#lovebrush chronicles o'connor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

idyllcy · 8 months ago

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this time i want you, you, you, like its magnetic

word count: 10k || Happy April Fools :3

summary: PLEASE let me rizz you up

The end does not come when you are seventeen and getting betrothed to a random man your parents have picked out as your husband.

The end comes when you meet him, tilting your head at a mauve-haired lilac-eyed nobleman, the son of a count who flaked out in his academy days despite his standing as first of your shared department. He is equal parts a mystery and a man that you find intriguing. The world starts and stops whenever he comes and goes, magic at his fingertips with a flick of his wrist, magic circles engraved onto his bare skin without complaint as you tap the ink through his skin.

The two of you are less friends and more... acquaintances— you suppose.

"Mother, was there a reason behind the choice of him? I believe you preferred to pick a man who had a bright future and graduated." You stress graduated as O'Connor feigns a gasp.

"I was top of my class!"

"Not at graduation." You shoot him down.

Your mother clicks her tongue at you, shushing you as she continues. "Despite his status as drop out, he is next in line to become an archmage."

You raise a brow, and O'Connor snaps his fingers, a gust of wind blowing in your face but missing your mother. That asshole!

You gape.

"Mother!"

"Perhaps be less rude to your fiancé next time."

She leaves the two of you to have tea, and you grimace when he offers you a cup of tea.

"Chivalry has been dead between the two of us since our school days. There is no point in doing such." You yawn, reaching behind yourself to loosen the outer skirt and petticoat, much more comfortable in the pants underneath. "Why did you agree?"

"I lost a bet, so like." He pauses. puffing air into his right cheek. "Give me once chance to earn your approval?"

You don't have a choice, but you are curious to see what he will do.

"One chance."

You watch as O'Connor drops to his knees in front of you, fingers clasped together as he opens his mouth. He looks pretty like this— thick lashes and pleading eyes, fingers clasped together as he closes his eyes and prays, You think he's dazzling. You understand why so many young ladies at the academy were vying for his attention now. Surely if you had been weak to a pretty face, you would have chosen him as well. Though, it is too bad that he is not. Well, at least he's—

You are NOT prepared for what was next.

"PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

"I GOT IT." You yell, one hand over his mouth and the other on his shoulder as he stops, mouth open as he stares up at you.

You have literally never met a man more desperate. You aren't even sure if your father was this down bad when he was begging your mother for her hand in marriage. Is this something that perhaps runs in the family? Maybe you are destined to be hit on and asked for your hand in marriage with so much begging that you could be mistaken as the dom. You are not domming him in bed. You are not that desperate. You are not that much of... oh whatever.

"Why even me?!"

"There's no one else in this god-forsaken world that will tattoo my skin until I am no longer skin colored." He doesn't even BOTHER with lying.

"Okay, if we're getting married, you're not getting any more tattoos in visible places." You deadpan.

"What if you can control the temperature of my skin with it."

"I'M NOT DOING TEMPERATURE PLAY WITH YOUR MAGIC CIRCLES???"

"Okay, way to have your head in the gutter."

"What else is it even supposed to be for?"

"Magic transferring." He gets up, hands caging you in on the sofa, hand resting on the plush of your waist, eyes digging into yours as he continues. "I'm going to do temperature play on you."

You scream.

Sitting up in your bed in a pool of sweat, your heart races in your chest, eyes wide, ringing in your ears as you stare at your empty bed. Oh. Good. You're not—

"Good morning, babe!"

You scream.

This time, you stand in the middle of a crowd, goosebumps along your skin as you look around, exhaling when you notice that O'Connor isn't there.

"Love? Are you alright? I brought the cotton candy."

You yell in frustration this time, somehow traveling to White City. Oh. Surely it isn't with O'Connor.

"What's wrong?"

You scream at the sight of a younger O'Connor, eye twitching as you find yourself in a new universe.

"Stop running." O'Connor grabs you in the original one again, staring you down as he hisses for you to stop breaking the space-time continuum again. While he specializes as a jack of all trades, your weaponry lies in literally fleeing into a different universe when there is danger. Your body can not be hurt when the consciousness is away. You hate that O'Connor at least understands how to put you back into your body.

"THAT ONE WAS WARRANTED."

"Apologies for scaring you."

You shake under him as he continues to cage you in.

"Can you stop caging me in? I'm not enjoying this drama vibe right now."

He lets go, taking two steps back as he collapses onto the couch with a thud, earning a concerned widening of your eyes.

"Your honor! It seems a— ah." Your maid blinks at the sight of O'Connor knocked out on the couch.

"Move him to a guest room. Mother would burn me at the stake if she found out I was leaving him alone when he was passed out." You take the chance to catch one more glance at his face, lashes thick and skin soft as you catch yourself staring at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Well, at least your mother picked a man with a face card. Perhaps you will be fine. Though. You want to go home.

"Yes."

"And, be sure to take good care of him."

You're going back to Saint Shelter tomorrow. You are NOT living in a timeline where O'Connor rizzes you up by getting on his knees and screaming please over and over again. As handsome as he is, you have a university to attend that is NOT this one. You miss a world that is at least somewhat normal.

Yet, as you open your eyes the next day, you find that you are still here.

Well shit.

#fengyan x reader #o'connor x reader #feng yan #o'connor #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time #for all time x reader #☾.fics

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idyllcy · 7 months ago

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juliet roses

word count: 3.2k

summary: it was his fault for letting you go, but your fault to leave.

You wonder how long it has been since you've met O'Connor.

The first time you meet him, you had your place of first in your department snatched from you, your name placed second after his despite the fact that he had never shown up to class and only took the exams. He's evil, you find. He was personally sent by the heavens above to steal your place as top of the art department, and it makes your blood boil. Your head hurts just thinking about him. The fangirls next to you are NOT helping his case either. Maybe you are just cursed to be annoyed by him consistently and always.

He strutted up next to you, hands in his pocket as he stares at his name, smirking down at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Oops—"

You punched him.

The principal went off on the two of you as you sat in his office, and O'Connor whistled, feet kicked up on the desk as you tuned out the rambling, looking to the window as you plan your escape. The principal really could not do much about the two best students in the department. It's not as though you're some goody two shoes and he's not some model student either. The art department should really start picking some better-behaved students.

"That's why— are you two even listening?!"

"No."

"I bet I could live if I jump out the window." O'Connor grins.

"Can I have your studio if you die?"

"I'm leaving that to Emerald."

"HE'S NOT EVEN A STUDENT—"

But that's how your day to day life with O'Connor started, and it was how it would continue without effort or change. Even when you look back on it in the future, the world was bitter and lifeless at your fingertips. He smeared colors onto your cheeks while you weren't looking, pignmented yellows staining your skin and tumeric oranges wrapped around your bicep as he throws paint at you in your shared studio, splotches of color staining every edge of the wall until the two of you are inevitably scolded by the rest of the faculty and left to create what you can. Your final project is a piece of art, and you fear that you will never find the inspiration that you once held when you were young.

There is no light in your life when you are at the end of your educational time.

You watch O'Connor paint, his fingers sliding across the canvas as he leaves the brushes, fingerprints digging into the canvas as you watch him draw his muse. White hair, purple eyes, portraits upon portraits of your shared art professor. You stay quiet, lashes fluttering as you observe O'Connor, your muse. You observe your muse, but he does not bring color into your life. You find it depressing. What world do you live in, and why must your muse not care of you the way you do of him? So, you turn around, brush sliding across the canvas as you tune out O'Connor.

Your world is colorless.

Color in your life comes quickly and simply.

It will stay that way until something changes.

You wake up one morning, pink petal in your mouth, and for that moment in time, you seem to understand.

You are the artist, but not the muse. Perhaps you will die before you ever receive your final degree. It makes you sick, and you find an idea. Perhaps you will die, but you will leave one final thing for the world. Perhaps then, you will understand why people love so fervently.

You find that pink is a fun color. Many of the other female students wear it, and when you stick your first petal onto an empty canvas, you understand why the flower has chosen to bloom in your lungs. It is a flower that means everything to certain people. You will bloom a flower so dazzling that it will have no choice but to bleed out of your lungs and onto a canvas — until you are dust and your portrait is in a gallery. Until the world crashes and burns, your painting will stand untouched. That way, perhaps some sort of a color will appear into your life.

"New materials? Where'd you find these petals from?"

You turn to face O'Connor, kicking your legs.

"This one's my trade secret." You continue painting, O'Connor stopping to stare at your painting. The man in the portrait resembles him to some degree, yet the way you paint him makes him look so foreign — almost as though he were someone unknown to you. You make him look like a man he will never see himself as. Though, as you stick one petal after the other around him, he wonders if this is what he looks like to you.

Halfway though, you push the canvas to the side, clattering as the wood crashes onto the ground and the petals stay put.

"Why are you wasting?"

"I have a better idea."

O'Connor watches as you leave the room, going back to his painting as he observes the fallen portrait of himself on the ground. He hops off his seat to adjust the painting, leaning it against the glass doors as he stares outside of them. That is perhaps some sort of Eden out there. The world is clear and beautiful, yet the two of you are stuck. He turns his head to stare at you when you return, three new buckets of paint lugged behind you as he walks over to offer help.

"Hands off. Your piece involves no glitter." You huff. O'Connor watches as you dig your fingers into the glitter, grabbing a handful as you throw it at his portrait.

You are changing. Ever so slowly, you are changing.

When you finish, you hit the canvas from the back, glitter falling to the ground as it stains your feet and dress. The ink of your side of the room becomes stained with shimmer, your paintbrush overflowing with a glisten that only the sun could rival. You paint. Even when you're coughing uncomfortably and O'Connor leaves for the night, you stay in the room, fingers forcing across the canvas as you bring O'Connor to life. If your life would depend on his actions from now on, then you would make sure that everyone would know of your demise.

You will go out stained with so much glitter that the world suffers a shortage.

O'Connor returns in the morning to you on the ground and knocked out, chest rising and falling with each breath, body surrounded by petals as he pauses to stare. A tattoo on his body glistens, and you sit up, coughing out another petal, eyes wide as O'Connor stares down at you, frozen.

"Okay, well, cat's out the bag, I've been coughing up flowers."

O'Connor smiles, lips curled upwards as he takes it out of your hand.

"Who are you in love with?"

"Bold of you to assume that I'm in love with someone." You huff. "This comes as a curse too, you know? I helped someone tattoo that once."

You do not bother looking at O'Connor, closing your eyes and knocking back out instead.

The world will not end if you take a nap.

O'Connor takes the chance to move his own portrait, white hair purple eyes hiding a portrait of you behind it, his fingers gentle against the canvas as he paints you, life slipping through his fingers as he continues. You are his final assignment before he is allowed to finally teach. He will bring you to life, even when his tattoos glow against his back and you cough your lungs out, he will turn you into a permanent memory. Perhaps one day when he is old and wrinkly, he will remember the portrait of you, lips curled upward and pointing at the joy he got to experience as a final project.

When you stir, he moves the painting of Emerald back.

You do not need to know.

You wake up, coughing out even more petals, pink stained with glitter this time, making you do a double take. Wow.

You are literally cursed at this point.

O'Connor watches you, a patch of ink on his skin dimming as you finish coughing, blood on your lips, his head spinning.

Perhaps it is rude of him, but he can not say that he would have let any other curse you like this.

"Lotus flowers?"

You cough, fishing out another petal from your throat. "Yes? I suppose so."

He stares at you, pursing his lips.

"Can I borrow some?"

"Kill yourself." You huff, sticking the new petal to the canvas, glitter smearing.

O'Connor dips his hand into the paint, skin pink as he jumps off his seat, chasing you as you scream. You race past the windows, hopping off the second floor balcony onto the tree as passing students pause to watch. It is not new, but it is not normal either. They can only wonder what has caused O'Connor to chase you around with pink paint. The top of the class with one on equal standing.

You finally escape his clutches when you slam your dorm room closed behind you, heart racing as you sigh. Perhaps you have left a trail of glitter and pink again, perhaps you have not. Perhaps the two of you are cursed. You blink as your roommate returns, ink sleeve fresh against her skin as she blinks at you crouched in the corner of the door. The two of you don't exchange words, but you offer her your forearm instead. If you are to die then you might as well die while having fun.

"I'm surprised you're letting me do this to you." You hiss at your roommate's words, needle puncturing your skin as you wince. "What's with this change? Is it because of that god-awful cough?"

"You can say it's that." You whimper. "What are you drawing?"

"Magic circles."

"You hate me." You hiss. "What are the circles for?"

"To wash the glitter off of you. It's technically telekenesis."

You go quiet, staring at the circle that starts forming from the ash.

"Would you like one on your back?"

"What do I get out of it?" You grumble.

"Wings."

"Yo..." You mumble. "It is the weekend..."

"Stay still." She grumbles. "Do you want anything else?"

"Oh, can I get a canon to blast flowers from my lungs?"

"Not possible. Not discovered yet."

You sit in silence, arm staying still even when your roommate finishes with the ink on your skin. You stare down at the pattern, closing your eyes focusing on the tattoo as your skin burns.

"Yeah, just like that." Your roommate mumbles. "Focus on the skin."

You open your eyes once the circle starts glowing properly, and the objects in the room rattle slightly as the glitter seems to pull off of your skin.

"Hands out." Your roommate mumbles, showing you the movement as you follow.

Shimmering, the glitter forms an orb, and you have an idea.

"I could glitter bomb someone."

"That's right." Your roommate winks at you as a knock comes from the door.

"I swear if the two of you are fucking, I will kick this door down."

"Oh, William! Do you happen to know where O'Connor is?"

"I'm with him. Are the two of you having an orgy or something?"

"Yeah, her head game is strong." Your roommate calls, waving her fingers to unlock the door.

"William, duck."

You throw the glitter at O'Connor, pursing your lips in amusement when he blinks, spitting out the sparkles from his mouth as he locks eyes with you.

"You."

You throw him a peace sign, jumping out your window as you pull the glitter out with you. He chases after you, tattoos on his body glowing as you cough, flurry of petals and glitter following behind you as your roommate and William blinks at the window.

"... I honestly can not tell that they are older than we are."

"Well, perhaps only with each other can they be that casual." Your roommate shrugs. "Such a shame, though. I was going to give her wings."

The two of them watches as your magic develops to create wings out of the glitter.

"...or not."

"You've just given her a weapon that could just result in the end of the world."

The world does not end when you cough out flower petals again, sticking them to the painting as the glitter sticks it to the canvas. It is beautiful, at times. O'Connor turns to face you, canvas turned away from you as he turns you to life. Perhaps you cough up flowers because he is cruel and wishes to bind you to him, or perhaps you are coughing up flowers because he does not genuinely like you.

The world is not ending, and that much is evident when you complete your piece, staring at O'Connor and the everlasting petals that surround him on the fabric.

You celebrate the finishing of the painting by retiring early, cheeks and ears warm with giddiness as you expose your back for yoru roommate to continue drawing on.

"I'd like the upper half of your arm."

"What are you unlocking for me this time?"

"You'll see." She hums.

"Oh, right. What tattoos do O'Connor have? I was drawing them earlier, and some of them looked foreign to me."

You roommate tilts her head.

"He has tattoos?"

"Yeah! On his... back..." You trail off when you realize how weird that sounds. "And..."

"What? Are you going to tell me you've been exploring each others' bodies next?"

You gape. "NO????"

"What context are you seeing him shirtless? He's not the type to just go around parading himself shirtless, you know?"

"In our studio? He takes it off because it gets stuffy from the sun occasionally." You blink. "There's no way he's been flirting with me. I know what you're thinking."

"I don't know about that..." Your roommate mumbles, taking the needle out. "You good with an elemental one?"

"What will you let me control?"

"Air." She deadpans. "Be a menace, but don't tell O'Connor I'm granting you that ability."

"Isn't it going to drain my mana?"

"Not with a threshold like yours. I'm surprised you didn't just pick the magic department with how much affinity you have for it."

"Art is much more fun."

"Yeah, it really feeds your delusions to be able to draw the ficitonal twinks who appear in your dreams, huh?"

"MY DREAM MEN ARE NOT TWINKS."

"The love of your life who's making you cough flowers up sure is."

You wince as she speeds up with the needlework.

"You're mean."

"I love you too."

The second tattoo heals much quicker, and you manage your newfound magical ability with the help of your roommate. She holds the power to grand and negate magic through art, now that you think about it. You wonder how people are supposed to get rid of tattoos. Perhaps they just use up all of their mana without replenishing it. It's a scary thought... that you honestly do not care for. You'll die before that happens to you. At the rate that you had been coughing up flowers and glitter, you might as well be one of those little glitter trolls the students had been reading on except you'll die if you spit too much out.

You've taken care to paint over your tattoos to keep them hidden for multiple reasons, one of which is to stop O'Connor from asking you more questions. The questionable gusts of wind that nearly knock over his paint supplies is enough comedy to you in your day to day life. But it is a game of cat and mouse for the two of you. Perhaps there is no cat, and the two of you are just rats in the subway in the city. There is really no chasing or courting when O'Connor could not care less for you.

Perhaps you are stuck in this never-ending hell as a result of which.

"Now that you are finished, perhaps you could aid the student council." Emerald hums. "You signed a contract."

You wince, puffing out your cheeks with a huff as you grimace at the paperwork.

"Must I really?"

"You promised."

You go through the papers, banned from leaving the room unless it is to return to your dorm, fingers sliding through the piles as you speed up the process with Emerald. The end of the year means much to everyone, only it seems to bother you to no end that you are no longer able to see O'Connor all the time. You cough up more flowers as well, a mess of edible petals on the ground as you work. The coughing slows you down, but not a significant amount. You still finish earlier than Emerald. Perhaps your beauty has just charmed him— who are you kidding. There's no way.

The two of you sort out files, and quickly, you forget what it was like previously with O'Connor, blinking at your fingers as you complete the job for the day, Emerald granting you freedom as you skip into the halls, wind pushing you into the skies as you do tricks, head spinning gleefully with each move.

"Gotcha." O'Connor wraps his arms around your waist mid-air, earning a piercing scream from your lips as the two of you crash into the ground, only cushioned by O'Connor's magic. You blink as you process the fact that you did not just die, heart still racing in your chest as O'Connor laughs from underneath you. You can just imagine the shit-eating grin that's on his face at the moment, and it only irks you. You do not understand why he had chosen to stick to you of everyone in your graduating class.

Perhaps there is just a reason why he is the way he is, and perhaps you just aid him in bringing that out.

Perhaps it is a blessing to be someone's place of comfort, even if he does not love you back.

When the day of graduation comes, you put your piece on display next to his, both of them hidden behind a cloth, and you blink at O'Connor, lips quirked up as he stares down at you with a smile.

"I wonder what Emerald will look like."

O'Connor chuckles.

"You will see."

"I wonder if he will see."

You never quite see O'Connor's final piece.

You are called in for an early graduation instead, degree received in private as you rush off to somewhere where O'Connor can not find you.

Instead, you leave him alone, stuck to stare at the portrait of the two of you facing each other, lotus petals surrounding him, juliet roses framing your face with closed eyes, traces of glitter visible in the tattoos stained onto your skin. He will not see you again. You have left, because he had been cruel to not tell you. It had always been that way. You had always been such a free soul, he was wrong to think that you would have not jumped at the opportunity to leave a place that was causing flowers to bloom in your lungs.

He scratches the tattoo on his back with more ink, freeing you from a curse that he had decided to place on you.

It was his mistake to let you go, and your mistake to leave.

#☾.fics #reader insert #o'connor x reader #fengyan x reader #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time x reader #lovebrush chronicles #for all time #im writing a part 2 eventually they deserve happiness. grr

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