 

“I’m not letting go,” Cassian told her, and they both knew the meaning was figurative as well as literal as he searched her face for something that would tell him to stay. “You can shout and scream and bite all you want, but you are not running away from me again. Not this time.”

Go home, Cassian.

“I don’t need someone to make me happy,” Nesta spat. “I can be happy independently of you.”

“You can have both.”

A cold, cruel laugh bubbled out of her. “Is that what you tell yourself every day when you pretend you can wear me down? Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? That you’re hoping I’ll give in and accept a bond I have explicitly told you I do not want?”

Cassian didn’t let go of her. Instead, he pushed her hand back to her as if it disgusted him to hold onto her. Nesta caught how his black hair sifted, the strands shining in the starlight, just before she turned her back to him.

It wasn’t too late to catch the curl of his lip and the way hurt seized the green and brown of his eyes. “You think I lie to myself? Nesta, you pull the wool over your eyes every damn day!” The last three words were staccato, thudding after her as she all but spirited away from him on a storm wind. “You have wanted me since you met me. Admit it. You want me and I want you. It’s simple. It’s all simple if you’d just stop fighting—”

The audacity to insinuate that Nesta’s feelings were inconsequential was too much. It hurt more than anything else Cassian had ever said, the rest of his barbs merely needles to this blade. Because none of what was between them was simple. It was a tangled web of terror and confusion and a desperate need Nesta did not understand.

The ignorance—the implied slight at her intelligence—had Nesta whirling, cutting Cassian off mid-sentence. Magic thundered through her veins, her power barrelling to her palms. She had to expel it—had to let it out like a curdling scream. Without thinking, she flung out her hands.

Nesta’s magic flew, roaring silver flames closing the distance between them. All she cared about was making Cassian recoil when her fire sizzled into nothing millimetres from his face. All she needed to see was the froth of his anger as it finally boiled over and met hers. 

But Cassian moved quicker than Nesta had ever seen him. Red light shot from his siphons but this time there was no shield like there had been all of those months ago. Magic barrelled from his chest, his shoulders, his knees, the backs of his hands to meet hers—all of that magnificent power channelled towards her. 

Scarlet and silver lit up the clearing, bathing their surroundings like glistening blood. Nesta braced herself for the slamming impact, expected for them to both be thrown backwards, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, her body was seized with a sudden vigour—like a wonderful, gasping breath. And their magic… it didn’t clash. No, their jets of power melded together, silver meeting red until it formed a smooth running stream. It glimmered, quiet and calm in contrast, like the calm and tranquil night sky.

It felt right and wonderful and infuriating. Even Nesta’s magic was betraying her. Even her power couldn’t help but want him, even when she was incandescent with rage for the warrior before her.

Unleashing a growl of anger, Nesta dropped her hands in defeat. They hung at her sides, a useless deadweight. She was panting hard, even though what she’d just done hadn’t exerted her—it had been easy and right and thrilling, as if she’d just woken up from a very long sleep.

For a moment, there was only silence. Cassian’s chest was heaving, his hair as wild as hers. His hands were still outstretched towards her, each and every one of his siphons activated and glowing. Like her, he was staring wide-eyed at the magic that hung overhead like a mist, their very own canvas of stars.

When his eyes flicked to hers, the shock in them was still stark. In fact, Nesta could have sworn she spied terror in them. He stepped forward—her Cassian—but Nesta stepped back. A disgruntled growl rumbled in the back of his throat, and then he was striding towards her before she could even think about moving away from him. Stopped when he was a breath away from her.

Pine and musk wound around her body in an invisible embrace and Nesta’s face crumpled at the familiarity of it. She wished she was curled up beside Cassian in bed, her limbs tangled in his, her nose buried in his neck. She wished she’d never challenged him for answers in the bedroom earlier. Wished she was still living in blissful ignorance.  

Two calloused hands came to frame her face and Nesta couldn’t find the will to shake them off. Couldn’t. 

“Nesta,” Cassian rasped.

Nesta managed to shake her head. Go away. Please.

Cassian’s expression broke even as it remained still. Nesta didn’t understand how, but it did. It was something behind his eyes—the faint flicker of his eyebrows as they dipped in and out of a frown. 

But Cassian didn’t drop his hands from her cheeks, as if he knew she didn’t really want him to leave her. Brushed his thumbs over her cheeks—wiping away the tracks of fury that had fallen from the corners of her eyes.

“Do you want me or not?” Cassian asked quietly, after a long while. His eyes searched into her silver eyes—pierced her soul. Flames danced in the reflection of his irises. And Nesta knew that this was taking everything for him to ask it out loud. “Do you want me, Nesta?”

Run, run, run, the Cauldron mused in Nesta’s head, as it cast that sleepy eye on her. 

Nesta shrugged out of Cassian’s embrace. Her movements were syrupy, as if the air around her had thickened, but still she managed to turn. Her entire body was shaking—whether it was from that leftover rage, or because her heart was breaking, Nesta wasn’t sure.

A sob heaved through her body but Nesta caught it before she made a sound. She couldn’t let Cassian see it. Couldn’t let him know how much she was affected by him. 

Slowly, Nesta walked to the cottage. She was still coated in Cassian’s magic, his scent on her tongue both divine and hellish. And that alone made her want to cry even more. It served as a reminder that she was constantly at war with herself. This battle that had been thrust upon her, chaining her free will and making her question everything.

“Leave me alone,” Nesta ordered flatly, without looking behind her.

Nesta didn’t know why she expected Cassian to stay. To fight. But the sound of beating wings filled Nesta’s ears just as she reached the backdoor. It felt as if someone had closed a fist around her heart, squeezing and squeezing until the blood ran dry and veins popped under the pressure. 

Frawley was waiting at the threshold, her expression grim. The witch held the door open in invitation.

But Nesta paused. Turned back to the paddock.

Cassian was gone.

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[tom-holland-parker]

painted picture

Summary: Tom has an emergency meeting and asks you to babysit. You say yes, determined to get his daughter to be comfortable around you

Pairing: Dad!Tom x reader

Word count: 1516

Notes: not edited...kinda hate this but I needed to write something so I can get out of my writers block

Masterlist

“Hey I need a favor” You barely opened the door as Tom rushed into the apartment, “Can you please watch Issy while I go to this meeting?” He asked, clearly in a rush. You didn’t even notice the small child attached to his hand. You bit your lip nervously, Issy was still shy around you and Tom had never let you be alone with her. 

“Are you sure you want me to do it?” You asked. He nodded his head, “I know you’ll do a great job, think of it as a day to bond with her” He smiled as he grabbed your hand, “Please it’s just a few hours” 

You glanced at the shy 5 year old who was looking around your apartment. Tom had always been protective of his daughter and you knew that it was taking a lot of trust for him to leave you alone with her. You took a deep breath, “Sure I’ll watch her, it would be nice for her to not run away from me every time I’m at your house” 

Tom sighed in relief, “thank you so much I’ll get back as soon as possible”. He crouched down to be face to face with Issy, “y/n is going to watch you while daddy goes to a meeting so be nice and have fun, I’ll see you when I get back” He kissed her cheek before getting up and turning to you, “she’s allergic to peanuts, her asthma medicine is in her bag, and her nap time is- ” 

“ at 2:15” you interrupted him, “Tom I got this I’ll call you if anything goes wrong, you’re going to be late for your meeting”. He sighed and kissed your cheek, “I’ll be back as soon as possible thanks you” 

You shut the door as he rushed out of your apartment, “So Issy what do you want to do?” She stared at you blankly not saying a word. You bit your lip, “Do you want to watch some T.V?” She ignored you, walking around your living room staring at your paintings on the wall. She pointed to one of the artworks, “that’s pretty” she mumbled

You smiled, “I made that”. Her head quickly turned to you before looking back at the wall. You sighed in disappointment, you really liked Tom and it made you sad that his daughter didn’t like you, but you were determined to bond with her one way or another. “Have you ever painted before?” 

She shook her head as she sat on the couch. Her answer shocked you, your earliest memory was painting pictures for your parents to hang around the house. You smiled as an idea came to you, “Do you want to paint a picture so Daddy can hang on your wall?” 

Issy smiled and nodded as she got up from the couch. “Okay but we need to go to the art store first for supplies” you said as you grabbed her coat, helping her put it on. The walk to the store wasn’t long and the second you entered Issy looked around in awe. She held your hand tightly as you guided her through the small shop, “what colors do you want?” You asked once you reached the paint aisle. 

Issy started at the large shelves, “I like pink” she said as she grabbed the pink colored paint and threw it in the basket. “I like pink too” You chuckled. She smiled in amusement, “I also like green and blue” she continued until almost every color of the rainbow we’re placed in the small basket. 

“Okay next we need to get you brushed and canvases” You said as she grabbed your hand. You could help but wonder if she was grabbing your hand because she didn’t want to get lost or because she trusts you. You quickly grabbed a pack of brushes and a 10 pack of canvases.

When you returned to your apartment you sat the 5 year old on the couch, letting her watch cartoons as covered the floor with trash bags and set up the paint area. “Can I paint that one?” she pointed to the art on the wall, it was a sunflower in the sky, a painting you made when you were a teen. You chuckled, “You can paint whatever you want”

It took a few minutes of her watching you before she became confident enough to grab the brush. You watched in amusement as she smeared the paint all over the canvas smiling with each stroke of the brush. You grabbed your phone quickly, sending a picture to Tom before returning back to your artwork. 

After an hour of painting you both were finally finished, “Can I see?” Issy asked as you put your brush down. You turned the picture to show her the frog you made. She giggled and showed you hers. “That’s so cool” You praised as you set them on the counter to dry. 

“Daddy’s gonna be mad that we got paint on our clothes” She said looking down at her stained pants and shirt. You chuckled “I have one of his shirts you can wear as a dress” She quickly stood up, rushing to grab your hand as you guided her to your bedroom. You sat her on the bed as you looked through your dresser, pulling out one of Tom’s t-shirts and handing it to her. You grabbed a change of clothes for yourself, “I’ll get dressed in the bathroom just yell if you need me” 

She nodded as you left the room. You quickly changed your clothes before going to the living room to clean up. “Can we watch cartoons?” You turned around to see Issy standing tiredly in Tom’s shirt. She was way too small for it but it made her look adorable. You glanced at the clock noticing that it was around her nap time, “sure” You smiled as you turned on the T.V.

You both sat on the couch quietly watching Curious George. You glanced at the small children when you heard a yawn leave her mouth, as she laid down her head landing on your lap. You smiled to yourself, happy that she was somewhat comfortable with you. 

////

Tom was worried. You hadn’t answered any of his calls and weren’t texting him back. He knew you would never do anything to hurt Issy but he was afraid something bad had happened to the both of you. He quickly made an excuse to leave the meeting early and rushed to his car. Thankful that your apartment was only a few blocks away. 

He tried calling you again, his anxiety only increasing when you didn’t pick up. “Come on y/n” he whispered to himself as he parked his car. He looked around his car trying to find the spare key you gave him. 

As he reached your apartment he listened carefully from the other side of the door, only hearing the faint sounds of curious george. He quickly unlocked the door, sighing in relief when he saw the both of you on the couch asleep. 

He couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you both looked cuddled on the small couch. He quickly took a picture before kneeling down, “Wake up sleepy head” he whispered as he kissed your forehead. Your eyes shot open quickly, “what’s wrong? Where’s the kid?”

“Babe you’re literally holding her calm down” Tom chuckled, “You didn’t answer my calls so I left the meeting early to come a check on you”

You let out a deep breath as you rubbed your eyes, “We must’ve fallen asleep watching cartoons”

“Yeah well I gotta take her home my mom wants her to spend the night” Tom smiled as he moved to wake up the sleeping child. “Issy it’s daddy wake up we gotta get you to grandma’s”

She groaned and rubbed her eyes, “But I want to stay” she said in a sleepy whisper. Your heart swelled at how adorable she was. Tom chuckled in surprise, “You can come back another time grandma made brownies” 

She let out a sigh as she slowly climbed off the couch to get her coat, “why is she wearing my shirt” Tom asked in confusion. “We painted today” She said happily as you moved to get the dried pictures. You handed it to the excited child who quickly showed it to her father, “It’s a flower” she said

Tom chuckled, “it’s amazing sweetie, we’ll hang it in your room when we get home”. He stood up quickly pulling you into him by the hips, “thank you for watching her” 

“No problem", You smiled and gave him a quick kiss, “I actually had a great time” You pulled away from him as you felt a small tug on your shirt. You looked down watching as Issy hugged your leg, “Can we paint again?” 

You chuckled, “Next time we see each other we’ll hang out and get ice cream okay”. She smiled and hugged you again before grabbing her fathers hand. You waved goodbye as they left the apartment.