#me using a pencil after how many years of not drawing

[clowningaroundmars]

WOE Mike Chiltons be upon ye!

Please ignore the awful incorrect spark staffs thx

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

I wanna draw so bad but in the grand competition for my energy drawing keeps losing to the long reigning champion: crocheting

[peapod20001]

Grah I wish I could like. Notice consistencies in my style from an outside perspective

[theelvishfiddler]

AN ARTIST'S GUIDE TO HANDS

No, sorry it's actually not an artist's guide to drawing hands. Those are just warmup studies (which I'll talk about in this post.)

This is a guide to Your Hands and how to take care of them when making art.

No one ever sits down and teaches artists how to take care of their hands. They didn’t even teach me this while I was in art college. This is just what I've learned myself through years of pain and scouring the internet for advice.

This is going to be a long one and geared towards illustrative traditional/digital/pen/pencil artists specifically, but artists of other mediums and crafts should take care of their hands too! Well, we all should take care of our bodies in general, but this is about hands.

(advice is below the read more)

First off I'm not a professional or anyone with actual medical advice. I'm just some guy with chronic hand pain who makes art. This advice is free for you to use or discard.

WARMUPS!

Ever sit down in the morning to draw and wonder why your art is so stiff and looks so much worse than what you were drawing last night? It's because you didn't warm up!

You know how for physical sports they all warmup and do stretches before getting into the actual sport. To prevent injuries and all that? Yeah, it's good to do that for art too.

One way to warmup is to just draw lines. Try to keep them as straight as you can. Going up and down and diagonal. Draw squares. Big squares. Small squares. Circles! You are warming up, keep it loose and relaxed! Basically just scribble away.

(examples. I usually keep going until there is no paper white left. This can double as practice for drawing straight lines without a ruler, which is a great skill to have when freehand city drawing.)

Before hopping right into drawing people you can try doing some quick gesture drawings. Line of Action has timed sessions with a large variety of clothed or nude models. I usually do the 30 min class as it has a nice balance of short and long timed poses. The point isn't to draw nice art, but to warm up. Try to get the basic form down, not the details. I find that doing a full class session can really help my drawings feel more loose and grounded in reality for the rest of the day.

Some examples I found in my folders. I suggest looking into what a line of action (not the site) is and giving it a try with some of the studies!

COOLDOWNS!

For sports it's to return your body back to your everyday baseline after a workout.

Example; you are working on a big project! A masterpiece! It's detailed and cool! You have been focusing on this for hours and drawing so intensely. But you need to stop working for the day.

A cooldown is for winding down out of the go go go mindset. Put away the big project and do a couple small doodles and sketches. You are relaxing your hand and letting it stretch out. Keep the sketches loose. Let the art happen slowly. Don't polish anything, that can happen another day. Just ease yourself out of drawing.

...

Cool! Now we get into the meat of this thing.

HAND PAIN

How to avoid it and how to manage it if you already have it.

I love you artists and creatives, I am begging you to please take care of your most important creative tools. I really don't want this to sound like scare tactics like "oooh you better do this or blah blah!" Nope. I just had to learn all this the hard way and I'm extremely passionate about it.

Take this advice or don’t ╮(ﾟ～ﾟ;)╭ I can't tell you what to do, I'm not your dad

Adjustments and Small Solutions

If you are feeling physical discomfort while drawing there are many different solutions to try! Here are some suggestions that may or may not work for you.

Hold your pencil more loosely. Stop gripping that thang so tightly!!! Relax that hand! They make these… squishy pen grip things... I think they are called Adaptive Pencil Grips or Adaptive Writing/Drawing Aids? They stop your hand from being all cramped up by making your drawing tool wider. It's going to take a bit of time to adjust to drawing with it, but it's worth it for those who hold pencils too tightly.

Don't press as heavily. For traditional art, if you find yourself pressing really hard to get darker lines try moving to a softer pencil. Most standard pencils are HB, the B pencils have softer graphite. Experiment until you find the right one for you. For Digital, adjust your pressure settings so you don't have to press as hard to get thicker lines. You should not be pressing so hard all the time, it wears out both your hand and your tablet! It takes a bit of time to adapt to pencil or pressure changes. Try doing some unimportant sketches, they don't have to be good. You are just training your hand and mind to adjust using less pressure.

Draw with your arm and not your wrist! It's small repetitive motions that cause the most strain. You probably hear this one a lot, what does it even mean? It means moving your arm with the motions of your line, and trying not to make too many tiny movements with your just your fingers or wrist. This one is hard! It takes time and conscious thought to change the habit. Tips? Work bigger. Zoom in more. Use bigger sheets of paper.

(Motions exaggerated for a clearer example)

Change the angle of your drawing surface. They make angled tablet holders, angled desks, angled desktop raisers. Experiment, find and angle that is comfortable and the one that causes the least pain. (It's also good to make sure you don't have to hold your head at an uncomfortable angle when drawing. Staring straight down or hunching over a paper flat on the table can cause pain!)

Compression Glove? Wrist brace/tensioners? Some folks use them and I've been thinking of getting one for years now. I can't give advice on this one, because I don't have experience with it. Look into it if you want!

Managing Pain

First things first.

IF YOUR HANDS START TO HURT WHILE YOU ARE DRAWING. STOP! Put the pencil/pen/paintbrush/whatever down. The art will still be there for you to continue tomorrow.

I know from experience that it's extremely hard to pull away when you are hyper focused on an art piece. It's hard to remember all sorts of basic needs like food or bathroom when hyper focused. But you Need to stop when you feel that pain. (Preferably even before the pain…)

Take Breaks! Let your hands rest when you can. Just like a machine, if you don't schedule maintenance, the machine will schedule maintenance for you. Often that means having to wait a few days for it to return to functional. Best to take a day off from heavy usage or take an occasional 30 min break throughout the day to let your hands rest.

Stretching is important! Full body stretches are good; your arms, shoulders, neck, and spine are all connected, but I'm specifically talking about HAND and wrist stretching. There are a lot of stretches and massages for carpal tunnel and arthritis out there. I find they work for hand pain in general. Move into and out of each stretch slowly. Do not push a stretch if it hurts!! Be gentle!!

I am not a qualified professional and I will not be giving out specific stretches (that is beyond my personal comfort level). There are other artists out there who have made helpful stretching info-graphics which are cool, but I will not be because i don't want to be responsible for someone accidentally hurting themself. Ask your doctor for stretches & advice or look some up on your own.

Don't feel bad about forgetting to stretch frequently! Of course it is good to do it regularly and frequently, but I would be a hypocrite if I said that I remember to stretch daily. Setting timers for stop and stretch sessions can work for some people, but also doing stretches whenever you remember is fine! If you are sitting on the toilet you can idly do some hand stretches. On the bus? Laying in bed? At the beach? Do a couple stretches! Even just once a week is better than… nonce a week.

Using Cold or Heat to treat pain. If you really overdid it, put your hands in some cold water or wrap a cloth around an ice pack and apply it to your hand. Cold works best for me, but warmth works for others. This is just pain reduction and reducing inflammation from overuse! This is not a permanent solution.

If your hand hurts a lot! Frequently! Talk to your doctor? Idk mine has never given real advice. Just gently poked my hand and told me there isn't much to be done about it :/ but there are really good doctors out there who will care and give helpful advice!

Again. IF IT HURTS TO CONTINUE DRAWING. STOP DRAWING! This is not a "no pain no gain" type situation. Drawing so much that you hurt yourself isn't noble, it's just… limiting yourself. You only get one set of hands. These things are very handy to have.

Other Advice

Things I couldn't figure out how to fit into the earlier sections.

Your other hand can't handle the strain! Lets say you hurt your drawing hand... the other hand is right there free to use for art. Right? Wrong. Your other hand can't keep up with the demand, it hasn't been trained to the same extent as your dominant hand, it does not have the built up muscle. If you want to use that hand for drawing you are going to have to use it s l o w l y and train it bit by bit over a long period of time. When I tore a tendon in my right hand I decided to just keep drawing with my left and I got Really Good at it. It only took like two months before my left hand hurt too much to move. Then I had 0 functioning hands to pull up my pants. Not fun!!

People who draw on phones. That is extremely impressive! I'm amazed by the things people can create on such a small space. But phone artists are the ones I see most frequently mentioning hand pain. please please please make sure you are taking breaks. Would a stylus work instead of using a finger?

Outside of Drawing. Sometimes it's things outside of drawing that are causing the pain. For me there are multiple sources, but I also have tiny baby hands. Holding a phone too long causes pain. The handheld mode for my Switch causes A Lot of pain. The way my hand rests while typing on my laptop hurts! Playing tense videogames for too long hurts! Find the source of your pain and make some changes. The same things will apply to most; take regular breaks, do some stretches, and find soft things to prop up or rest your arms on.

Change your Artstyle. This one is more of a last resort. You might have to change your art style if you are getting sharp pains every time you draw. I loved drawing tight clean lines and many small fancy details, but drawing like that left me in so much pain at the end of the day. In 2023 I had to take the better part of year off from illustrations just to learn how to sketch and draw more loosely. I had to learn how to be gentle. To stop gripping my pencil so tightly. Learn! Adapt! You might discover a new style that you love even more!

A lot of this stuff gets more complicated in a work setting where you have to draw fast and long in order to get paid. Things like reducing your workload can help, but that can be... financially rough. But outside of that, it’s ok to be a slow artist. Going full steam and hurting yourself is not worth it.

Aaaaaanyway, thats all folks. Today's rant brought to you by me! The guy with chronic hand pain who always forgets to stretch! The guy who got frustrated with a sketch yesterday and decided to push to keep drawing for just one more hour! The guy who woke up this morning and had to spend 2 hours massaging and stretching their hands. The guy who probably shouldn't have typed all of this out because ooww ow ouch

If your hands do hurt, it's going to be ok! You don't need to be a speed demon who draws all the time. It's ok to take your time and take frequent breaks. You are going to do great things! Just be gentle with yourself...

[literaila]

three things

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: a fun trip to the grocery store (how do you raise children?)

warnings: a bit of anxiety, a bit too much of gojo

last part | next part

*

year one.

"no, satoru." 

how many times have you said that today? 

how many times has satoru pouted--like he's doing right now--and put back whatever he'd plucked off the shelf, grumbling something about how you hated him or you weren't his mom or how he was the one buying everything? 

oh, too many times to count. you stopped after five. 

megumi rolls his eyes with you, already familiar with this routine, looking at everything in the cart again with the same analytical eye he's had since you all walked into the store. you're pretty sure he's counting the total cost.

it might be cute--the way his frown deepens just a little bit after each new item is added--if it didn't worry you completely. 

because it's the first time you've taken the two of them to the store, and the first time you're trying to recall everything their eyes trail over, the things they want but neither of them will say.

you're trying to remember yourself as a kid--if you begged your parents for anything you could possibly want, or if you stood there and stared longingly. but your childhood has always been a dull memory you keep hidden in the attic of your mind. 

so you're not sure what to expect. 

because neither of them has asked for much, since the first night. tsumiki requested a notebook she could draw in, and megumi asked if you could get gojo to stop talking to him. 

the first which you did immediately, even letting gojo get her some expensive pencils to draw with, the second which you... tried. 

it hasn't been easy, the past few days. settling two kids into a dysfunctional house didn't exactly fit into your schedule for the week. 

"why not?" satoru demands, walking right along slide you, pushing the cart because you'd forced him to. "we need dessert." 

"there are seven different types of dessert already in there. i'm hiding at least three of those, by the way." 

"i'll find them," satoru grins mischievously, but waves a hand. "we've got two extra people in the house now. i'm not just shopping for me. do you want them to starve?" 

you roll your eyes, again. then pull on his hair, which he squeaks at. "you're only shopping for you. i've seen your pantries, you know. and i lived with you for three years. we all saw your grocery lists." 

satoru is about to say something, but tsumiki giggles. maybe at the stupid way his face looks. 

the way he's almost smiling, even in denial. how his eyes show from just behind his glasses, his brows moving like a separate entity on his face. 

you haven't really talked to him, the past couple of days. nothing beyond a question about megumi's technique, or where the two of them went to school. 

how long will it take before you finally ask him--

you look over to tsumiki, shaking your head at satoru and smiling back. 

"megumi doesn't like sweets much," she adds to you, easily.

you add it to the mental list of things you know about them.

you look at the little boy, and he nods, looking straight ahead. his shoes catch on the ground every couple of steps like they don't fit right. 

satoru gasps like this is an outrage. because not drinking straight sugar is offensive to him. 

"what?" he asks, stopping all three of you so he can grab megumi by the shoulders. "were you cursed?" he inspects the boy carefully, peering over the glasses on his face.

megumi seems to sink back with each glance of his eyes, his face turning red. 

"cursed to deal with you, maybe," you tell him, pushing him away from megumi. the boy fixes his hair--which had been pushed over his eyes--and glares at satoru.

"he doesn't like sweets?" the man repeats, mouth open, glancing at all three of you like he's not sure that any of you are sane.

"you say that as if you don't eat enough for all four of us." 

"i need the calories," satoru whines, fluttering his eyelashes at you. you ignore him--and the funny way you feel about the gesture.

you look at both of the kids, observing the two of you closely, and give them a look. a look as in, he's crazy. 

megumi swallows. "i like dango." 

"great!" you nudge satoru to keep walking. "we'll get some." 

"that's it?" satoru prods. "what about--" 

you pinch his hip and shake your head, glaring at him when he pouts at you again. 

you step on his heels as you walk through the aisles, still watching the kids with sharp eyes, trying to figure out anything they might want. 

tsumiki murmurs something to megumi every once and a while, but beyond that, they only walk alongside you and satoru, stepping out of the way of any other adults that pass by. 

honestly, you might as well have taken them to the park. they don't even glance at any of the shelves--except when satoru pushes one of them away to grab something. at least at the park, they'd be getting some fresh air. 

after you sigh in--what? frustration? disappointment?--for the fourth time, satoru gives you a look, raising his brows. you shake your head. 

he nudges you with his shoulder but doesn't say anything. whistling while he sneaks more sugar into the cart. 

after the fifteenth minute of this, megumi falls in stride beside you and you look down at him. his eyes evade yours, focusing on the necklace you're wearing instead.

"um, i have to use the restroom," he says to you, soft and embarrassed. 

"okay," you place a hand on his back, gently turning him around, "i think it's just over here," you say, listening as satoru follows along idly. 

"me too," tsumiki says, trailing on your other side. 

the store is almost completely empty, so you tell the two of them that you'll wait right outside the door, and lean against the wall, watching the both of them disappear. 

satoru is already looking at you. 

"what?" you groan, glaring at the doors. 

"what what?" 

you sigh. his voice is annoying. "why are you looking at me?" 

satoru is too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours--uncomfortably of course because he is the worst--without a care in the world. "what's up?" 

"what do you mean?" 

"why are you acting weird?" 

"i'm not acting weird," you look at him, frowning. 

he's wiping his glasses on his shirt--like he can actually see out of them--and looking at you quizzically. "oh, so you staring at tsumiki and megumi like they're a science experiment isn't weird?" 

you ignore him and his stupid blue eyes. 

"if i was doing that you'd push me down a flight of stairs, but okay..." 

you sigh again, rolling your eyes. and then again. and then you relent because satoru's silence will inevitably break you. "they haven't asked for anything," you say, almost whining to him. "you told them they could pick out whatever they want." 

satoru shrugs. "so they don't want anything." 

"everyone wants something, satoru. especially kids." 

"everyone?" 

"yes. i'd expect you to know better than anyone," he laughs but you frown. "it's a human trait." 

he smirks, leaning down towards you. "what do you want, then?" 

you scoff, flicking his forehead. "i want them to feel comfortable. and i want you to stop bugging megumi." 

"but he makes it so easy," satoru says, pretending to be innocent.

"you're the adult, here," you say, even though you don't really believe it--nor should you. "act like it." 

"all the kid does is scowl," satoru complains. "i'm just trying to make him comfortable." 

"by invading his space?" 

"you stare from far away, i stare from up close." 

"you antagonize." 

satoru grins, crossing his arms, very pleased with himself. he's silent again. 

the past year has almost made you forget that satoru knows you like this. he's always known how to keep you talking, how to read your face and your hesitant glances. 

it's not like time could make him forget. it's not like you've forgotten anything about him. 

"you aren't worried?" you ask, after a second. 

"about the kids?" 

"yes," you say, obviously, "that we're already messing something up." 

he gives you a dubious look. "it's been four days." 

and he's right. you can't expect to understand either one of them after seventy-two hours of merely knowing about their existence. but you don't know how to treat kids like these, because any mistake you make--anything you say--will inevitably come back to haunt you. 

"it's--" you shake your head. satoru doesn't worry about anything, so you don't even know why you're bringing it up. "it's like when you play with someone else's kid and feel like you're breaking some unspoken rule. except this time we're the ones making the rules. there's no one to tell us if we mess up." 

"i think megumi would tell us," satoru answers, almost sarcastically. 

"he's the kid, idiot," you groan. "he doesn't know." 

"rude," satoru is still grinning. "what could you have messed up, at this point? all you've been doing is asking them questions. that's pretty straightforward." 

"maybe it's too much, too fast." 

satoru snorts, shaking his head at you. "grocery shopping?" 

"everything." 

satoru raises a brow at you, watching as you deflate. you feel like each move you make takes a little more air out of you, and who's to say when you'll finally run out? 

how many mistakes do you have to make to finally get it right? 

and you know--and you know that he knows--that it's not just about them, but about you. is this too fast? is this too much?

satoru rests a hand on your head. "you're too in your head about this." 

"well, i have to do it for the both of us." 

he ignores that. "if they need something, they'll ask," the words are soft, genuine. he's completely sure like he always is. "you made it clear that we're just here to help. it's been four days." 

you sigh, nodding reluctantly. 

"we'll figure it out," he says, simply. "you don't need to worry about anything. i mean, i'm here, so..." 

you push his hand away, glaring. "megumi doesn't even talk to you." 

"hey, yes he does." 

"to call you a freak, maybe. or tell you to shut up." 

"don't be jealous of my relationship with megumi. we're bonding." 

you roll your eyes but find a laugh making its way out of you. 

he's always been good at this, too. making everything seem easy. 

when tsumiki comes out of the bathroom door, she smiles at the sight of the two of you still there--both talking animatedly, with similar glares in your eyes. she settles in beside satoru, copying him as she leans against the wall. 

"you think i'm great, don't you tsumiki?" satoru asks her, goading. 

she nods immediately. 

you snort and look away while tsumiki giggles when satoru leans down to smack a kiss on her cheek. 

something inside of you warms, just briefly. 

and then megumi comes out, rubbing his hands together. unlike tsumiki, he glares at satoru and chooses to stand beside you. 

"okay," satoru clasps his hands together. "are you both ready to go?" 

"um," you turn to him. "satoru we haven't--" 

megumi nods immediately, looking a bit brighter at the prospect, and tsumiki furrows her brows, questioning. 

"great! both of you pick out three things that you want and then we'll leave." 

megumi glowers. 

"three things?" you clear your throat. "they need more--" 

"three things," satoru repeats, looking right at megumi while he says it. some words pass non-verbally between the two of them. you might have to tell satoru not to talk to megumi about anything without you. "we'll get everything else we need." 

tsumiki runs alongside megumi and grabs his arm, which he allows, though you watch his eyes roll. 

"go on," satoru shoos them away, smiling all proudly. when they're gone, he turns to you again. "there. now you don't have to worry about picking something they like." 

and he reaches his hand to grab yours, as a simple habit. 

satoru has never tip-toed around the line of physical contact. even with shoko, even when she would push him off.

something passes between the two of you. holding his hand is familiar; egged on by four years of standing alongside him. 

you try not to flinch away from the contact. 

and, sure, satoru probably just lost both of them in the store, and you don't actually have everything else you need, or know what those things are, but he's smiling at you. 

he's trying to be reassuring. 

so you smile back and let him hold your hand. 

"we'll figure it out," he whispers to you, and you push the cart this time while the two of you try to find the children he just lost.

*

later that night--after forcing satoru to put away the groceries with the rest of you--megumi lets you sneak into his room with a (third) bag of candy that satoru grabbed last second, acting like you wouldn't notice. 

"where's the best hiding spot for this?" you ask him, looking around.

it's pretty doubtful that satoru would risk going into megumi's room just to look for it. and, you're sure, that megumi probably wouldn't let satoru open the door, nonetheless go through his things.

the boy points at his dresser and moves some clothes so you can hide it at the bottom of one of the drawers. he doesn't even question your motivations.

as you back out of the room again, you make him promise not to tell, and, for a single second, megumi smiles back at you, crossing his heart. 

*

next part

[neil-gaiman]

hi dad,

ok i know ur not -really- my dad lmao just let me cope. i lost mine, so you're stuck with that title now. anyway. i just felt like telling you how great things seem to be going for me rn (fuck i hope i don't curse it). i've been a fan for a long ass time, but i got into the GO fandom only last year, and in just a few months i feel like i've gotten so much better, both mental health wise and creatively. i'm a neat little bundle of depression, anxiety, autiADHD, BPD, and cPTSD. isn't that lovely haha. but hey, i'm also a writer. a poet. an artist. and a helluva burned out musician. BUT. ever since i've been hanging out here, i've been writing SO much more, i've been doing fanfics, and so many cool poems, and improving my writing skills so much. i started drawing again after like 2 years of not touching a goddamn pencil, and i just bought some paint and a canvas bc i wanna get back into painting again like i used to when i was younger. and also through reading other GO fics, i've felt inspired to play piano again, which was a great deal to me a few years back. and it's awesome to feel that spark again.

Good Omens has meant a lot to me since i first read it around 2015. but now more than ever because there's a whole community i can share stuff about it with and it feels great. i recently lost a close group of friends, one of my best friends to suicide, and well. my irl dad. and i've been feeling hella lonely for a long time. but i feel like i've been gaining that sense of community again through good omens. and i can't tell you enough how much it means to me. so, idk. i guess i wanted to say thanks for that. and also for being so supportive of trans/queer people. it means the world to me. so. thanks dad. ily

I'm just glad I'm helping.

[ramp-it-up]

Best of All

Pairing: Pilot!Steve Rogers x Publicist! Reader

Word count: 3.3 K

Summary: You and Steve FINALLY make it to your suite. And the results are sweet.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY Minors, DNI. Former Enemies to Lovers, and there was only one bed, 20 yr angst, sexual frustration, A yacht, swimming,Steve sketching reader, dry humping, fingering, size kink, personal lubricant, woman on top/ in control, Captain/Sir kink, praise/degradation kink, dirty talk, sloppy oral (m/f receiving), raw p in v, breeding/lactation kink, creampie. Basically porn with plot. Not Beta’d. All errors are on me.

This is the next part in the Greatest series.

A/N: It has been just a little over exactly a year since I've written these two. Please forgive my ain't-shitness. And thank you for rocking with me. I love you all!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

You were relaxing on the bow of the yacht, staring out over an amazing view.

You’d had a delicious brunch with Aperol spritzes, and as the yacht floated on the beautiful Gulf of Genoa, the only sounds you heard were of the water, John Coltraine, and the scratching of Steve’s pencil against the paper of his sketch pad. 

He had been wonderful, and contemplative, company for you. 

Your time was spent journaling and looking at the water and the cliffs, rotating your lounger with the sun. You even dozed for a few minutes, waking up to find Steve looking at you piercingly as he sketched. 

Your sister was right.

Steve was very much into you.

You could get used to this you thought as you got up and walked over to Steve, who looked up at you and smiled.

“Can I see what you’re sketching?”

Steve blushed, and then moved so that you could sit down beside him.

“Sure.”

He put his pencils down and handed his leather bound sketch book to you. You gasped.

“Steve! These are…”

You flipped the pages, looking to him for approval. He nodded and smiled at you.

There were many images, on the boat, some very detailed from the day, some rough sketches, but they were all clearly you. You turned to one drawing of you naked, and it made you feel some kind of way.

You’d never posed that way for him.

“Drew that one from memory. Last night.”

“You make me look so…”

“Beautiful? Then that just means I’m drawing you accurately.”

“You really see me this way?”

You were gazing at the sketches with wonder.

“I can’t believe that you don’t. Y/N. You are one of the most beautiful, most desirable women I’ve ever seen. People talk about Aria, but she looks just like you.”

You turned and put the sketch book down on the table beside Steve’s lounger.

“Can I have a kiss?”

Steve’s eyes lit up.

“You can have anything you want.” 

“I want you…”

Steve groaned as you climbed up on his lap and grabbed his face. You traced his lips with your fingers before he closed the distance between you and captured yours with his own. You were breathless before he pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

“That was… nice.”

Steve shifted, sending his crotch grinding into yours and relishing the way you shivered in his arms.

“You want me?”

Steve looked back up at you. Hopeful.

“Yes. And I want to try. A relationship? Dating once we get back to the states? It will be hard. I travel a lot with what I do, go from coast to coast, and all over the world with Aria.”

You were nervously speaking in questions.

“Hmmm. Wonder how I could get from coast to coast, and all over the world? Oh right, I have two airplanes and I’m a pilot.”

Steve smirked at you as you smacked him on the arm.

“I just don’t want you to feel as if you have to chase after me. Or wait for me to get back when I need to go. Long distance can be hard.”

Steve nodded, and then gave you a quick peck on your lips.

“I know. But I would follow you to the ends of the earth. And I’ve already waited for 20 years. What’s a little longer?”

“How can you be so damn perfect?”

You attacked him, kissing him again as he laughed and grabbed you, holding you close.

“Not perfect, maybe just perfect for you?”

“Maybe,” you smiled into his shirt as you traced a vein down his arm. 

“But I want a do over.”

“A do over of what?”

“Of our first date.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. But first, I wonder if you will give me some? Please? Pretty please Steve?”

You reached down and grasped his hardness in your hand; Steve moaned.

Steve’s mouth was open as you begged for him.

“Oh Baby, you have no idea how much I want that.”

You whined as you moved your hips to feel more of him.

“Steve… need you…”

Your sultry whisper in his ear made him weak.

“Me too. I just … I want it to be special… to take our time…”

“I need you inside me, Captain.”

“Fuuuuuck.…I want that too, Doll. So bad… I dreamt of it last night.”

Steve moved so that his mouth was on your neck.

“You taste like coconuts right now. Why is that?”

“Hmmmm. Flavored body oil spray. It’s edible.”

“Well then, I need to taste more…later. “

You writhed against him hoping for some relief.

“So desperate. I love it when you get needy for me, Baby.”

Steve took in your face and your lips opened in desire. He grabbed the back of your neck, wrapping his hand around your face and inserted his thumb into your mouth. You sucked at it greedily which made him groan again.

“Is that what you want?”

You moaned around his digit and nodded, your heart about to beat out of your chest. Steve leaned down to whisper in your ear as he shoved his thumb further past your tongue and held your mouth open.

“I loved the way you took it in your mouth yesterday. Such a good, good throat. Such a good, sweet girl for me.”

His hand was now at the crotch of your bathing suit and your eyes rolled back into your head at his filthy words as he gagged you with his digit. His long fingers on his other hand pulled the suit to the side and slowly inserted two inside you.

“I can barely get in here, Sweetheart. You’re gonna struggle to take me …”

You grunted, both at what he was doing to you and at what he was saying.

“Yes… you’ll have to be patient just a little while longer. Tonight…”

His wet thumb was caressing your nipples over your bathing suit now. You were frustrated.

“You’re all talk.”

“And you’ll do whatever I say. Later.”

Steve’s words and his steely eyed stare were speaking straight to your pussy. You clenched down on his fingers and he moaned.

“So fucking right. Patience, Doll. Just a little while longer. Meanwhile, you and I need to cool down.” 

Steve abandoned you to take off his shirt, laughing at your lust before he reached down to gather you in his arms again while approaching the passerelle.

“Can you get your hair wet?”

“Yes, I planned on swimming, but are you really about to throw me in the water right now?”

“No. “

Steve shook his head as he stopped on the edge.

“Good.” 

You smiled as you took in the view.

“I figure we’d take the plunge together.”

And then he backed up and ran toward the edge, you squealing in his arms, the warm mediterranean water separating you when you hit the surface. Soon you felt his arms slip back around you as you found each other again and kissed in the warm Italian sun. 

You wanted this moment to last forever.

—-

You made it through the 6 hour voyage and back to the hotel to change for dinner. The meal was nice, with great wine and even better conversation. 

After the meal, Steve asked a question as you walked to the elevators.

“Does that invitation to your suite still stand?”

You pressed your back into the elevator wall as Steve pressed the button for your floor before you even answered his question.

This cocky bastard. It was so hot.

“Sure, are we gonna have a pillow fight?” You raised your arms to his board shoulders as he leaned down to your ear.

“Did you say pillow bite?”

You cocked your head at him, smirking.

“So it’s like that?”

“Very much so.”

You kissed him as the doors opened onto your floor. Steve kept his hands on you as you opened your door and immediately had you up against the first available surface once the door closed hands and mouth everywhere he could reach.

After you two almost broke what looked to be a very expensive vase, Steve stepped back from you, lips swollen from your kisses and chest heaving.

“D’you want me as much as I want you?”

You realized now that the look on Steve’s face that you’d once interpreted to be irritation with you or annoyance, was in fact concentration. You pondered the meaning of being the center of his attention as you moved toward him.

“Do you not remember the way I took your cock down my throat the other day?”

You pressed your body against his and Steve swore, growling in your ear. 

“Oh yes. That was truly.” He kissed your neck.

“Truly.”

This time the kiss was on the plane of your chin.

“Truly amazing.”

He kissed your lips softly when you decided you were tired of playing around. You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom.

—-

Soon, you were both naked in the bedroom, a bottle of Prosecco rescued from the honor bar and opened on the dresser. Your eyes were drawn to Steve Rogers, who was as beautiful as one of the statues in the Galleria Borghese. 

Steve was grasping his cock at the base as his eyes swept over your body. He was remembering the taste of you.

“You are so beautiful.”  

He squeezed himself harder and tried to keep from moving his hand up and down his thick shaft as you stared and licked your lips.

“Come over here, Stevie. Please.”

You lay on the bed on your stomach, showcasing your ass and looking at him invitingly. Stave moved closer, but stopped.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t going to fuck you tonight?”

You began to pout.

“Fix that face.”

That command made you whimper at the power in his voice.

“You are going to fuck me, Doll.”

“What?”

Steve reached for your hand as he switched places with you. Then he lay there and resumed stroking himself. You licked your lips at the sight and retrieved the bottle of Prosecco, suddenly very thirsty.

You contemplated the power he was giving you, and decided you liked this rush of control. 

“I like the idea of that, Steve. I’ll get to express exactly how much I want you.”

You took a swig and leaned down to kiss him, giving him a taste from your lips. He licked your mouth as you thumbed his nipples, causing him to shiver from your cold touch. You couldn’t resist tasting his cherry red lips again and again as you lightly squeezed his throat, then ran your hand down his sternum and his abs to the tip of his wet cock. 

You grazed the length of him down to his balls, then looked into his eyes and kissed his lips as you took control of him.

“Your lips are perfect,” you whispered as you caressed him.

“No. yours,” replied Steve as he sought your mouth again. 

“You like my mouth?”

As you leaned to teasingly kiss the thick cap of his cock, then took him fully down your throat 

“Oh.. Shit…”

Steve massaged your scalp as you bobbed on him

“You are so fucking hot, Doll…”

You looked up with a smile and moved to lick his nipple, then kiss him again as you stroked him. Steve was mesmerized. Your hands, your lips, your tongue, he couldn’t concentrate on any one part of you that was ruining him. 

It was sensation overload, and he needed to focus to not shoot off.

You were drunk on power. You spit on his cock, deep-throated him once, twice more, and then pulled away, causing Steve to groan as you withdrew contact, your sloppy blow job scrambling his brain.  His head was on a swivel as he watched you get up to go to the dresser. 

“May I?”

Steve nodded, eager for what was to come. You had a small spray bottle in your hand, and when the liquid made contact with his body, he jumped from the sensation. You rubbed the oil on his cock and up his body to his nipples, basking in the rapt attention he paid you as you sprayed yourself between your breasts. Steve’s cock got impossibly harder in your hand at the sight. 

“I think I’m gonna like this.

You loved to hear his sexy deep voice break.

“You like me?”

“Yeah. I…”

Steve trailed off as your hands roamed his body.

“I like you too, Stevie,” you kissed him again. ”

Steve actually whimpered as you swung your leg over his hips and sat down on his cock, rubbing your pussy along his shaft as it lay against his stomach. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw to keep from manhandling you.

“I wanna try that sweet cunt.”

“Hmmm. Is it sweet? Wanna taste it again?”

You leaned back and circled your clit with two fingers, then inserted them into his pretty mouth. Steve’s adam's apple bobbed as he sucked your fingers and swallowed your taste. You pulled away to suck his cock again until he was moaning, at which point you kissed and licked your way up his body, settling your thighs at his shoulders. 

He gripped your ass as he turned hushed head so that his lips could kiss your thigh. His fingers reached around your leg to play in your crease as he gave your clit kitten licks and kisses. You tried to move back down, but he grasped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises that would give you daydreams the next day. He started sucking your clit so intently that you began seeing stars.

“Wanna fuck you now, Stevie. Wanna cum on your cock”

You were on the edge as Steve pulled off of your clit with an obscene slurp.

“I’m yours, Y/N.”

You reached back and grabbed his throbbing cock as you scooted your pelvis down, one hand on his neck and one hand positioning him to enter you. His shaft was large, but the head was even wider, and the stretch as you worked yourself open on him made you moan loudly. Steve grabbed your chin to make you look at him while you slid down his length, stretching yourself out so incredibly well.

“My cock looks so big against your tiny pussy.”

His eyes were riveted.

“It is big, Captain. You’re so huge.”

You grabbed the headboard while you adjusted to his size. Steve’s hands came up around your waist and held you steady as you trembled around him.

Those blue eyes looked up at you with adoration.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Are you okay, Doll?”

“It feels amazing,” you stared down into his eyes and smiled, your slick leaking down his thick shaft to collect and drip off his balls.

“Yes. Yes it does. Holy mother god.”

 He looked down to where you were connected.

“You’re wrapped around me so tight and so good, Doll.”

Steve looked up at you and licked his lips, pupils blown wide and struck dumb by lust. 

You leaned down and kissed him when you bottomed out on him.

You stared at each other as you both finally got what you wanted. You took his head in your hands and kissed him as you pounded together. 

Then you started moving. 

Steve played with your nipples and you arched backwards as he planted his feet and pistoned up into you faster.

“Oh! Steve. Feel so full. So good.”

Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and held you in place as his hips moved at the devil's pace. The sound of his dick breaching your wet pussy and skin slapping on skin was everything. His thumb went to your clit and traced figure eights as you shuddered in his grip. 

“F-f-f- u-u-u-ck! I’m- I’m coming!”

“Give it to me!”

He stroked you through your orgasm and then sat up, manipulating you so that you were sitting back on your arms in his lap as he moved you up and down his cock like a sex toy.

“Shit, you feel so good!”

Steve looked down at you and then up at the ceiling, eyes rolling

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot.”

You looked down and the image of Steve’s large member destroying your hole was enough to make you cum around his cock again. Steve took control, taking your hips in his large hands and moving you at his will.

“Oh my god.” 

He ground you against the base of his cock and started grinding circles for his greedy eyes and your pleasure. You were addicted.

“Such a good little slut for my cock. Need you to give me one more. That’s it. Good girl.”

He grabbed you by the hair and kissed you as you shuddered through your orgasm and suddenly, you were on your back as Steve flipped you over, getting on his knees and folding you in half to fuck you even better. 

Steve stopped as he tried to hold back.

“You got me so close Doll… I gotta calm down.”

“I just want you to stuff me full of your cum, Captain.”

“Ooohhhhhh. Fuck.”

Steve sped up and then stopped, trying to calm down. But he couldn’t help what he said next that turned out to be his doom.

“Are- are you trying to have my baby, Y/N.”

You arched against him, shuddering at the thought.

“Nnnnnnoooooo. Fuck. Maybe.”

“You wanna be all round and full of my child, tits so full of milk…so I can suck… holy fuck!”

The image was making Steve start to shoot off.

“Fill me up, Steve–I”

“Ahhh!”

And then you keened as you felt his hot cum start to spurt against your walls. You came around his rapidly pulsing cock as he finished inside you.

You two were a hot, sweaty heap as you came down together, Steve kissing your forehead and praising you.

“You did so good for me.”

He gathered you in his arms.

“I love you.”

Steve gazed at you.

“Think I’ve been in love with you for 20 years, Y/N.”

You smiled at him.

“I love you too.” 

You said it, barely above a whisper. But you meant it. Then you said it again.

“I love you, Steve Rogers.”

You attacked him, kissing him again as he laughed and grabbed you, holding you close. 

“All of the bad things that we’ve gone through to get to this moment is for the best. I can see that now.”

Steve looked to you just like that little boy you met 20 years ago. Then you saw the beautiful man who loved you.

“You’re right. And this, right now. It’s the best of all.”

[hellishjoel]

uneasy hearts weigh the most

7.3k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: Benny hosts the party of the year where broken pieces of Frankie's past are unearthed. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking and drinking alcohol, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.), house party, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, vivid writing of a mental disorder [capgras syndrome] and an accompanied nightmare, descriptions of violence against a parental figure, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers) A/N: I know this has been in the works for a while and I thank you for your patience! special shoutout to @thetriumphantpanda who beta'd this for me!! I owe her a 100 grand bar now! listen to the song uneasy hearts weigh the most and I'll kiss you on the forehead

Yeah baby, keep fuckin’ my fingers. “Do it again,” he mutters.  You moan louder as you gyrate your hips once more against his fingers, grinding your core against his knuckles.  “Fuck, baby,” he whispers with adoration.

The last time Francisco Morales saw his father was when he was punching his face in. 

It was a blur. 

Blood splattered across his face, neck, and shirt. His fist was crimson, his knuckles ached. But he couldn’t will himself to stop. 

Frankie would draw his arm back, using as much force as his little twelve-year-old body could muster, and plunge his whole body forward as he landed another hit. He couldn’t stop himself from crying, even when he was at his angriest. 

Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop crying? 

Frankie’s dad wasn't exactly father-of-the-year material. More like a drill sergeant with a drinking problem. When things got tough, he’d ditch his family for drugs and booze and only ever circle back when money turned to dust. 

His mom was falling apart before his eyes. His younger siblings were fearful because their mom, who was supposed to take care of them, couldn’t, and their father, who was supposed to love them, hurt them. 

Frankie was the oldest; he felt an obligation to protect everyone. But what can you do when you’re not even five feet tall?

If his father hadn’t been so strung out that night, Frankie wouldn’t have been able to tackle him to the ground like he did. He wouldn’t have been able to pin him down by fisting his ratty t-shirt and hit him like he did. As hard as he did. As many times as he did. 

Then, his father lay lifeless. Frankie blinked away his tears and let out a shaky sob. He got scared because he thought he had killed him. After all those puny hits, he laid limp. He wasn’t smart enough to know that he had just passed out from the drugs in his system. 

Frankie was so torn because how can you hate someone you’re supposed to love? How could his father leave the family he was supposed to be the foundation of? 

The Texas Department of Family and Protective Services intervened not long after. And he doesn’t like to think about it, any of it. 

Not growing up, not his family, nothing. 

But now he’s staring at a letter from his father. It’s his handwriting; the slant in the L’s, and the hook of his Y’s. Slightly smeary, written in pencil with eraser shavings damn near burned into the lined paper. He wrote this letter over and over again, trying to author the right words, to say the right things. 

Frankie’s heart stops, and all the memories rush back in a flood. It hits him like a fucking hurricane. 

Tommy’s Diner settles after its Friday night dinner rush. The hour before closing was always erratic, putting together to-go orders and ushering stacks of dirty plates from the tables to the back sink. 

Your shoulder blades collide with the swing door connecting the kitchen to the rest of the diner, using the force of your body to swing it open as you balance the ceramic plates in your arms. 

“Sorry, Lou. Just a few more.” You mutter tiredly as you set the stack beside the teenage dishwasher, hearing him sigh loudly before putting his earbuds back in place. He wasn’t one for many words. The most you knew about him was he listened to cringey, whiney rappers. 

You close your eyes for just a moment and lean back into the counter, craning your back and feeling each vertebrae realigning with anguish. Tina called in sick and you offered to work a double to pick up some extra hours this week. Besides, on days you didn’t work with Frankie, you were more… productive. 

The hum of customers gradually subsides, their chatter tapering off until the bell above the door chimes, signaling their exit. It’s nicer like this, when you don’t have to be the charming server who keeps up with all of their conversations from table to table. Especially after pulling a double, and your brain feels like it might melt. 

The staff worked diligently throughout the rest of the night, tidying up the tables and floors, not letting up until the countertops gleamed, the coffee pots shined, and the strong smell of cleaning fumes mingled in the air. 

You grow a fond smile thinking about spending the summer with Frankie. He adores being outside far more than you do. It’s impossible not to imagine how stupidly sexy he would look with his skin glowing a golden tan and a pair of sunglasses sitting lazily on the bridge of his aquiline nose. Loose, flowy shirt and a pair of shorts. Curls lost to the wind. 

He talks about taking you on nature walks through his favorite trails and driving you further out of your nowhere town so you can stargaze at midnight. Or maybe you could hit the beach and spend your days under the sun drinking margaritas and Coronas. 

Summer could change things for you. 

Admittedly, you’ve been fantasizing—romanticizing. You think about him even when he’s not around. You miss the home you’ve made on the open side of his bed, where you’d curl around his orange tabby cat with his arms circled around your waist. 

Worst of all were the nights you were back at your place, where there was no one around to cook you dinner or dish out goofy conversations. Having to snake touches over your own body, over the curve of your belly, and sinking your fingers past your panties where the only remnants of Frankie is you muttering his name at the peak of your orgasm, wishing it was him showering you with his affections rather than your fingers or toys. 

God forbid you enjoy solo sessions anymore because Frankie has totally ruined that for you. It wasn’t as fun knowing you had a brown-eyed, curly-headed man across town who would beg on his knees given the chance. 

Anyway. Enough of that. 

You count the till’s cash, level out the profit, and put it all in a small bank bag before your manager, Carla, tucks it inside the safe. The metal keys on your carabiner clip jingle upon flipping the lock, the cool night air tickling your skin as late spring shows its face under the velvet night sky. 

A truck rumbles up the drive, and you know the signature death rattle all too well. 

“What are you doin’ here?” You lean against the driver's side of Frankie’s truck once he pulls up to you, your sneakers shifting gravel, his mouth tilted in a smirk. He leans past the truck’s frame and kisses you, cradling the back of your head to keep you against him. 

“Mmm,” he hums against your mouth, tasting cherry chapstick as he glides his tongue across your lower lip. “Get in. Benny’s having a house party.”

Eyes narrowing, you run your thumb up his beard scruff and gently scrape your nails down the dark hair. “I need to go home to change. Plus, I need a shower. I smell like grease, and I have grime under my nails.” 

“Fine, I’ll take you back to your place. I can wait.” 

A breath stalls in your lungs, eyes unblinking as you stare at him for a moment. 

Frankie has yet to visit your place — your dungeon, a basement-level one-bedroom apartment made up by a measly excuse of a kitchen and a tiny living space. You’re by no means embarrassed of its appearance. You’re rather clean, and you’ve made it as homely as you possibly can with bright-colored rugs and wall art. But it was sort of your final boundary. He was literally about to pass the threshold. Master the final boss. 

He’s let you have your space and never pushed you. The least you could do was say,

“Okay.” 

A contagious grin catches his lips, pulling you closer by the hand still cradling the back of your head, and he takes you in for a few more slow kisses. 

A car’s honk and bright lights jolt your heart, and your eyes squint until the flashers go down on the car Frankie has parked in.

“Can you two lovebirds hurry it up?” your manager, Carla, yells from the driver's seat of her rust-red 2006 Honda Civic. “You’re blockin’ me in, Francisco.”

You purse your lips with embarrassment, heat flushing the back of your neck. Carla was going to find out one way or another that you two have been sneaking around. She knows everything about everyone. 

“Hey, sorry, mama,” Frankie nods as she shakes her head slowly, mouth tainted with a smirk. 

“I’ll follow you back to your place,” Frankie whispers and you nod shyly, wrapping around the front of his truck and letting him tail you home. 

Frankie takes two steps at a time down to your basement-level apartment. His boots thump against the cold stone, and you push the front door open with the force of your shoulder. 

His eyes drag along the different pieces of the apartment that make you, you. Soft blankets that drape along the back of a loveseat accompanied by little, fluffy pillows, different pairs of sneakers sit stacked beside the front door, and a small table for two holds random clutter in the criminally tiny dining room. 

He follows your lead and kicks off his shoes, watching you unfold into your natural routine: you drop your bag on the kitchen counter, and your fingers are already tugging a black hair tie loose. He trails you down a narrow hallway, squinting as you turn on the harsh overhead lighting to the bathroom. 

Out of your clothes without a second thought, Frankie can’t help but laugh at the way you fling your bra past his head, tunneling down the hallway and landing in what he presumes is your bedroom. The shower curtain is something abstract, most likely purchased from the Target down the road. 

“I’ll be quick if you wanna wait outside,” you offer, body shielded by the curtain. 

Frankie shrugs, eyes glancing to the toilet opposite the shower.

“I don’t mind waitin’. Wanna tell me about your day?” Frankie asks, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid. He sees you fight away a timid smile and slink behind the shower curtain. The beads of water hit your body and change the tune inside the bathroom. He can tell each time you shift and twirl. It takes you a moment to become acquainted, but you retell the details of your day in a sweet lull. 

“I, uh, I usually listen to music when I shower,” you admit between the spray. 

“Oh, so you want me to start singin’?” Frankie asks with a smirk, to which you quickly shout no! 

It doesn’t stop him from breaking into a pitchy rendition of a song by the Bee Gees. 

After a fit of laughter, you both settle down, and Frankie is back to smiling at the sheer, cheaply-made shower curtain. He can see your silhouette dance under the shower head, gathering your hair and rising out the suds, grabbing a loofa to scrub away the worst of the grime from Tommy’s Diner. 

Holy shit, Frankie thinks, you smell like heaven. Oh my god, he likes you. It hits him like a bullet to the chest, the impact rippling through his veins and making his heart beat so loud that it rings in his ears. It’s a silent reminder that feeling things are beautiful when they are about you. 

The bathroom grows steamy, fogging up the glass of your medicine cabinet mirror. His skin grows clammy and his knee starts to jump in anticipation. 

“I’m almost done!” Your voice sing-songs as he slips off his jacket, his eyes still cast upon your body beyond the curtain. He’s in love with the way your body moves, fluidly and without intention. You’re just taking a shower and he thinks you’re beautiful. 

Just as you’re about to flip the water off, the curtain rings screech to open. 

“Frankie,” you breathe, eyes falling to his exposed tan skin. No other words come to mind other than another breath of his name. 

His lips attach to your neck, slow but faltering. Like he’s searching for the one spot to push you over the edge and join him in oblivion. 

The tension in the air rises as the water cascades down his back and soaks his dark curls. His frame, large and broad, protects yours as his arms circle your waist like wild vines.

Your eyes slowly fall closed, lips parted as your head eventually tilts back and rests against the shower wall. It exposes more area for Frankie to explore, his palms kneading at your lower back, arching your torso into his own. 

His teeth skim along your skin, the steam already forcing your flesh to glow and rise under the growing pressure of his hunger for you. 

He begins to navigate a new path, his lips finding purchase above your breastbone. Your fingers start at his biceps, feeling the strong muscles protruding underneath. He’s so unbearably handsome, and you can’t believe his body is fitting in the small shower stall with you. 

Finally, a heavy breath slips, something that resembles a moan. After that, he’s starving for you. 

The teeth that were once just grazing your skin, now nipping and sucking. His hands fall lower down the curve of your ass, squeezing and lifting as you gasp into his ear. You're dripping with arousal that sits achingly between your legs. 

You place a slender hand over his more muscular one, guiding it between your legs and gently cupping your mound. 

“Please,” you whisper, like the only thing Frankie needs to hear. 

He paints your mouth in a wet kiss, drowning any better judgment that may have resided. 

Intertwining your feelings together, the steam buckles heatedly in the small space. 

His fingers curl in your hold, swiping between your folds and feeling you. There’s a whimper let out against his ear, nipping at his lower lip once his fingers push past your threshold. 

And he groans. 

You’re so fucking tight, so fucking perfect for him. His forehead lays against your temple, your nose brushing against the coarse hair of his beard. Frankie sinks his fingers into you, knuckle-deep, and leaves you squirming under his hold. His fingers are so thick, it’s a bittersweet symphony the way your moans mingle in the air.

He’s got you cornered in the shower, body pressed against the hot mold. Two fingers move fluidly inside, stretching your core and stoking the burning embers that rest low in your stomach. 

“There,” you breathe, gasping as he adds more pressure to one spot that makes your legs nearly collapse out from under you. He still has you locked with an arm around your waist, holding what’s left of your presence. 

He’s skilled, his thumb finding your clit, and you want to scream at the way his fingers are long enough to fuck into you and massage your aching pearl at the same time. He’s the only one who can make you unfold like this.  

“Christ,” he mutters into your ear as he feels your walls desperately clench around him. “You can take another, can’t ya, baby?” 

His brown eyes melt you, waiting for your confirmation. You sigh weakly but ultimately nod. It’s all you can think about. 

He groans as he works a third into your entrance, and it burns, the way your pleasure mixes with the pain. 

You wrap an arm weakly around the tops of his shoulders, nails etching into his skin in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself able in his arms. 

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, long and bratty almost. You’re so close already, he knows just how to get you to the brink. 

You tingle at his touch, your muscles going numb as he fucks his fingers at a now unrelenting pace within your tight core. 

He works you to the edge, feeling the tick of the timebomb slowly begin to set off inside you. 

With all the energy you have left, you swing your leg up and hitch it on his hip. 

He looks bewildered for a moment, shocked eyes meeting your own as you rest your shoulder blades back against the shower wall with enough room to move your hips. You begin rolling your core down onto his fingers and he makes a noise resembling praise. 

Yeah baby, keep fuckin’ my fingers.

“Do it again,” he mutters. 

You moan louder as you gyrate your hips once more against his fingers, grinding your core against his knuckles. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers with adoration. 

He watches your body with fascination, Frankie’s eyes obsessively taking in your movements. His lips are quick to bow down at your alter, lips latching onto your exposed nipples that perk up in his mouth with all the attention. It makes a tingle shoot down your spine, only making your hips move faster as you fuck yourself down onto his fingers. 

Frankie kisses down your body until he’s sunk down onto his knees, damn near growling as your hips grind against his awaiting mouth. He latches his lips to your clit and harshly suckles, causing a high-pitched whimper to leave your mouth. 

You’re so close and he knows it, he can feel your thighs trembling under the heat of his palms. It’s the only thing holding you up at this point. Weaving your fingers into his watered-down locks, you grip them tight and keep Frankie close. 

He chuckles lowly, eyes flicking up to yours and seeing the desperate look cast over them. 

“You wanna come?”

Like he even has to ask. 

“Please,” you say, desperation leaking from your voice as you feverishly nod. 

Frankie tsks playfully, humming lowly against your clit. “Love when you beg for it, sweetheart.” 

Frankie circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, making out with your pussy and lapping away at your sweet juices. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing his fingers to move with more precision. 

You can feel your muscles contort as he starts to massage your spongy sweet spot. It’s enough to make your jaw drop and heat to spill down your spine. Your fingers clench his curls tighter between your fingers, holding him against you as your orgasm finally breaches. 

The leg hooked onto his shoulder shakes with each uneasy wave of your orgasm. The shower’s heat leaves you breathless, crying out in pleasure as your body shudders. 

Frankie smirks as he slowly loosens his fingers from your entrance, taking each finger into his mouth, one, two, three. His tongue swirls around each digit before he inches your leg back to down to the shower floor, planting your feet on solid ground before he stands and twists the shower’s handle. 

It only takes a few seconds, but the high of your orgasm and the heat of the shower makes you lose your sense of self. Your legs tremble and your hands feverishly grip Frankie. 

The ringing in your ears slowly fades away as he snaps the handle on the shower, letting the room calm into gentle silence. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as he wraps you in his arms, feeling weightless as he talks you down. “Wow,” he breathes, “never had a woman faint from how good-”

“Stop,” you laugh breathlessly, peaking your eyes open, and seeing the glittering haze of the handsome man in front of you. Water droplets run down his face, cascading down his neck and gliding horizontally across his shoulders. 

“I like hearing you talk about your day.”

Innocent eyes meet his own and you nod. “Okay.”

Frankie wasn’t joking when he said his friends threw a house party. They threw a goddamn party. 

After winding down a long gravel road about thirty minutes out of town, you arrive at a two-story classic country home. It’s surrounded by acres and acres of green grass and tall trees in the distance. The most action this house has seen in years is most likely deer or coyotes. 

And now it was seeing the house party of a lifetime. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out in disbelief once he parks his truck in the grass and kills the engine. “Whose house is this?”

His mouth tilts in a smirk as he peers forward up at the house, not sure if he’s staring at the long string lights that reach from one side of the home to the other, or the drunkards climbing onto the roof. 

“Will and Benny’s, after their grandfather passed away. Pretty sweet, huh?” 

The crunch of a beer can under your shoe is the first thing you hear, other guests quick to park their vehicles and rush inside with cases of beer on their shoulders. The echoes of the partying inside could be heard from the dirt driveway, Frankie wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he escorts you in. 

A chorus of people bump against your shoulder as they step outside, laughing hard and obviously tipsy. 

“What is this place?” You mutter in slight amazement and curiosity. 

“Come on, I’ll give you the tour,” Frankie whispers against your ear, making a tingle slip down your spine as you playfully nudge your elbow somewhere between his ribs.

He walks you through the living room, easily the most filled room in the house by the looks of it. All the furniture has been pushed aside and a band resides at the forefront of all the chaos. The lead singer and guitarists stand on the sitting area of the recessed mantle. The cheering rings in your ears and the bass thumps through the floorboards, electrifying everyone’s bodies to move and dance. 

Off the dining room is the kitchen. You can’t really tell how modern or outdated it is due to the sea of people making drinks. Frankie reaches through the hoard and retrieves two beers, popping the top off yours and slipping the cold bottle into your hand. 

“Thanks,” you mutter as you clink your bottle with his. 

Aside from the noisiest parts of the house, there were chill places where people were talking and sharing ideas or the latest things that were happening in their lives. You try not to laugh as a woman swaying in a hammock accidentally falls out, landing with a thud. Thankfully, her friends in the bean bags below caught her with bellows of glee. 

“Best part,” Frankie whispers to you as he opens the door to a nearly pitch-black room, only lit by two lanterns at the very front of the mostly wood study. People are sat on the floor, whispering and shushing each other as you and Frankie fill in quietly towards the back.

“And now, may I present to you, Santi, the Significant!”

Your eyebrows furrow as Santiago steps in front of a white flashlight’s spot, bowing ridiculously as everyone laughs. 

“Santi the Significant?” You whisper as Frankie chuckles quietly and nuzzles his nose against your temple. 

“He thought Magnificent wasn’t spectacular enough, or kitschy.”

“He performs real magic? Isn’t that kind of…” At the risk of offending one of his best friends, he fills in the blank for you.  

“Nerdy?” Frankie snidely smirks and shakes his head. “Works better than you think. Watch.”

You're skeptical about the magic act, but you can't help but be impressed as the confident Santi pulls roses from his jacket sleeve and hands them to the most eligible ladies in the audience, eliciting gasps and enthusiastic applause.

“No way,” you shake your head as Santi continues a few close-up magic tricks, enough to keep his drunk audience convinced. After a few more card tricks and cheesy jokes, the crowd applauds and whistles.

“That’s all from me today, folks. If you want my number, please see me after the show.”

“Dear god,” you mutter, hiding your face in Frankie’s shoulder. “How is this working?” You ask as a group of young women circle Santi with praise and lusty eyes. “Should I go ask for his number? I was pretty wooed back there.”

Frankie tuts as he ushers you out of the study. “Absolutely not.”

The entire night thrives on high energy with a constant flow of surprises. The decor of pink plastic flamingos and a surprise disco ball is making this everyone’s night one to remember - as long as the guests don’t drink too much. 

You’ve let Frankie go to mingle with his friends while you keep an intoxicated Benny at bay sitting at the top step of the staircase that looks over most of the party. 

“Quite the bash, Benny.”

“Thank you, m’lady. You’re enjoying yourself?” He slurs and sways, even while sitting. 

“I didn’t even know this many people our age live around here.” Your head rests against old yellow wallpaper, the design mostly faded and lightly curling at the floorboards. Your finger plays with the exposed edge, fighting the urge to tear it off or keep peeling it. 

He hums and throws an empty beer bottle behind his shoulder, hearing it clatter against the wall. “The best distraction for someone like me is people. I like people. And everyone needs a good distraction.”

You narrow your eyes on Benny curiously, the disco ball flashing along the bedazzled beads hanging around his neck. “Distraction from what?”

Benny seems like a very happy person, but it’s moments like these that reveal one's vulnerability. He slowly shakes his head with a very telling smile, gently squeezing your shoulder as he sighs. “It’s okay,” he slurs, “it’s why our friend group gets along so well because we all need distractions.”

He speaks so knowingly, almost like a prophet speaking in riddles, so you decide to amuse him. 

“Yeah? What about Frankie? He needs distractions too?”

Benny hums and points at Frankie down below. You peer through the wooden balusters, seeing Frankie mix and mingle with a drink in one hand and a lit joint in the other. He takes a hit and sputters up a cough as he laughs at what his group is saying, making you smile. 

“Frankie… is a very special case. He’s uh,” Benny’s eyes droop, his head resting on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and relaxes with your presence. 

“He’s what?” You whisper, reassuringly running a hand up and down his back. 

Benny lets out another sigh, breath reeking of alcohol. “You’re a good distraction for him. ‘Nd I don’t mean a distraction like a bad thing. You’re… You’re very good for him. He’s had a hard life and y’know, I’m sure he’s told you. But now he’s happy again.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest and you’re afraid Benny might be able to hear it. The large grandfather clock standing by the front door chimes, and you can’t read the time from this distance, but by the multiple rings, it must be midnight. 

And before you can stop him from spilling, Benny shares maybe more than he should. 

“Y’know with his dad. His whole family, really. His mom has capybara… no, not capybara syndrome.” Benny pauses to laugh before finishing. 

“Capgras syndrome? She just wasn’t all there when he was growing up and she didn’t get the help she needed until later in… in life. Frankie was just a kid and all of his siblings were, y’know, younger than him. Plus his dad wasn’t around to help her, drunk asshole that he was probably wouldn’t have been much help anyway.”

You stare straight ahead, watching your happy goofball down below with a new view.

“So his mom was there but not really there. He hasn’t seen his dad in years, but now, he’s back around and sent Frankie a letter or some shit. I don’t know what about. But everything has just sort of sucked for him for a long time.” Benny scoffs and lays his forehead against your shoulder, muttering now. “Especially that damn letter. ‘Nd his damn dad. But you know about all of this already.”

No, you didn’t. You’re stunned into a soft silence, the hand on Benny’s back slowly falling. 

“This party and you, good distractions. But Frankie told me he started having nightmares again.”

Suddenly very awake and alert, Benny sits up straight and looks you in your eyes. “Don’t let him drink too much tonight, okay? He’ll start spiraling if he thinks about this shit too much. Keep… keep being a good distraction.”

Benny pauses and clenches his stomach, his face turning a little pale. ���Fuck,” He mutters as he quickly shifts onto his knees and crawls up the opposite side of the staircase, pushing himself to his feet and rushing towards the bathroom.  

The buzz of the party slowly fades, like the sound of snow falling outside. It’s a silence that isn’t silence at all. Everything falls into slow motion, the confetti falling and the disco ball gleaming all halting mid-air. 

You weren’t supposed to know this much, or Frankie would have told you if he wanted to. But now as you stare down the staircase to Frankie, seeing him throw his head back in laughter, it’s hard to imagine someone like him had a past like that. 

Benny was drunk. Maybe he was mixing Frankie up with someone else? You didn’t know why, but instead of your usual instinct to flee, one of protection starts to come over you. 

“Hey,” Frankie breathes out with a big smile, his eyes glazed over and a little red from smoking as he watches you step down the staircase. 

“Hey,” you say with little to no masking of your emotions. 

He tilts his head adorably and rests his hand on your hip, pulling you in closer to him. “You alright?”

After nodding quickly with wide eyes, you know it’s more important for Frankie to believe nothing is wrong. 

“Yeah! Yeah, all good. Do you think we could head out soon? I’m getting pretty tired, worked a double and all.”

Frankie smiles and pulls his truck keys out of his dark blue jeans, doing the responsible thing and putting them into your very capable hands. “If you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s go.” 

He’s cross-faded for sure. At one point on the drive home, Frankie hung his head out of the passenger-side window and stared at the stars, giggling, as the wind whipped his face. But he never let go of your hand. 

 The exhaustion from the night seems to hit you both once you return to the comfort of his apartment, a small orange fluffball hopping off the couch to run his body against your lower calf. 

“Hi, Leo,” Frankie whispers, squatting down to gently scratch the cat’s chubby cheeks. 

After stripping your clothes and turning on his television in the bedroom, the lull of a sitcom settles him into slumber. You lay with Frankie in bed, his arms slung low around your waist and his head nuzzled into your chest. He snores quietly as Leo curls up between you two. 

Sleep seems to escape you, because every time you close your eyes, you picture a young Frankie with a tortured past. A shit father, a not all there mother. How was he so seemingly pieced together as an adult? 

With one hand gently stroking his hair and massaging his scalp, you use the other to search capgras syndrome on your phone. 

The National Institutes of Health describes it as, the most prevalent delusional misidentification syndrome and is characterized as a delusion of doubles. Patients falsely believe that an identical person has replaced a person close to him or her… CS symptoms may result in intrapersonal and interpersonal conflicts, along with poor social relationships. An individual with this kind of disorder is prone to self-harm and violence. There are also implications for the patient's family, as the stress on the caregiver and stigma-related stressors could further compound the issue.

Clicking the lock on your phone as fast as you can, you shakily sigh and wrap your arms tighter around Frankie. 

It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard of and Frankie was at the center of it all. It felt like your stomach bottomed out thinking of what he had seen. 

Was his mother ever violent with him? Or to herself? 

And this letter from his father that Benny mentioned, what did it say? 

You manage to exhaust yourself to sleep, but it doesn’t last long. 

Frankie sweats bullets, his body rustling against the bedsheets that now make him feel confined. His heart hammers against his chest and pounds in his ears. 

These dreams would be just dreams if they were happy, but there’s nothing happy about what he sees. 

On a stormy night, his mother cries. The sobs fill the house, his younger sister fears it’s a ghost by the shaky howling that sways down the hallways to their bedrooms. 

“It’s okay,” his uncertain voice reverbs as he fluffs her light pink princess pillow and tucks a lilac quilt over her small body. He smiles convincingly and closes the doors to his closet. 

He walks alone down the dark hallway, his eyes anxiously peering from left to right. He spies his father downstairs drinking alone at the dining room table. The glass bottle shimmers as lightning strikes outside. 

Is he passed out or impossibly still? 

His mother lets out another wail. 

“Goddammit,” his father curses to himself, shaking his head and finding a coat from the closet before slipping outside and into the rain. 

It’s okay, Frankie thinks, because it’s easier to take care of her when he’s not around to intervene.

With a breath of relief, little ten-year-old Frankie walks downstairs and gets a glass of water. He’s so scared, his hands won’t stop shaking. No matter how much he tries to fill his lungs with air, the shaking doesn’t stop. Dribbles of water slide down his hand and wrap around the outside of his tiny wrist. 

He follows the cries with hesitant steps, lightly pushing open the door to his mother’s bedroom. 

“Mom?” He asks into the dark, his voice soft and squeaky.

“No! No, get out!” Her cries have turned to yelling, scrabbling up to the top of the bed and flushing her back against the bed frame. 

“It’s me, mom, Frankie,” he whispers, slowly walking forward with an arm extended with the water. 

She lets out another wail and shakes her head, causing Frankie to lurch back. He thinks the lightning strikes and the thunder booming outside is scaring her, and all he wants to do is soothe her panic. 

“D-do you want some water?” He asks as she sniffs, her wide and unblinking eyes enough to keep him awake at night. 

In a wake of reality, she wipes her face and whimpers. “Is that really you, Francisco?”

His bottom lip trembles as he nods feverishly. “Yeah mommy, it’s me.” Can’t you see it’s me?

She slowly lowers the covers that she had previously clutched to her chest, nodding slowly. But then she freezes again, horrified, unconvinced. 

“I-It’s not you.” She says with uncertainty, shuddering at another clap of thunder. 

“Momma,” he whispers as he moves closer, reaching out and touching her arm as he stands at her bedside. “Drink some water, momma.”

He offers the glass, her eyes shifting from Frankie to the glass and back. 

“No-no! Your smile is bigger! That’s not my Frankie, his smile is bigger! Stay away from me!” She yelps, harshly smacking the glass of water out of his hands. Frankie jumps but can’t pull away, the grip of her hand wrapping around his wrist burns. 

“You need to stay away from me, you hear me? Stay away from my family!” 

Frankie tries to pull away, his own tears sprinkling along his eyes as he yanks yanks yanks and finally he’s free, running out of her room as adrenaline pumps through his little body. He quickly closes her door on the way out, sobbing erratically as he runs to the safety of the staircase, black funneling around his imagery. 

Frankie’s eyes pop open, feeling the tight hold of your arms like the one of his mother. He shoots up and pushes your arms off, seeing your sleepy eyes tiredly open. 

“Frankie?” You whisper, soft eyes meeting his own.

Fear still possesses him, it was overwhelming like a heavy weight sitting on his chest. It was all-encompassing, his manifestations of terror and panic being linked to the feeling of being chased by something from his past.  

“It’s me, it’s me!” He shouts, his throat feeling like something was clawing at it. 

You nod your head and reach out for his arm to which he instinctively rips away from you. 

“It’s me!” He shouts again, causing Leo to scurry off the bed. His stomach felt uneasy, dread pounding a dent into his head. 

“I know it’s you, I know it’s you, Frankie,” you breathe out, pushing yourself up fully as you take his hand and reassuringly squeeze.

He swallows down an impossibly large lump in his throat, catching his breath seems impossible. He couldn’t escape it, overwhelming helplessness nesting itself deep inside. It’s always the same nightmare or similar variants from his childhood. He used to think that he had blocked them out, shoved them away to a teeny tiny part inside him, locked away inside a vault. But recently, they’ve been coming back in swarms. 

The reality that his nightmare is over suddenly hits him and his back slumps weakly. Like a human no longer possessed, his physical existence slowly turning from mush back to something concrete. Suddenly, a sense of relief washes over him. It wasn’t real, he was safe, he was with you. 

“Frankie, you’re crying,” you whisper, slowly moving your hand up to wipe away the streams on his cheeks. 

Frankie’s shaky hand holds yours, tight, and brings it to his heart, letting you feel the impossibly strong beat. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, putting his head in his hands, “I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry,” he quickly shakes his head, feeling his body subtly relax from the strong heat that was tingling from his head to his toes. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now, it was just a bad dream.”

He knows now and he nods, but he still feels lost between his past and his present. 

He shouldn’t have drank as much as he did, and he certainly shouldn’t have smoked. He knows that now, but he was hoping it would help him sleep, keep him at bay until you were gone in the morning. But now you were here and he felt so exposed, his open wounds now out and in the open. 

Please don’t run. 

“I’m sorry,” he says on repeat as you slowly run a hand up and down his back, his body leaning into yours and nodding; he needed this, he needed you. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you whisper, “can I hold you?” You ask so sweetly, your voice dripping in kindness lined with concern. 

He’s already nodding as you gently wrap your arms around his broad torso. He puts his arms over yours and sighs weakly, his fingers interlocking with yours. 

Comforting energy exudes from you, the thing he desperately needs the most right now. Your soothing voice is nothing like his mother’s anguished cries, breaking him into reality with the honey drip of your sweet whispers. 

“A nightmare?”

Frankie nods and closes his eyes, wiping the stray tears that still fall down his cheeks. 

“I never wanted you to see me like this,” he tries to laugh, but it just comes out wrecked and thick from crying. 

Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop crying?

Your chin rests on the dip of his shoulder and he can feel your slow breaths against his back. He aligns his wrecked breaths with your calm ones, your bodies slowly becoming in sync.  

He’s so tired. He wants to close his eyes, but every time he does, he sees the flashes of lightning outside his mothers window and hears her untrusting words. 

It’s not you!

You sit together like this for fifteen minutes and he’s becoming grounded again. He strokes the blankets and relaxes the clutching hold he has on your hand. 

“I’m gonna get a cold washcloth, you’re burning up.” You whisper. He doesn’t want you to go, but he knows it will help - something his mother never understood. Help was good. 

“Leo wants to sit with you,” you whisper as you round the bed, Leo already leaping up onto the bed and circling himself between Frankie’s parted legs. 

“Sorry buddy,” he whispers, his voice raw and still shaky, but no longer feeling like he was choking on the air his body was desperately craving. 

With hazy eyes, he watches your body move in his bathroom, the light making his eyes squint. Your soft legs tucked under his large t-shirt was a sight. He was definitely here again, in the present. 

Benny had warned you, but nothing could have prepared you for that. But again, your usual feeling to run wasn’t here, because Frankie really fucking needed you right now. Your own concerns about this relationship were pushed aside. He needed comfort and reassurance, love where there wasn’t any before. 

You soak a washcloth in cold water until your fingers turn numb under the streaming faucet. Squishing out the excess, you return to his bedside and gently dab at his neck. His honey-amber eyes have never looked so dark and lifeless. 

He blinks slowly, he must be so tired. Frankie rests his hand on your upper thigh, fingers sinking into your plush flesh. He’s trying to ground himself, you think. A reminder that this was real. 

“It must have been really scary,” you whisper as you bring the washcloth up to his rosy cheeks, then to his temple and across his forehead. “Does this feel good?”

He nods and squeezes your thigh reassuringly. “Really good.”

“Okay, baby.” You whisper, running the washcloth slowly down both of his arms. The cooling sensation should help him fully awaken. You rest the washcloth on the back of his neck and rest your hand on his now cool cheek. 

His words ring through your ears, begging to be heard that he was real, that it was him. It was a dream about his mom, it had to be. 

He lets out a breath of relief, smiling weakly. “You must think I’m insane.”

He grapples to find the right words, and you think it’s best to come clean. 

“Benny told me,” you whisper, seeing his eyes harden at your truth. “About your mom, Frankie. Is that… is that what your dream was about?”

He sits impossibly still, but something in his gut must condemn him to tell you the truth. “Yeah, it was.”

You nod and run your fingers delicately across his cheek, giving him a reassuring smile. “You can tell me what you want when you’re ready. But it doesn’t scare me off, and I don’t think you’re insane.” 

An exhausted breath of relief mingles between you both and he agrees. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. 

“My dad, he sent me a letter and the nightmares started again,” Frankie whispers, brokenheartedness laced in his words. 

You press a gentle kiss to his lips, one of understanding. 

“I wanna read it to you in the morning.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, nod, and kiss him again.

After making Frankie a sleepytime tea in his favorite mug, he settles back into bed. He was so vulnerable tonight when he really had no other choice. He falls asleep with his ear to your heart, and his arms wrapped loosely around your hips. 

You stay awake and watch the television for as long as you can, hoping the comforting vibes of a sitcom will calm your racing heart. Gentle fingers draw shapes over Frankie’s back and you share a look with his cat. One that said you were both in this together. As the sun slowly slips across the horizon, your eyes finally close knowing this night of terrors is over. 

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

[rowretro]

ℂ𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℂ𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕤

✧warnings: F-boy Sunghoon so mentions of sex ig, may be a lil suggestive, possessive hoon

❁synopsis: The campus hottie, was practically perfect, smart handsome talented and rumour has it among the girls, good in bed. The male is a fuck boy, a jerk face, never once wanted to fall in love after having his heart broken once by an unlucky bitch. Heck he believed he'd be like that forever, until he came across the new girl. Yang y/n.

✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧

✧❁PART 1/???❁✧

"Oh my god you slept with him?!" one of the girls exclaimed as the other girls had their shocked reactions too "Yeah... then he broke up with me" the girl admitted "Isn't Sunghoon a fuck boy though? girl why'd you date him he doesn't even hide the fact he doesn't love you?" another girl pointed out "It doesn't matter, at least I had a great night" the girl said shrugging as the others laughed it off.

Y/n fiddled with her phone as she waited outside the classroom, one earphone in, hidden by her hair. She's heard many crazy things about this high school, having been transferred from a school in UK where she was used to everything, to a high school in South Korea. Everything is so new there, education system, driving on the different side of the road. but she had her best friend, Danielle by her side.

"Hey it's going to be ok" the girl reassured. One thing y/n is glad about, is the fact that she's fluent in Korean so language will not be a big problem for her. She smiles at Danielle as she follows her in. The teacher asks her to introduce herself as the girl blinks, staring at the class in disbelief. Introduce? first day and she has to speak in front of all these judgemental 18 year old strangers?!

"I'm y/n..." she says, forcing a smiled, the teacher points at an empty seat which was sadly not next Danielle. Making a sad pouty face at Danielle, she sat at the seat. 17 minutes. That's how long it took "Park Sunghoon late again?!" The teacher scolded as the male scratched his head then he froze. His eyes on y/n.

The girl's jaw rested in her palm as she doodled in the margin, false lashes fluttering against her glasses, her lips stained with a rosy, nude shade. Fuck she's everything. Is this what cupid felt when he saw psyche? love at first sight like Romeo experienced with Juliet? Sunghoon was captivated.

He slammed his palm on the desk of the person beside y/n. The girl didn't even flinch and probably didn't care due to the earphone blasting Itzy in her left ear. the student sitting beside her immediately got up and went to a different seat as Sunghoon slipped into the seat beside the girl. he turned to her, tapping her shoulder. the girl paused her music turning to him.

So this is Park Sunghoon, the handsome fuckboy they say. Y/n knew he was bad news "Im Sunghoon... and you?" the male asked "Not interested" she said, turning back to do her work "Come on baby, don't be like that" he said, winking as she sighed, looking at him. She then turned back and ignored him, doodling.

"Wah you can draw- that looks so realistic gurl" he complimented as the girl groaned, slamming her head on the desk. "Park Sunghoon stop distracting the new girl and get on with your work. or you can switch spaces with Eunchae!" the teacher warned as Sunghoon groaned, picking up his pencil.

2 lessons passed by and break time rolled in, she smiled, sorta running over to Danielle with grabby hands. they jumped up and down squealing like typical girls as their fingers intertwined. "I can't believe we're finally in the same schooool!" Danielle squealed as y/n smiled. "I know right?! we can finally do typical bestie stuff get our nails done, do each other's makeup, gossip, and hang out~" y/n added with a smile.

"All of this and I don't hear boyfriend... i'm assuming it's because you have one?" Sunghoon asked with a raised eyebrow as the girl sighed "No I don't never had one and never will... I don't like the idea of putting all my trust in a guy." She said, in a slight passive aggressive manner. "Ok but I'm telling you, a pretty girl like you NEEDS to end up with a trust worthy guy like me" Sunghoon said.

Y/n gave him the 'be for real' look as she rolled her eyes, walking away with Danielle. "So stupid. He really thinks I'm going to let him get in my skirt?!" y/n scoffed, handing danielle a cherry lollipop as she sucked on her own. "Please. He can't flirt for shit, and just yesterday he had two girlfriends whom he dumped back to back." Danielle added as Y/n shook her head, disappointed. Sunghoon having over heard all this, decided it was time to stop playing girls like a gameboy, and pursue his princess.

✧❁PART 2❁✧

[raymantogether]

Rayman Together Community Spotlight #3 - Clairiphi

Rayman Together Community Spotlight #3 - Clairiphi

Introduction:

Have you ever made your own Rayman comic book series? Growing up, I spent thousands of hours outside of playing the Rayman series creating comics and drawings, making my own adventures for Rayman and his friends. However, I never could create something as captivating and truly unique as the Rayman Nightmarish Series. Rayman Nightmarish stole my heart and is something that I have followed since 2020. Every few weeks to months, I eagerly anticipate the next chapter. There is something so personal about the art style and original characters, which I fell in love with. Every strip is full of personality and charm. I had the pleasure of meeting Clairiphi, AKA Chiara, during my visit to Ubisoft Milan. In person, Chiara is just as amazing as her series. So when I decided to make this Community Spotlight Series, I just had to make a segment on Chiara and her Rayman Nightmarish series.

1. Please introduce yourself.

"My name is Chiara; I go by Clairiphi on the web, and I'm a storyteller from Sardinia (Italy) who dabbles into drawing to accompany her stories. I hope one day, not too far from now, to become a professional comic writer if the comic industry in Europe gives me the chance. For now, I sadly remain an enthusiastic hobbyist."

2. What are you currently working on in the Rayman Community? 

"I’ve been publishing my fan comic Rayman Nightmarish for a few years with the frequent help of my partner Francesco (@thepinna on Instagram and Cara), who is a professional illustrator and studied as a comic artist as well. Without his teaching, I would be nowhere near where I am with my skill level. He taught me how to storyboard, how to efficiently use a drawing tablet, and helped me train my writing skills. He also offers his direct artistic input from time to time, when work hours permit him (for example, while I did the storyboards and pencil sketches for chapter 11, he did inks and colors)."

3. What is your inspiration behind Rayman Nightmarish?

"One December evening I was particularly bored and haven’t been writing since the beginning of high school, but that evening I was coming from a long period of frustration regarding the school path I chose, and coincidentally, I was also back on my Rayman obsession because I was playing Legends and Origins. I had this fairy character (Waaty) and a horrific, almost lovecraftian villain (The Lighteater) in mind for a while, and all of a sudden I said, “You know what? Let’s stop daydreaming and write an actual story!” I took a huge empty notebook from my desk drawer, and a bunch of years later, here we are!"

4. For any newcomers, what is the story of Rayman Nightmarish about?

"With Rayman Nightmarish, I aimed to narrate a classic Rayman adventure, with the humor, the combats, the voyage across fantastical places... And zombies! Yeah, I love horror, and of course there was going to be a twist. But no worries! This is still a story for all ages, like Rayman always was after all.  An ancient evil called The Lighteater is rising from the depths of the sea and is going to bring a dark plague that will soon turn The Glade of Dreams into The Glade of Nightmares. Of course it is Rayman's job to save the day once again, with the help of Globox and a few unexpected friends, like Waaty, the livid dead fairy with strange clairvoyant abilities...and many others along the way! Will he be able to do it this time? Very likely knowing his records, but this could actually be more challenging than he thought."

5. Is there anything new or unreleased you can share?

"I’ve actually been working on a new original fantasy series for a while. The story is already all planned, I'm in love with the characters and every process I came across during the planning of the plot. I hope with all my heart that I'll be able to bring it to life, not as a webcomic but as a fool-blown series for comic stores’ shelves."

6. What made you fall in love with the Rayman series?

"When I was a little girl, I didn’t have much social skills, and my first ever playmate, before my brother was born, was my dear cousin, who one day came to me with a copy of Rayman 3; his parents got him somewhere during a trip. That game changed my brain chemistry because as soon as I saw the fairy council level, I was hypnotized, and I wasn’t even the one playing! The music, the scenery, the jokes—I don’t know, but every time we played it, I came home wishing I was still in that world. Then a few years later, my cousin got a PS3 and gave me and my brother his PS2, Rayman Raving Rabbids, and Rayman 3. I was so happy! My first ever “comic” was a very cringy Rayman fanfiction I wrote in middle school, kind of an ancestor of Rayman Nightmarish in a way, haha! I thank my cousin every day for showing me that game that evening, and if he were still here today, I bet he would think Rayman Nightmarish looks pretty sick (especially in comparison to his middle school predecessor)."

7. What is your favorite Rayman game?

"I think it’s pretty clear by now that it’s Rayman 3 since it comes with so many dear memories, but I really liked playing both Origins and Legends in co-op with my brother when they came out. They were really fun to play with others! While I’ve always considered Rayman 3 like an intimate journey to take alone in a fantasy world, as silly as it sounds. Haha!"

8. Who is your favorite Rayman character?

"I’m going to be very unoriginal and say it’s Rayman because it’s true."

9. Tell us about your time at Ubisoft Milan.

"It was better than Disneyland! I felt like a kid again being able to hang out with a team of professionals behind a whole videogame. Not only was I happy, I felt seen, like, “Woah! These guys know I exist and even asked me to come here, hello???” Pretty surreal experience!"

10. Other than playing Rayman, what are your favorite things to do?

"I’m going to be completely honest; I haven’t been playing a Rayman game since the dawn of time. Haha! Back when I was a little girl, I wasn't much of a gamer and only played Rayman games because I didn’t care for the others. Now I love my switch, and I found many more games I love to spend time with. Rayman still has a special place in my heart, because it’s thanks to it that I found out I was actually meant for writing stories. Two of my other favorite things to do (besides writing and drawing, which are obvious) are reading books and watching movies, and in both cases, my favorite genre is horror. I also like to play fantasy TTRPG games like D&D or Pathfinder from time to time; they are very stimulating for the imagination."

11. Tell us something interesting or funny about yourself that we might not already know. 

"I’ve actually graduated (both bachelor’s and master’s degree) from a music conservatory in classical piano and never taken a single class in any art school. Sometimes I feel stupid about my past choices, and sometimes I’m glad because learning to play an instrument on a professional level has helped me build discipline and time management skills that helped me greatly in the writing process."

12. Do you have any hidden talents?

"I don’t know much about "talent,” but I do love to sing in my car, and I can memorize the entire script of a movie if I like it a lot. Haha! I remember when I was in elementary school, I used to recite Madagascar to myself when it was past bedtime, but I didn’t want to sleep."

13. What is one thing you can’t live without?

"Besides my air conditioner, I think I would go insane if something happened to any of my writing devices. I keep all my notes scattered between my computer, my iPad, and many physical journals. While clouds are essential, sometimes I just need an actual piece of paper and a pencil to figure out a scene or a plot point."

Want to discover more about the Rayman Nightmarish series? This is my link tree where new readers can find the best social media platforms to either catch up with the story or stay tuned for any exciting news:

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — it all falls down

jang wonyoung and kim jiwon's dorm. 3:47 pm.

WARNINGS; blood, graphic depictions of physical violence, slut shaming, threats, trust issues, implied mental breakdown, effects of gaslighting, victim blaming (towards self) (4.8k)

from an early age, naoi rei knew that love wasn't for her.

she saw the decorative hearts scattered all over her elementary school as her peers fawned over their crushes. the chocolates that hid behind heart-shaped boxes taunted the young naoi as she listened to her friends' relationship woes.

everywhere she turned, love seemed to consume all those who stood in its vicinity. her parents would mindlessly hum their wedding song under their breath. her music teacher's desk littered with all her students' drawings, except for a portrait of her husband.

love consumed everyone's time. everyone's effort.

it didn't consume rei, not directly.

rei knew her parents loved her. they would go out of their way to go to her recitals and take her shopping when she needed new clothes. they even funded all of rei's (very expensive) expenses when it came to art.

they were perfect on paper, and if rei was any other person, it would've been enough.

on her fifth birthday, they had spent one out of the twenty-four hours of the day with her. the one hour consisted of eating together, and a small, thirty-minute gift session where rei had opened about ten gifts or so.

later, they would leave to stay at a hotel on their one day off. they would drop the five-year-old at her grandma's flower shop, named after rei's mother.

on christmas when she was seven years old, rei woke up in a quiet house. the silence was deafening, and all the young naoi could remember that day was the pile of presents she opened by herself.

the seven-year-old would find out later that her parents had left her home to grab a christmas breakfast.

the day she had left to go to korea, rei had been asked one question during the entire car ride before her parents had rushed off. she then boarded the plane, first class, watching as her two check-in luggages were being brought onto the airplane.

she'd never tell them, but she wanted them to miss their reservation, just this once. just so they could hug her goodbye.

somehow, rei had become a side character in her own life, watching as everyone paid no attention to her. she knew that if she were to get erased from her own family, they wouldn't even notice. it hurt her that they wouldn't have cared.

(rei's family hadn't checked up on her since she landed.)

rei was bitter when it came to love.

she hated how she couldn't appreciate her parents' efforts because of it, and how she always questioned if she was alive out of coincidence and not want.

still, rei couldn't help but become fascinated with it.

she wondered why so many people would throw logic aside for someone who had the power to break them. she couldn't comprehend how love was able to blindside so many people.

love was an emotion. one that made her fade away.

her mind was made as soon as she stepped onto korean soil. she wouldn't bother with anything that came with the emotion, not even if her neighbor was clearly in love with one of her friends.

they weren't her friends anyway. why should she care?

"you're the girl my mom was talking about. the one that lives in the apartment across from us." rei could remember seeing the tall girl glare from behind her neighbor, almost trying to shoo her away. "i'm not sure if you saw me around before. i just staying here for the summer."

her hair was so long back then.

"my name's kim gaeul."

"i'm naoi rei."

rei had friends before.

they were all boy-crazy, hiding makeup in their drawers instead of pencils to impress their crush of the month. like her parents, they had never asked about her interests or hobbies, but rei knew almost everything about them. she could read them like the back of her hand.

she knew it was gonna be the same.

(it wasn't.)

"you like hawaiian pizza, right?" jang wonyoung, whom gaeul had introduced a month ago (alongside ahn yujin), scrolled through her phone as the other two were off somewhere in the kim residence. "i ordered some, but just so you know, yujin-unnie's gonna make fun of you."

rei had mentioned it once, offhandedly a week or two ago. she didn't know how wonyoung cared enough to remember. yujin, on the other hand, would've been too busy with gaeul to care. sometimes, rei wondered if yujin even noticed her presence.

it wouldn't have been the first time someone had forgotten about her.

"what the hell?" yujin said as she dug through the boxes. the aroma of freshly baked pizza wafted the entire house. "rei ordered these, didn't she?"

"leave her alone, yujin."

yujin laughed at the younger girl with an arm wrapped around gaeul. her cheeks were bright red, teasing the japanese for liking something so obscure (in her mind, at least). rei watched the three koreans closely, wonyoung and gaeul trying to defend her from the onslaught of yujin's comments.

each comment was directed at her. each smug grin, each teasing look. yujin had remembered, and so had gaeul, and so had wonyoung.

they could see her. they wanted to see her, despite the love that they held for someone else.

love was an emotion, not a blindfold.

for once, naoi rei didn't mind being the side character, and she would do everything in her power to make them happy, to make her family happy. she knew that one day, when the time came, they wouldn't forget her.

rei hated it, being forgotten (yet somehow, she hated the thought of ripping two people apart).

rei didn't understand love, but she knew that she wished her friends would find it.

(but somehow, it also found her.)

"who's trying to break down the door?"

wonyoung looked at the shaking door, partially terrified that whoever (read: rei) would somehow knock it wide open with just her fist.

as much as she loved rei, wonyoung refused to let the japanese girl anywhere near or inside her dorm when jiwon was around. rei had yet to give the true happenings of what went down that night with jiwon, but she could tell it was bad.

finding the young kim crying in her bed was a weird role reverse at first, but wonyoung knew how it felt like. she knew how painful it was to love someone but not have them.

"it's no one."

the banging continued, somehow getting harsher and louder with every passing second.

if there was one thing that naoi rei was good at, it was persistence.

"maybe it's yuri-unnie." jiwon muttered, rubbing her now scabbed knuckles. "she did text me this morning asking if i was okay... i think she wanted me to help her jump minjeong-unnie."

jiwon had gotten a phone call earlier that morning. from what she could tell, the sun was just starting to rise, and from the way yuri's voice had sounded, the older girl had stayed up all night.

("we don't have to tell minju. i'm sure she wouldn't mind anyways.")

jiwon could only hope that yuri hadn't gone through with her ten-step plan.

"why would yuri-unnie want to jump minjeong-sunbaenim?"

the two stared at each other, blank faces as gears turned in their heads.

"i'm gonna open the door now." jiwon stated, moving towards the entrance. she needed any way out of the conversation, even if she ended up trying to talk someone out of a potential assault charge.

the door continued to rattle under rei's fist, and she prayed that whatever happened to jiwon was minor. she hoped that the girl she hurt wasn't in pain.

the door swung open, a sense of relief washing over the japanese girl as the kim stood in front of her.

love wasn't for rei.

she was the side character, the girl who set up her friends with their exes, the mastermind behind everything. she was the girl everyone ran to, and everyone forgot when the time came. she was a plot device.

"rei?"

naoi rei didn't want to be a plot device anymore. she wanted love to want her, just like she wanted her parents to love her.

the japanese girl looked at jiwon in front of her, the latter cradling her hand. her knuckles were a blush red, forming uneven marks around the peaks. rei could see the small scabs starting to form at the tips of her first two knuckles, and the swollen bump on the back of jiwon's hand.

it looked like it hurt, and somehow, in some way, it upset rei.

rei ushered the taller girl onto her bed, ignoring the questioning stares that came from the others. she'd deal with them later. jiwon was hurt, and that was rei's priority.

wonyoung stood at the doorway, eyeing the two.

"you'd think she's the one with the wrist brace and first aid kit," yujin snickered.

she wondered if rei knew what she was doing, what she was feeling. she should've by now. the glint in her eye was enough for anyone to know.

gaeul rolled her eyes at her girlfriend. "i think it's nice that she's worried."

she just hoped rei could deal with the heartbreak that came with it.

sighing, wonyoung gestured for the two older girls to come inside. she pushed aside a foreboding feeling in her chest, disregarding all the signs that something was wrong. it was just the thermostat, anyway. jiwon always liked to turn it up when she felt overwhelmed.

as the volleyball player began to shut the door, her eyes focused on the sliver of light that peaked into the hallway.

a gray sweater. y/n's gray sweater.

wonyoung swung the door open almost immediately.

"y/n."

with a small nod, y/n smiled.

something was wrong.

y/n's eyes were bloodshot red, the thin red veins popping against the whites of her eyes. her cheeks were red from crying, wonyoung deducted. if she looked any harder, wonyoung was sure to see the dried streaks of tears on the older girl's cheeks. it was a normal site of a sad y/n, at least from what wonyoung could remember.

but there was something in her eyes. something that unsettled wonyoung.

why did it seem so familiar?

"is jiwon okay?" y/n's voice cracked out, clearing her throat in embarrassment.

wonyoung nodded lightly, stepping aside for the actress to enter. with light, but sluggish steps, the taller girl watched y/n walk passed her. it was heavy with the burden of something.

wonyoung closed the door behind her. she watched the love of her life almost morph into someone that wasn't there before, a soft smile appearing on her face as she stared at jiwon.

it was her y/n (but who was the y/n before?).

"gaeul-sunbae," y/n spoke, her voice shaking slightly. she could feel jiwon's worried gaze. "can you check her hand?"

gaeul nodded, sitting beside jiwon.

y/n could feel the guilt wracking inside her body as she stared at jiwon's injured hand. every wince that the younger girl made seemed to cut her deeply, and all y/n could do was blame herself.

it was her fault for not seeing the signs, and her fault for not wanting to. all she wanted was a friend, but never at the cost of another.

"do you want to sit down?" wonyoung's voice sounded like a melody, pulling her out of her trance.

y/n stared at the taller girl. she couldn't help but wonder if the volleyball player had ever held some type of grudge against her, a vendetta to ruin her life. maybe it was something more simple, like a hatred fueled from putting her through everything that was yoo jimin.

y/n took a breath. her wonyoung wouldn't do that.

but then again, her minjeong did.

"it's okay."

y/n didn't know what was what anymore. for all she knew, she could've been letters on a screen, strung together from the most painful parts of human life.

all y/n knew was that jiwon, minju, yuri (and yena), and her parents were real. they had to be. they needed to be.

if they were, then she'd be okay. she knew she'd be okay.

wonyoung grabbed her hand gently, the pad of her thumb tugging her back to reality. back to wonyoung.

y/n was back to wonyoung, her wonyoung. the one with big, doe eyes that cried at the movie 'UP' and hid a box of random pieces of lego in her closet back when they were dating. her wonyoung who was hyunseo's older sister, who carried the jang name with a burden that only showed in the darkest of nights.

she wanted to be wonyoung's y/n again. not minjeong's, not jimin's. wonyoung's.

"please?"

y/n hoped that wonyoung was real. she hoped that this was all real.

quietly, y/n sat down, interlacing her hand with the taller girl's. she watched as wonyoung followed, a small blush on her face as she stared at her with love.

love was consuming y/n.

"what happened anyway?" yujin hummed, not noticing the tension forming in the air.

gaeul could only sigh. her girlfriend was as dense as she was pretty, and at times like these, it was unfortunate that yujin was insanely beautiful.

"did jiwon go ballistic?" yujin's eyes sparkled at the thought of wonyoung's roommate beating someone up. "minju-sunbaenim always gave me crazy vibes, especially when you and wonyoung broke up. i guess the apple doesn't fall far from the - ow!"

gaeul smiled at wonyoung, sitting innocently as if she didn't kick yujin at full force. if rei hadn't been so worried, a snicker would've slipped passed her lips.

right now was jiwon. she'd deal with idiots later.

"don't listen to her." wonyoung smiled, and y/n could feel herself floating. "unnie's just like that sometimes."

unnie.

wonyoung had never called y/n that. not before them, not during them, not after. she called gaeul unnie. same with yujin. she even called jimin unnie at one point.

y/n swallowed.

maybe she did something wrong. maybe wonyoung saw her as lesser than them. maybe this was a sign that her wonyoung had been someone else this entire time.

y/n looked at the taller girl, grinning at her with shiny eyes.

no. wonyoung wasn't jimin or minjeong.

(but what if she was?)

"jiwon-ssi..." gaeul looked at the extent of the bruises. "how hard did you punch them?"

y/n and jiwon looked at each other, both thinking of the deep cut that the younger kim had somehow administered to minjeong.

"not that hard..."

gaeul sighed. her wrist brace wasn't going to be much use against a boxer's fracture. "you need to go to the doctor for this. i'm ninety percent sure you broke it."

rei could feel her stomach drop. she had never felt more anxious in her life, and it wasn't even about her. at times like these, she wished she had her license, just to be there with the kim at the hospital. rei knew that minju wasn't gonna let her near her sister.

rei wished she was invisible, just this once.

jiwon nodded, looking at y/n who seemed deep in her thoughts once more. something was going on inside her head, jiwon just couldn't place it. all she knew was that minjeong was the cause.

a loud banging erupted throughout the room, y/n jumping back slightly. it was harder than last time, the knocking. it sounded as if someone was ramming the door open and if any of the girls listened closer, they would hear the doorknob shaking against the frame.

y/n wondered what would've happened if she didn't see minjeong last night. she understood why, but all at the cost of her friends well being. it might've not been her decision, but she had a say.

she always had a say.

y/n felt stupid.

wonyoung gave y/n's hand a light squeeze before letting go. she headed towards the door, the pounding never stopping. if she didn't open it soon, her ra would definitely get her in trouble, especially the one on duty.

as the volleyball player began to open the door, her eyes focused on the sliver of light that peaked into the hallway.

black. specifically jimin's black jacket.

wonyoung found herself stumbling backwards as the door rammed open. she closed her eyes, waiting for the fall but all she felt was the tightening of her collar, and the graze of someone's kuckles against her collarbone.

her eyes opened, and all she saw were jimin's dark irises.

"you."

jimin was angry. she was livid. everything she did ended up back to wonyoung. if it was volleyball, wonyoung was there. if it was school, wonyoung's 'fans' were in the vicinity. even when she ate, wonyoung's face would be plastered on her water bottle.

there were some upsides though.

"where's aeri?"

yujin tensed, nearly pouncing on jimin if not for gaeul's disapproving look. she wouldn't hold back, not with her friends.

gaeul knew that, and she prayed that somehow, the situation would get diffused before it escalated.

"what the-" wonyoung tried to pry jimin's grip off of her, only for it to tighten even more. "sunbaenim, are you insane?"

y/n had never felt rage consume her. she didn't know how it felt like, in all honesty. she was used to the sadness that jimin had provided her, but somehow, it tripled. it overwhelmed her, like the love that minjeong had confessed to her the day prior, or the pressure that weighed wonyoung down.

she was free from jimin, but not her effect.

"jimin." y/n stood up, her voice hoarse. "stop it."

it felt familiar to wonyoung, in a painful way.

"you're protecting her?" the veins on jimin's head popped, her face an angry red as she stared at y/n. "you're fucking kidding me. yizhuo was right?"

y/n sighed. she was getting tired of this. of everything.

"what are you talking about?"

"you're fucking wonyoung again." jimin would always be second to wonyoung, to everyone. it didn't matter how hard she loved or how much she tried. she was her father's daughter, and she was getting his punishment. "god, you just open your legs up for anyone."

y/n wanted to scream. she wanted to yell at jimin, at minjeong to leave her alone. she wanted them to get out of her mind, and to move some place else where she would never have to think about them ever again.

all y/n could feel was red.

"i could say the same for you, jimin."

wonyoung frowned. her y/n was never angry, at least not outwardly. even if she was, y/n never stooped as low as jimin.

something was wrong. something was broken.

(wonyoung hoped she was okay, whatever it was.)

jimin tightened her grip, her eyebrows furrowing. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means what you think it means." it was like lava, pooling out of her mouth like an unstoppable wave. "let. wonyoung. go."

the room fell silent, and wonyoung was sure that jimin loosened her grip for a split second. the ace scanned y/n's eyes, dark and angry before jimin balled up more of wonyoung's shirt.

she could feel jimin's knuckles pressing against her neck, and wonyoung fought back an urge to cough.

"is this about minjeong?" jimin rolled her eyes. she didn't understand why it was such a big deal, especially since she loved y/n, not minjeong. "is that why you're acting all bitchy all of a sudden?"

y/n flinched back, the overwhelming sadness suddenly rendering her speechless. anger helped her forget it, and although it seemed like a plus side, it felt gross.

y/n looked at wonyoung, and guilt love began to consume her once more.

"minjeong came onto me." y/n fought back tears. she was tired of trying to figure out who's side was real, and who was there for her and not her body. "everyone comes to me eventually."

yujin tensed once more. she was sick of jimin. her hot-headedness made the team walk eggshells around her, blaming everyone but herself for all her failures.

for once, she wanted to put jimin in her place.

"now..." jimin glared at wonyoung. "where's aeri, jang?"

wonyoung didn't know. she didn't even know about the whole minjeong-jimin thing until jimin had pounced on her, but if jimin didn't know where aeri was, that meant that she was safe.

wonyoung kept her mouth sealed shut, returning an angry glare.

"where the fuck is she?" wonyoung could feel jimin tightening her grip once more, her balled up fists pressing against her trachea. she had never wanted to punch someone in her life, but jimin was making it difficult.

"answer my question!" jimin's voice boomed, and wonyoung was sure everyone could hear it.

gaeul bit her tongue. she forgot how annoying yeji's jimin was.

quietly, gaeul spoke, not wanting to anger the ace any further. "she doesn't know."

"i wasn't talking to you, you slut." jimin snapped at gaeul. y/n could feel yujin tense from beside her, wonyoung shaking her head at her captain. jimin gripped wonyoung tighter, her knuckles turning white. "where is she, wonyoung? where's aeri?"

"i don't know."

"don't bullshit me." jimin grumbled, her voice low and her eyes angry. "i know you're useless, but you aren't this useless."

jimin was like wonyoung's mother in every sense. not only was she conventionally pretty, she was demanding and negligent to those around her. she used her words as a weapon, and her authority as leverage.

but wonyoung was a jang, and she knew how to get a rise out of someone.

"i said i don't know, jimin."

jimin didn't call her father dad anymore. not only had he failed as a husband, he had failed as a person. jimin didn't need to call someone that an honorific when they didn't deserve it.

but jimin wasn't her dad. she couldn't be.

"i'm your sunbae."

she was, in everyone's eyes but her own.

"then act like it."

jimin liked the pain of punching someone.

she liked the way her hand stung, akin to a spike. she liked her knuckles bright red, a physical sight that she was doing something right. jimin didn't like to think about the pain it inflicted on others, unless they deserved it.

jang wonyoung did, however. she deserved all the pain.

jimin winded her hand back, and wonyoung was ready to take the punch head on. she needed proof that jimin had hurt someone once more, a teammate. if getting rid of jimin for the rest of her school year meant a bruised cheek, then wonyoung would absolutely tank it.

wonyoung closed her eyes and a thud could be heard reverberating throughout the room.

she felt nothing.

the volleyball player opened her eyes, only to feel herself getting pulled back as she watched gaeul and rei scramble to stop yujin. she shook them off, ignoring jimin trying to push her head away.

ahn yujin, in all her glory, landed punch after punch on the ace. she was tired of all the pent up anger that she felt towards yeji jimin. she was tired of the older girl in every sense.

yujin wasn't gonna let another version of yeji hurt her friends.

the stinging of her hands got worse and worse as her anger rose. puffs of air released out of her mouth as each strike seemed stronger than the last. eventually, jimin was gonna let her guard down, and then yujin could strike the way she wanted to.

wonyoung needed to stop this, but she couldn't get physical. her father would kill her, and her mother would send her off to america if she got suspended.

she rushed back in, her eyes wide as she tried to pull yujin off. yujin was gonna get suspended, she knew it. the amount of damage she already left was enough to down a grown man.

anger was terrifying.

she saw specks of blood fly everywhere, the captain muttering curses under her breath before getting flipped over.

jimin's blooded face glistened against the light of wonyoung's room, swelling and full of cuts. her covered arms were filled with bruises, but she didn't care. right now, she wanted yujin to pay.

wrapping one hand around yujin's neck to steady her, jimin raised her fist, slamming it down onto the younger girl's face. she could feel something splatter against her skin, and it only fueled the ace further.

despite gaeul and rei's best efforts, jimin was stronger than yujin, and there was no way they could get her off, especially without wonyoung's help.

it didn't matter anymore. if wonyoung didn't do something, yujin might die.

frantically, wonyoung wrapped her arm around jimin's neck, choking her out as she pulled the older girl off yujin. she could feel jimin clawing against her arm, and wonyoung gritted her teeth, feeling blood seep out.

yujin sat up, the left side of her face tattered into shreds. gaeul rushed to her side, the captain watching as jimin struggled to get wonyoung off.

"bitch."

wonyoung looked at y/n, her eyes wide as the older girl kept jiwon behind her. she shook her head, signaling wonyoung to let go. the taller girl nodded, her arm dropping to her side as jimin fell forward, eyes red as she coughed.

she was definitely gonna get sent to america.

as the room fell quiet, jimin's coughing and yujin's heaving seemed to get louder. wonyoung could see the specks of blood littering the floor, and could feel the stinging of her arm.

a cough took their attention away from the bloodied volleyball players.

shit. the ra woke up.

"yuqi-sunbaenim."

"the cops are on their way." she shut her eyes tightly, looking at jimin. at least the girl got a good beating. too bad the others had to face a similar punishment. "don't try to talk your way out of this."

wonyoung nodded, her head hanging low.

"can we go...?" y/n asked, jiwon wincing behind her as her hand became more painful by the minute. "her hand-"

"if you two didn't get involved, then you can go."

y/n nodded, bowing slightly as jimin finally stopped coughing, a bruise on her neck.

"wonyoung?"

y/n looked at the girl in front of her, red running down her arm.

worry encapsulated her entire being, eyebrows furrowing at the sight. wonyoung was hurt, just like jiwon. yujin was hurt, just like jiwon. somehow, y/n hurt two people in one sitting, two people who didn't deserve it.

she could've done something. she should've done something.

"we're okay."

wonyoung could always see right through her.

it terrified her.

carefully, y/n lifted the volleyball player's arm. she could see the marks deep, and an angry red.

she just wanted the pain to go away, hers and wonyoung.

"i'm okay." wonyoung whispered. y/n always got worried about things she didn't need to worry about. "i'll live."

"okay." her wonyoung was real. she was sincere, and familiar. her wonyoung wouldn't hurt her.

y/n loved jang wonyoung, bleeding or not.

"text me how it goes, okay?"

wonyoung's eyes hid the stinging with a smile, quietly admiring the girl in front of her as y/n took jiwon's hand. "i will."

y/n nodded. she trusted wonyoung, just like she trusted jimin and minjeong. it couldn't backfire, not again. not with her wonyoung.

wonyoung moved aside, ignoring jimin glaring at her (she wanted to mock the other girl, powerless against the ra of the building, but that would just cause more problems).

y/n came to a halt, turning to face wonyoung.

"oh, and," a kiss on the cheek. "for... for your arm."

wonyoung didn't care. it was worth it.

"oh!" she bit her tongue, yujin cackling in the corner as gaeul scolded her not to move too much. rei gave her a thumbs up, before giving jiwon a worried gaze. "yeah, of course."

y/n nodded awkwardly, tugging jiwon's free hand.

"jiwon," y/n ignored her stare. "let's go."

the two exited the room, jiwon wincing with every swing of her arm. y/n would have to call minju once they got to the hospital.

god, minju was gonna kill everyone in that room and then her.

"did you just kiss her?"

y/n blushed as the elevator opened.

"on her cheek, ji." y/n shook her head. "you need to stop hanging out with yuri-unnie."

as jiwon entered the elevator, y/n followed her inside. the younger girl faced away from her, cradling her hand and trying to stabilize it.

for a moment, y/n relaxed. no one was looking at her. no one had to see the turmoil she had gone through. she sighed quietly, her face dropping, eyes a void of anger and frustration, of pain and hurt.

everything was consuming her.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

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[toffeebrew]

tell me your Ink headcanons NOW 😼😼😼

You're... giving me permission.... to share my ink headcanons.

well get ready

Talked about this one already but I'll share it again: I think Broomie is semi sentient. I like to think at first Ink didn't know that though, but still talked to broomie anyway. So, regardless of this fact Ink probably would've talked to broomie.

He's good at encouraging people but not comforting people. If that makes sense? (projection much pfttt)

If you ran your hand over the "tattoo" marks it have a slight divot in it. Like a crack in a road. Probably because... in my hc they're literally semi healed cracks.

They're is talented in many types of art not just one. Hes talented in singing, dancing, fashion design, mechanics, and architecture! Really the only one he struggles with is well... cooking. Do NOT let that man in a kitchen (I mean he's immortal why would he not learn multiple artistic skills?)

Y'know how canon!swap climbs on people because hes insecure about his height? I think Ink does the same thing.

(More yappening under the cut)

Deep down he feels like something is missing... what he doesn't know is he's missing his home, his AU. Sometimes hes goes on a search universe to universe in search of "something important he can't remember" but can never find it. Until he gets bored, forgets what he's doing or gets preoccupied with something else.

He likes switching up his looks so he may give himself a tail or paws or claws with his brush. Maybe he even changes the color of his limbs sometimes (that's more a crack hc though). He gives themself a new outfit at any chance he can get. (Edit: I actually imagine one of the reasons he would get excited for multiverseal events is mainly because he gets to show off a new outfit for that event. He goes ALL out)

Due to his dulled sense of pain often he isn't aware he's injured unless it's pretty severe. So he may just go about their day with injuries they don't know about. Typically Dream or Swap have to be like "dude you have a crack in your skull."

After that one comic with Swap and Ink, Swap bandaged up his skull despite Ink insisting he didn't need it. Mainly because Swap didn't know Ink could heal themself and just thought Ink was being humble. Everytime he went to go take it off, Swap would freak about it hasn't had enough time to heal. Until Ink did a more through "I have a brush bro chill" (not ink accurate dialogue).

He's super flexible!! like contortionist level of flexibility.

Oddly specific but I think they're the type to consume all sorts of fan content and enjoy it. Completely ooc and fanon stuff too. He would be the type to read a fic and go "I would NOT say that" with a giggle and write a heartfelt comment anyway.

If you know homestuck... Nepeta has a shipping wall. I think Ink would have something similar (projection?? blasphemy!). Maybe in his sketchbook or smth. I mean do you see how he reacts around his dads smh 😔😮‍💨. He doesn't take it all that seriously though... LMAO. But I feel like he would be like "🏳️‍🌈?" y'know? Is this making any sense? I hope LMAOOO

Ink knows being called "child" annoys Dream so when Dream's like "I'm not a child I'm 500 years old" he just uses different synonyms of kid " heya youngster" " hi boy" stuff like that to annoy him. Just to mess with him.

He loves "aggressive affection." Like he bites people. He also likes to be bitten (not in a sus way but like in a cat like way). He loves bear hugs. Stuff like that.

He loves being drawn on, like literally. He loves the sensation of art supplies on his bones. Particularly the texture of paint and pencil are the ones he enjoys the most. He draws designs and stuff on his bones sometimes.

He has that cartoon ability to walk on walls or the ceiling and completely defy gravity. How? Cartoon skelly powers ig.

[rainbowsky]

Hi RBS

Why gg is related to little prince in that little prince and rose story??

Hi Anon,

Fake, fan fiction, CPN.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry is a classic, exceptionally popular, beautifully told and illustrated story. Those who haven't read it can find it here.

Standard disclaimer: This is my own personal opinion based on my own interpretation of tidbits I've learned over the years. Everyone is free to come up with their own.

If you ask a solo they'll give you a completely different story than a turtle would about how The Little Prince is connected to GG, but I think GG's (and DD's) connection to that story runs far deeper than anything any fan - solo or turtle - can claim.

The Solo Interpretation

The solo interpretation revolves around the prince's red cape and the many references to the red cape that GG has made in his art and on social media over the years, which many believe were in response to fan activity.

The first reference came during a live broadcast of XFIRE, where GG created a pencil drawing of a boy wearing a cape and holding a ball. Later he posted a colored version of the image on his social media, where it was revealed that the boy was wearing a red cape and holding a glowing moon.

His fans named themselves Xiao Fei Xia (Chinese for 'Peter Pan') after seeing the image. The name sounds like Chinese for 'small fat shrimp', which is why XFX are often called shrimps (or tempuras, in malicious references).

When his fans won him a solo song, he posted a photo of a boy wearing a crown and a red cape. He later changed his Weibo badge to The Little Prince in a red cape. In Nov 2019 he posted an image of himself on Oasis with a red cape and crown drawn on.

"But why do they think The Little Prince is about them, when they call themselves Peter Pans?" you might ask.

That is a somewhat ambiguous connection, but as far as I can tell it's because of the idea that he's their Little Prince and they are his Peter Pans. The song Satisfaction - which was meaningful to GG and his fans - was connected to the image he shared of the boy wearing the cape and crown. There is also the red cape connection. They wear a red cape, and 'their Little Prince' wears one too. Red is GG's color, and the color XFX identify their fandom with.

A Deeper Connection

In any case, like I said - I think GG's connection to the Little Prince goes deeper than fandom, and the simplest answer to why it has become so connected with him is that he loves the story. It means a lot to him, and on some level he really identifies with the character.

And it's not difficult to see why both GG and DD identify with this story. I actually wrote a whole thing about that a while ago on my blog but of course, I can't find it now. So frustrating.

The Little Prince presents a lot of themes about personal development, love, acceptance, self-acceptance, friendship and found family that resonate with queer readers, with artistic/creative people, and with anyone who has had to live with loneliness or isolation (such as incredibly famous people who are forced to live somewhat separate from the rest of the world). There are themes about grief and loss, and about different points of view.

To me, the story is about how wisdom comes through wonder. More than anything, The Little Prince is about maintaining one's sense of childlike wonder and sensitivity in the face of all the pains and trials of life, and in spite of all attempts to kill our spirit. No matter what we have lost and long for, we can find beauty in the love we have and the connections we make.

It is that spirit of wonder that makes everything special, and makes us special too. It's what makes us able to look beneath the surface and see what's really important.

This is something GG quite obviously values very deeply. He has referred to DD as a sweet, pure-hearted boy in the past, and has spoken appreciatively about the fact that DD has managed to keep a sense of childishness and guilelessness despite being in this industry for so long, and from such an early age.

And GG himself displays those qualities in abundance. He has a very light-hearted, sweet, wonderstruck, sensitive, curious, cute side that is a huge part of the magnetism of his personality. We see this come out a lot in his downtime, such as when he was at Universal Studios, or when he was wandering the streets of Europe. One of the things that is most compelling about him is his willingness to show that side of himself, even as a grown man.

This is - as I've said many times - part of GG and DD's incredible chemistry and compatibility. They share their own little world, and this world of fun, laughter, sweetness, mischievousness and curiosity - the spirit of learning, exploring and cackling together like gremlins - this is all very much aligned with the themes of The Little Prince.

Even the moments of loneliness and separation and coming back together again, the stars in the sky and the ringing of bells - all of this is connected to the story of The Little Prince.

And if you believe the CPN about GG's birthday letter to DD (which I definitely do), this is a message GG gives DD: grow up slowly. That idea has appeared in fake rumors and other references in the fandom. And it's very aligned with the themes of The Little Prince.

From the book: (mild spoilers for those who haven't read it). Slightly abridged.

...he looked at me steadily, and replied to my thought:

“I am thirsty, too. Let us look for a well...”

I made a gesture of weariness. It is absurd to look for a well, at random, in the immensity of the desert. But nevertheless we started walking.

“What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well...”

I was astonished by a sudden understanding of that mysterious radiation of the sands. When I was a little boy I lived in an old house, and legend told us that a treasure was buried there. To be sure, no one had ever known how to find it; perhaps no one had ever even looked for it. But it cast an enchantment over that house. My home was hiding a secret in the depths of its heart...

“Yes,” I said to the little prince. “The house, the stars, the desert—what gives them their beauty is something that is invisible!”

As the little prince dropped off to sleep, I took him in my arms and set out walking once more. I felt deeply moved, and stirred. It seemed to me that I was carrying a very fragile treasure. It seemed to me, even, that there was nothing more fragile on all Earth. In the moonlight I looked at his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled in the wind, and I said to myself:

“What I see here is nothing but a shell. What is most important is invisible...”

As his lips opened slightly with the suspicion of a half-smile, I said to myself, again: “What moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here, is his loyalty to a flower—the image of a rose that shines through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep...” And I felt him to be more fragile still. I felt the need of protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be extinguished by a little puff of wind...

And, as I walked on so, I found the well, at daybreak.

Bottom line: Be who you are, stay true to yourself, don't let the world destroy all the soft, sweet, fun, creative, childlike, insightful, open-hearted parts of you.

You are special because of what you love.

GGDD and The Little Prince

Both GG and DD have been repeatedly associated with The Little Prince, and both have been referred to as "little prince" by fans. The Little Prince and his rose have been beloved by turtles as a frequently occurring candy/CPN in the fandom for years.

This started for DD back in his Uniq days. There's an example of this in an early Uniq interview. At the start each group member is being introduced, and their group role is listed onscreen along with the names fans use to refer to them, DD's nicknames are listed as "White Peony, Little Prince." (They're all such babies here!! 🥺)

And he really is a Little Prince, both in terms of his youthful, pure-hearted wonder and in terms of his appearance. There are countless examples of Prince Bobo.

Both GG and DD have been associated directly with the story of The Little Prince, in that both have performed readings of the story - GG in 2018, DD in 2018 and 2019.

(Sorry, no Eng subs for that last one).

The brand Roseonly created many Little Prince themed items back when GG was endorsing them.

The recent photoshoot DD did for T Magazine was themed around The Little Prince, and people saw similar references in the photoshoot GG did for Marie Claire.

The Little Prince - CPN

There are too many CPN references to The Little Prince - or to elements from the story - to list them all here, but here are a few:

The Name

One of the things BXG get excited about is that in Chinese, The Little Prince is actually called 小王子 (Xiao Wang Zi - literally 'little king child'). While the character 小 (Xiao, meaning 'little') isn't the same as the Xiao character used in GG's name (his name uses 肖, which is a Chinese surname), they are pronounced the same*.

*Incidentally, 小 is the same character that connects XFX to the Peter Pan name, '小飞侠' or 'Xiao Fei Xia'.

I think it's also likely that it's a big part of why GG and DD feel a connection to The Little Prince - because in Chinese, it references/connects their names.

They both love word play and have connected their names in the past - in the BTS when they were filming the library scene and GG wrote WangXiao with the calligraphy brush, on DDU when they were asked to come up with a team name and DD suggested BJYX and GG suggested Yizhan instead. It's very much in keeping with their personalities to enjoy that connection.

The Huang Ziteng post

Back in 2020 Huang Ziteng made a social media post that referenced The Little Prince. It consisted of a photo of a Little Prince figurine and thank you card with a rose pin. The text of the post read, "The child told me he received a gift, so happy. "The most important things cannot be seen, but must be felt with the heart." It was posted on September 13 at 18:23 (Yizhan - Yibo Loves Zhan).

The Birthday Cake

When DD rode his motorcycle out to spend GG's birthday together back in 2018, the birthday cake was Little Prince themed.

There was also a restaurant scene from Gank Your Heart where a Little Prince cake topper randomly appeared on the table. Does anyone else remember that? I can't find the actual scene, but it was very 👀.

EDIT: here it is!

On the plate in the foreground.

A Dream Like A Dream

When A Dream Like A Dream premiered in Wuhan, the theatre plaza was overrun with flowers for GG, and he had to make a statement asking fans not to bring flowers. Fans got together and gave flowers away all over the city. GG posted a photo of a single rose, which turtles believed was sent to him by DD.

The caption: "With love, the sun warms the spring." The kadian "Love Zhan, My Bo."

Day Day Up

DDU was a source for a few Little Prince-related CPN. There was a Little Prince figurine on the DDU set, next to a skateboard,

and of course everything surrounding The Brightest Star in the Sky.

DD has frequently been referred to as the 'lonely star', and there is a great deal of CPN about GGDD and stars.

There's also a fake rumor that after DD's motorcycle accident back in 2020, GG was overheard recording a voice message for DD and saying, "you always shine brightly."

There are too many star references to mention. Also too many moon references to mention. There is a LOT of CPN that connects to The Little Prince. It comes up quite often in the fandom. I'm not going to try to gather them all here. Suffice it to say that it's very well solidified as something turtles feel a deep connection with.

Either/or is such a bitch

One of the things I find really frustrating about fan culture is that it is so warlike. Never is this more apparent than when talking about things like this. Solos believe The Little Prince references are for them. Turtles believe GG and DD are referencing each other.

Just a reminder to everyone - it's quite possible for BOTH to be true.

It's quite possible for GG and DD to find all of these things significant at the same time. It's quite possible for us to allow all those significances to coexist without making them into a battle.

More than anything, the references are for and about GG and DD. We can share our excitement for them because we're all their fans. We all love them. It doesn't have to be a fight.

[randooffthestreet]

(Inofficial) Ghoaptober

Day 24: Wish

Summary: Ghost buys flowers for Soap

Going to a pub or a bar was a regular enough occurrence that the 141 had a little bit of a system. Price was the designated driver, so he’d nurse one drink for an hour or so before cutting himself off. Gaz and Soap drank enough to cause Ghost to get a sympathy headache, and Ghost himself would have a drink or two. Of course, he was never allowed to drive since Soap wouldn’t let him hear the end of what had happened in Las Almas.

If one or both of the sergeants got clingy, they wouldn’t bring it up in the morning.

“Ghost….Lt.” Soap whined, leaning against the brick wall of a man fearlessly. “Y’know I've never gotten flowers before? Have nae seen many flowers since I was a bairn.” Ghost sighed heavily. “That so?

The Scot nodded, taking a sip of his final drink. (Price had cut him off) “Dunnae why… Maybe cuz ah’m a big lad? Maybe…cuz they think ah would nae like em. But ah do! Love flowers.” He set his drink down. “It’s mah birthday end o’ this month. Prob’ly will nae get any flowers this year either, ye ken.”

Ghost just hummed. He’d known about his upcoming birthday, Gaz having already planned an outing to a pub that evening. He’d bought him a new sketchbook and nice pencils after learning about his affinity for drawing.

Soap groaned, his stomach lurching slightly. Ghost hissed, scooting away from him. “Don’t you dare throw up on me.” Soap laughed, wincing. “Ah won’t. Ye- ye ken, my ma had a flower garden. Before we grew apart, I used to help her tend to em. Loved the roses. They were mah favorite. Cliche, I ken.” He sniffled. “Miss em. Hell, miss me ma.”

Ghost sighed, hooking his arm over his shoulder. “You’re drunk, Soap. We should get you home.” The man groaned, but didn’t protest.

The day before Soap’s birthday, Ghost found himself thinking about that conversation. Sure, Soap had been drunk, but he also tended to be a bit more honest when he was drunk. Ghost found himself looking for stores near the pub that sold flowers.

When he found one, he just stared at the bouquets for a solid ten minutes before an employee came over. “Need help, sir?” She asked him, smiling a little wearily. He hummed. “...don’t know flowers.” He said in lieu of an answer. She looked through them. “Well, who are you looking for?”

He thought for a moment. “Friend’s birthday. He likes roses.” She nodded, before pointing out a pretty looking bouquet. “This one has roses and sunflowers. Does he like those?”

Ghost didn’t know, but from what little he did know about flowers, he knew that sunflowers would turn towards the sun, yearning for any bit of light from its rays.

They reminded him of how he acted around Johnny, always looking for his next fix of his sunshine’s attention.

He nodded. “That’ll do.” He picked it up and bought it, praying to whatever being that may exist that Soap would like them. They smelled pleasant enough, at least.

When he walked into the pub, the others hadn’t arrived yet. He’d already texted Gaz that he’d be coming separately, and would save them a table.

He tucked the bouquet in the booth seat next to him nervously when he saw them enter. Gaz ordered them a round and a cake, crowing at the uninterested waiter that it was his friend’s birthday just to piss Soap off.

Price got Soap a nice bottle of Scotch, and Gaz had laughed when he saw it because he’d gotten him the same thing. Soap didn’t mind, just grinned. “I get two bottles of the good stuff, why would I be mad?

Ghost gave him the sketchbook and pencils a bit nervously, but his nerves were soothed when his face lit up. “Oh wow! These are good supplies.” He grinned. Ghost touched the bouquet next to him lightly, having second thoughts, before sucking it up and handing them to him.

The table fell quiet, and Soap looked at him with wide eyes

“For me?” He asked softly, holding them so gently they could be made of glass. Ghost nodded, feeling really dumb all of a sudden. He felt a weight lift from his chest when Soap beamed at him.

“You remembered! Christ, this is too muchI was so sloshed when I said I wanted flowers, but… thanks. They’re beautiful. And- and they’re roses… like I said…” Soap was smiling so widely it made Ghost’s heart hurt.

“I love them, Lt.” Ghost had to fight back the disappointment that came with the title. It was his sergeant’s birthday, not his boyfriend’s.

Gaz and Price settled down a little upon hearing Soap had asked for flowers specifically, though Price did shoot Ghost a knowing look.

The rest of the time was business as usual, drinking and laughing with friends until they inevitably got drunk and had to go home when the bartenders cut them off.

Ghost walked Soap back to his room. The other man was so drunk he was just mumbling under his breath.

As Ghost eased him into his bed, the Scot spoke up. “Thanks for the flowers, Lt, Really like em. Specially from ye.” He smiled before knocking out. Ghost stood there for a few minutes before sighing quietly to himself and placing the bouquet on the nightstand next to Soap.

For the rest of the week, Soap was in a significantly good mood. Watching him interact with the recruits, Ghost found himself smiling softly. If a simple bouquet of flowers made him so happy that he was beaming every day, then Ghost would give him all the flowers his heart desired.

And the gestures would never lose their meaning; no, Ghost would put just as much thought and heart into every one, just like he did the first time.

In any universe, he would give him flowers just to see him smile.

From a church altar to a gravestone.

The sunflower and his rose.

[firelordsfirelady]

X. Breaking Free

Author: @firelordsfirelady

Imagine: When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fiancée, how will life change for the princess? 

Pairing: Zuko x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, feelings of fear, banishment, mentions of burns/abuse, frustration, violence, betrayal

Word Count: 1081

Destined to be Yin and Yang 

I own no rights to Avatar the Last Airbender or any of the characters/story. 

Author’s Notes

The characters are all aged up so Zuko’s banishment happens when he’s 16 

Keep in mind I am bringing a unique world with inspiration from ATLA in their characters, some of the events that happen, bending, etc. Not many things may align or occur with what happened in the show. It’s intended that way, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

See Y/N’s inspiration here. 

Destined to be Yin and Yang Soundtrack (YouTube)

I sat at the desk in my room as I guided the pencil strokes on the piece of paper. The lines and curves I made slowly began to resemble someone kicking the air in front of them. Chewing on the end of the pencil, I debated which element to add to the end. As I stared at the drawing, I found the stance similar to a move Zuko had used during one of our training sessions. The muscles in my hand moved on their own accord as they effortlessly guided the pencil to draw a fireball coming from the kick. I was debating if I wanted to add shading to the picture when I heard some commotion.

I emerged on the deck to find the crew smiling as they walked around to their stations. Iroh stood by the railing as he sipped from his cup of tea.

“Y/N, my dear, how are you feeling?” Iroh gave me a wide smile as I approached his place by the railing. The crew around us rushed to get the ship ready to leave.

“I’m feeling okay.” I shrugged before Zuko approached us with a victorious grin on his face. I felt the color drain from my face, but I placed a smile on my face as the Prince came to stand with us.

“We have set course for the Fire Nation.” Zuko’s words were full of excitement, and I felt my heart shatter as I digested his words. I fought the heartbreak at the thought of him being excited to return home to someone else.

“I believe this calls for cupcakes.” I clapped my hands together. Looking between the two Firebenders, I smiled as neither of them had the chance to say anything before I added, “No objections? Good.” Respectfully bowing to Zuko and Iroh, I casually walked away until I was below deck and out of sight. Walking into the kitchen, I told Shisam that I wanted to use the kitchen for a while to make cupcakes for everyone.

“Do you want a hand in making the cupcakes?” Shisam asked. “I don’t bake much, but I did bake for my daughter’s birthday every year.” I gave the man a smile as I nodded my head.

“If you would like to.” Shisam smiled as he grabbed some mixing bowls. Together, Shisam and I mixed enough batter to make enough cupcakes to feed the entire crew. As the cupcakes baked, Shisam told me about his ten year-old daughter back home and all the things they enjoyed doing together. After the cupcakes were done, Shisam offered to deliver the cupcakes to the crew’s quarters. Smiling in thanks, I fixed a plate of cupcakes for Zuko and Iroh. I left the rest of the cupcakes for the kitchen staff to enjoy as they came in to work on preparing dinner. 

My footsteps were light as a feather as I walked to Iroh’s door with a plate full of my cupcakes. I could hear a faint discussion behind the door. I paused at the door before I knocked

“Don’t you think your return home might be…surprising to your father?” Iroh’s voice was laced with concern.

“What matters is that I have proven my honor to my father.” Zuko’s words were said with such conviction. “Nothing else matters more than that.” My heart’s muscles painfully contracted in my chest. 

“What about Y/N?” The mention of my name made my breath catch in my throat. “What do you think will happen with your engagement?” Zuko scoffed at Iroh’s concern for me.

“Father will probably withdraw his approval for this marriage.” Zuko’s bitter words felt like a dull knife pierced through my heart.

“You are the master of your own destiny, Zuko.” I swallowed the ache in my chest before I placed a forced smile upon my lips and then knocked on the door.

“Iroh?” I asked in an innocent tone as if I hadn’t just overheard their conversation. The door in front of me opened to reveal a smiling Iroh. I looked over Iroh’s shoulder to find Zuko standing with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The Prince refused to meet my eyes, and I quickly shifted my attention to Iroh as I held out the plate of cupcakes to the older gentleman.

“Y/N,” Iroh tried to greet me in a lighthearted manner. “What gorgeous-looking cupcakes. I hope they’re as tasty as they appear.” Iroh’s words did little to ease the pain I felt, but I placed the plate in his waiting hands with a smile on my face.

“Who else do you know that makes better sweets?” I forced a light laugh from my chest. “Do let me know what you rate them at dinner?” I asked as I slowly took a step backward. He nodded his head in response.

“I look forward to it.” Iroh said, and I bowed to the two of them before I turned on my heel and walked away. As I heard the door to Iroh’s room shut, I stopped to lean against the wall of the hallway. A shadow moving in the corner of my caught my attention, and I looked over to watch as Zuko’s door closed. I could feel my pulse in my head as I quietly walked over to the door and listened to the sounds of someone moving quietly within. Summoning every ounce of bravery I had, I threw open Zuko’s door and found a young Airbender standing in front of Zuko’s desk. He held a small leather journal in his hand. The color drained from my face as images of the previous Avatars flashed before my eyes. Blinking away the images, the Airbend held a finger to his lips.

“Zuko--” I yelled out as I shifted into an offensive stance. A blast of air blew me at the wall behind me. I heard Zuko shout as my head hit the wall and the world went black.

There was a soft mattress supporting my body when I slowly regained consciousness. I let out a soft groan as my body ached.

“We have set a course for an outpost nearby.” Zuko’s somber voice came from beside me. Slowly opening my eyes, I found Zuko staring at his feet as he sat in the chair next to my bed. “You need to rest.” “Don’t worry, Zuko…we will find the Avatar….” My words were slow and quiet as my eyes fluttered close and I gave away to a dreamless slumber.

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