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seiwas · 8 months ago

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if art can be touched, will you let me hold you? | nanami kento

wc: 7.2k

summary: you press love into each piece of art you create, and nanami wonders if you’ve ever been loved that way.

contains: f!reader, non-curse!au, ceramic artist!reader, pov switching, slowburn, reader wears a skirt, food mentions, bad breakup (mentioned), mentions of art critiques, almost explicit sex, it’s love without words.

a/n: a concept and fic i didn’t expect would be so dear to me; there are some very small personal touches in this but the main inspiration for this is ‘we’ve been loving in silence’, but some bgm are ‘can’t take my eyes off you’, and ‘make you feel my love’.

ao3 (needs account)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: showing ‘i love you’ in all the ways you aren’t used to

CLAY. Take your material of choice; turn it over, get a feel of it. Is it a suitable medium for your art?

You first meet Nanami in the halls of an echoing applause.

The host’s spiel is muffled through the walls, but you know the program flow like the back of your hand—you’ve rehearsed your entrance every single day since being invited to announce your upcoming exhibit. In just a few minutes, your name will be called.

Yellow cue cards slip through your fingers, scattering to the floor as a result of the haste from your last minute touch-up just moments before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, checking the time.

As you crouch low, a pair of brown Derby shoes land in front of you—long and thick fingers reaching for your cue cards on the floor. The time on his wrist matches yours, each second highlighted in the stark contrast of a dark face and silver exterior.

You’re quick to receive his help, taking the cards into your hands as you lightly graze his fingertips. When you look up, you’re met with sharp lines—an angular jaw, eyebrows set straight; a pointed nose and his cheeks carving out hollow shadows.

A geometric study on blank canvas.

It’s embarrassing, the way you fluster and bow, thanking him with a stutter as you’re brought back to the urgency of the matter by the sound of your name being called out.

The rush to the conference hall has you breathing heavily, the nerves hitting you full force as you step up the stage, nearly tripping at the last step. Hues of blue, yellow, purple, and green lights glare at you, and when the host hands you the microphone, you chuckle nervously, clearing your throat before addressing everyone in the room to thank them for coming this afternoon.

Your exhibit is called ‘What is the Face of an (Un)Touched Soul?’—a collection of ceramic sculptures molded to the realism of a human face, with the soul imagined as varying patterns and colors that fit each featured individual.

It’s been half a year since you started, with three out of six sculptures completed already. Two are in-progress, and you have yet to find a subject for one more; there are six more months for you to complete everything.

The audience sounds their applause, sophisticated claps and nods a familiar tune in the many years of your sculpting career. Critics in the room jot down their thoughts, reporters holding up microphones and recording devices to cover your announcement.

You smile wide, the rehearsed kind.

And at the end of your presentation, stepping down the stage, you spot him again.

You think to approach him in that moment, to thank him properly instead of the fumbling mess you’d choked out in the hallway—but you’re pulled towards a crowd of reporters and critics, recording devices pushed just below your chin as you watch him disappear into a sea of faces not nearly as interesting as his.

You meet Nanami again in the bustling morning rush at the bakery near your studio.

The past few weeks have been head-down and tedious, late nights working on painting some of the last few pieces for your exhibit. One of them is of your niece, 5-years-old in mint and white innocence; your brushstrokes are featherlight, softly accentuated by sponge dabs—a slate barely filled in, with room for more colors to appear with time.

Another is of your neighbor, an old man whose eyes have seen war beyond your comprehension—a retired soldier, a veteran of the military force. He plants primroses by his windowsill, the pastel yellow a stark contrast to the life he’s lived in red; neither of the colors cancel each other out, neither of them blend. You drag harsh strokes against his jawbone while smoothly gliding watercolor across his eyelids.

The people in your sculptures have sparked an untapped curiosity within you—for stories, for lives, for souls and what those might look like.

You bump into Nanami on his way out, the sandwich in his hand falling to the ground as you frantically attempt to pick it up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you turn over the sandwich, checking for any holes or openings in its packaging, “Let me–”

It only registers that it’s him when you notice the same brown Derby shoes, the same watch with that dark face and silver exterior, the same geometric perfection on his face when you look up and finally come eye-to-eye with that same fixed stare.

You clear your throat. Well, this is embarrassing.

“Let me buy you another sandwich.”

He doesn’t exactly look angry, expression set in straight lines, but you can’t tell for sure—there isn’t much you can go by.

“There’s no need,” he dusts off the wrapper, “it’s still sealed.”

“Please, I insist,” you pat down your skirt, linen rough on your fingertips, “As a thank you too, for last time.”

He arches a brow, and for a moment you worry that you’ve remembered him wrong—honey blonde hair and features you’ve been intrigued by since.

“You insist.” he repeats, clarifying more than questioning.

You nod.

He sighs, checking his watch before pocketing his sandwich and turning back to open the bakery doors.

The silence in line to the counter is awkward. Nanami remains impassive, hand tucked inside his pocket—you can’t read a single thing about him.

“I was meaning to thank you after the exhibit announcement,” you start, turning slightly to face him before looking ahead again.

He hums.

“But I couldn’t find you, so…”

He hums again.

The lack of response makes you nervous and quite honestly a bit irritated. Here you are, trying to be nice, and all you’re met with are dry—

“It’s no problem, but that’s thoughtful of you, thank you.” he finally says, “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

A pause.

“I’m sure you meet a lot of faces in your line of work.” he further clarifies, in case his earlier remark had offended you.

You snort, “I wish.”

The line moves forward.

“Ceramic faces, maybe. People not so much.”

When you glance at Nanami, the look he returns is still characteristically inscrutable, but you think the corners of his eyes soften just a bit—to feel for you maybe, you hope, you think.

The line moves quickly after that, and next thing you know it, you’re by the cashier, pointing at one sandwich for you and another for him. You buy him a cup of coffee too, just as an extra kind gesture (—for his time; you’re sure he has places to be and people to see), but he stops you.

“Coffee’s on me.” he pulls out his card.

“Oh,” you look up, surprised, “you don’t have to do that—”

“It’s only fair,” he nods as the cashier punches in the order, “now we’re even.”

You attempt to rebut, but find no room for argument in the unbending weight of his gaze.

An interesting man.

You watch him stand by the claiming booth, hand in the pocket of his khaki suit. Nothing about him feels cohesive, yet he makes it work. Artistically, from a sculpting standpoint, the sharp lines on his face would be an interesting challenge—but beautiful, nonetheless. A study of near-perfection, you think.

And it would seem obvious, that from the rigid cut of his jaw and the sharp edges of his cheekbones that he’d act just as pointed.

Except, he doesn’t—a stark contrast to how much of a gentleman he seems to be.

His blue shirt stands out when you’d assume he prefers subtlety, and it’s ridiculous, but that yellow cow print tie feels simultaneously out of place but so fitting.

He walks toward you with your coffee, sandwich resting on his forearm.

“Thank you, Mr.—” you smile sheepishly, “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“Nanami Kento.” the corners of his lips lift slightly.

“Mr. Nanami,” you repeat, introducing yourself right after.

“Thank you as well.” he adds on as you both walk towards the doors.

Something tells you this is a missed opportunity. Something tells you there’s more to learn about this interesting man and what lies beneath his straight-faced sincerity.

The chatter from the bakery is replaced by the city’s breaths—cars passing, dogs barking, footsteps on pavement rushing to get to their next destination. And you and Nanami stand by the entrance, neither knowing how to say bye.

“Do you come to this–”

“My studio is just by the corner, so–”

You quickly look at each other. Nanami bows his head slightly, hand gesturing for you to go first.

“Sorry, um,” you tuck your sandwich in the crook of your elbow, “yes, I come here pretty often. My studio is just around the corner, so I drop by for quick meals when I can. You?”

“It’s on the way to work most days.”

You nod, humming.

Another awkward pause.

“I hope you–”

“I should get–”

You look at each other again, a bit more amused this time. The slight wrinkling of his eyes is impossible to hide.

He gestures for you to go first again, but you shake your head, offering him instead.

“I hope the pieces for your exhibit are going well.”

“Thank you,” you smile, bowing your head slightly.

That ‘something’ in your brain speaks to you again.

“Actually,” you begin, “sorry if this is weird, please feel free to decline, but,” you shift your weight, “I have one last piece to do and I was wondering if I could ask you.”

Nanami looks taken aback for a moment, eyes wider than normal as he processes what you’d just said.

“Ask me… for an opinion?” he clarifies.

You mentally facepalm yourself—you really should have made yourself clearer.

“Sorry, no, I meant,” you take a deep breath, fingers fiddling with your skirt, “if you’d like to be the subject for it.”

The expression on his face is as indecipherable as ever.

MOLD. Be familiar with your art, learn more of its intricacies. What will you shape it to be?

In the most unexpected play of events, Nanami says yes, but not without his hesitations.

You explain your process: the selection of a subject, an interview to get to know them better, then a few meetings at the studio to create the mold of facial features before coating it in plaster.

Never in his entire law career did Nanami ever think he would be into art, much more be chosen to be the subject for it. But he figures, if anyone were to get him to do things so wholly out of character like this, it would be you.

After all, he’s been a fan of your works for a while—from your third exhibit up to your seventh one now.

People love paintings and the strokes on canvas, admiring textures and blends of colors bleeding into one another; Nanami loves sculptures, a mixture of materials and techniques forming an object with more than one viewing plane.

“Have you always loved sculpting?” he asks, sitting still on the wooden stool in your studio.

A few meetings have gone by by now, and he’s told you a few things about himself for this to be a comfortable enough way to spend his Friday night: he’s a lawyer in a firm he’s co-founded with a good friend, evenings being the only free time in his schedule; he lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment and his neighbor’s cat often lands on his balcony every morning; he likes coffee and tea, paperback books and music from the 30’s and 60’s.

He chose to be a lawyer to correct the shitty system that’s vowed to help but has instead made it difficult for anyone genuinely trying to be good.

“I started with paper craft first,” you mold out the slope of his nose, looking back and forth between him and the mass of clay on your desk, “you know that 3D looking paper art that kinda pops out of the page?”

He hums instead, careful of any slight movement that may disrupt the pose you’re trying to replicate.

“And this?”

Your metal scraper drags on the sides of the sculpture’s nose, sharpening it as it narrows to the bridge.

“I picked it up in college, was an outlet to keep me company during that time.”

The PR answer.

Nanami knows most of your general story; pamphlets and exhibits always give a run-down of the artists’ individual histories. You’d started sculpting as soon as you entered college, a need for company while in a completely unfamiliar place with no more home to return to. It was all or nothing, and as the sculptures grew in number, so did your popularity—you are by no means a fresh name to the scene 10 years later.

“Why do you love it?” he looks you in the eye.

You pause, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, focusing on the chunk of wet clay between your fingertips as it turns more pliable.

“It’s gotten me through a lot.” you sigh, attaching the piece of clay to form his lips, “Touching clay feels therapeutic sometimes, and you can tell from how it looks if it’s been molded with love.”

The stillness in your studio is extra quiet, filled only with the faint sounds of your fingertips sticking onto clay; he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Sorry, that was cheesy.” you scrunch your nose and pout.

He chuckles, a low laugh, “Not at all.”

You lock eyes, the curve of your lips upturned. He feels his eyes soften around its edges.

It makes sense, and he thinks he can understand; there must be a reason why he loves books with creased spines, why he prefers weathered pages—why the scratches on his vinyl records don’t bother him as much as it should.

You both like your coffee without milk, just with a bit of sugar for yours.

Nanami’s taken up baking, specifically breadmaking, in his spare time—he brings you sourdough the next Friday you meet.

Your studio is an organized mess, scraps of clay decorating the otherwise bare and white space. To the left of the room is a large cork board filled with pinned sketches and some color swatches—a visual representation of the creative chaos in your mind.

A whiteboard to its right holds your schedule, and everywhere across the room are your art pieces—on shelves, in glass cases. He assumes most of them are the versions that didn’t make it, considering that the ones that have are either auctioned off or left as collector’s pieces in exhibits and art museums.

“That’s the first one I ever made.” you sneak up behind him, biting off the sandwich you hastily put together.

The sculpture is smaller than the busts you’ve made for your current exhibit, but it still occupies a third of your shelf. It’s unlike any of the works you’ve ever done, but he supposes it makes sense, given how much your style has probably evolved over time.

The piece is a lot simpler in comparison to the edgy twists most of your works now contain, but the little girl fast asleep in the sculpture begs questions he’s not sure how to ask you—if he even should.

He continues to stare, clearing his throat; you eye him knowingly and snort.

“Just ask, I know you want to.”

The texture of the carved blanket catches his eyes, the ripples and creases made to conform to the girl’s curled up figure. There’s a sadness underlying her comfort, a search for security while being wrapped in a bundle of safety.

“Who is it?” he asks.

You pause before you answer; he’s worried he’s crossed a line.

“Me.” you admit, a near-whisper.

He hums, back still faced towards you. It explains, then, why he’s always felt an underlying sadness beneath the creases of your smiles.

When he turns his face to the side, an attempt to catch your eyes, you look away, diverting.

“Which one introduced you to me?” you gesture towards the rest of your pieces.

As it’s come to be, Nanami’s learned that you’re good at that too—creating curves of deflections, pockets where you can hide when you feel something’s gotten too close.

He plays along, turning around to view the expanse of your studio; it’s amazing, how the art pieces that stack shelf upon shelf all boil down to your hard work. You briefly mentioned that you haven’t taken a break from creating because you still don’t believe you deserve it.

“It’s not here,” he puts his hands in his pockets, “the one with the hand clutching a heart.”

‘Unhand’—his favorite piece of yours; he’d seen it in one of the museums he had to visit for one of his clients. Hyperrealistic branches of veins and arteries running across an anatomical heart, every curve and indent a carefully placed texture to bring your piece to life. It comes clenched in a hand, the veins streaming across each finger while blending into those of the heart’s—at first glance, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.

It’s a different view from each angle—that’s why he likes it so much, along with the graphic nature of it. The pain feels vivid, real.

“Ah,” you run your fingers across your work table, fiddling with the small pieces of clay before taking a seat again, “that one.”

Nanami follows but he doesn’t say anything, resuming his place in front of you in the usual way he’s done the past few weeks.

“I didn’t think I was the type to be moved by art.” he confesses, sitting still as you continue the final work on the clay wisps of his hair.

You encourage him to go on, nodding along.

And he does, watching the way your steady hand forms features that look uncannily like him, if not better; strands of your hair always fall from behind your ears and he’s almost tempted to tuck it back to where it came from.

He tells you of the pain he feels from that piece, how it presents itself in different ways depending on the area you focus on—the constricted blood vessels, the buildup of pressure from a vein blocked by a thumb, the strain of muscles at the back of the hand.

A small smile makes its way onto your face, slightly sad but somehow relieved, “Didn’t expect you to be such a poet.”

“Must be from being around you so often,” he responds.

And if it’s a trick of the light, a part of him sinks at that possibility—he thinks your smile stretches wider, suppressed only by the shyness trying to hide it; no pain whatsoever.

Unexpectedly, you share with him the story. Not the filtered version, but the one just as raw and vivid as the sculpture made from it—a failed relationship that had you clinging onto sculpting as your lifeline. You spare him some of the gruesome details but hint at it enough that he can fill in the gaps on his own.

You tell him that you’re a people pleaser, you’ve learned—it’s the only way you can view that relationship with grace, that at least you understand yourself better because of it. That even when the grip on your heart wrung tight enough for each beat to hurt, you still clung on with all your worth.

(Now you know you shouldn’t have.)

People have come to you with stories of their own, sharing how much your art means to them. Critics write articles, both good and bad, detailing the technicalities of your work. The applause follows you everywhere you go, yet it has never touched you—has never gotten too close.

If your art has touched others, has listened and spoken their truth in your handiwork, who does that for you?

During one of the last few Friday meetings, you offer to teach him how to mold clay.

He looks at you curiously, watching the way your fingertips pinch and squeeze, how they glide to smoothen the material and press down to create indents on the surface.

“Do you want to try?” you ask, gaze still set on his sculpture in front of you. There’s a teasing edge to your tone, one that’s developed over the months of getting to know you more.

“Would that be troublesome?”

You laugh at his rigidness.

“Of course not.” you push your piece aside, standing up to gather clay from the mound of it to your right. You lay down a wooden platform for him–his own little workspace–and slam a chunk of clay atop it, “I think you might be good at it actually, since you like making bread.”

The movements are familiar but not entirely the same. He rolls up his sleeves, blue cotton pinching at the creases of his elbows; you hand him an apron to protect the rest of his clothing. There’s not much kneading involved, not much palm action too, but he learns to move his fingertips with a force he can only compare to creating little dimples into focaccia dough.

You teach him how to make a bread basket—something practical but beginner-friendly; something he can use and keep as a reminder of you.

The trickiest part of it is mimicking the rattan weavings, and you notice him struggling with it when his strips of clay begin to break.

A screech fills the room as you push back your chair, standing up to go behind him as he attempts to salvage his work.

“Here, let me–” you reach over his shoulders, flattening some of the cracks from above him.

You’ve never been this close before, the thin strands of hair dusting your arms tickling the sides of his ears. These past few months, he’s watched your hands press and pull and form, turning each detail of his face into art. It’s only now, right next to his larger and rougher ones that he’s noticing just how small and delicate yours are.

It’s dainty work, weaving and braiding. He attempts to do it again, but the clay only falls apart when he pulls too hard.

You stifle a giggle, the vibrations tickling his back, “We might take a while here.”

“I don’t mind.” he mumbles.

“You sure you don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” you lean forward, pressing closer until he feels your warmth against the back of his head, “I feel bad, I’ve been taking up most of your Friday nights already.”

It shouldn’t mean anything; he shouldn’t feel anything—you seem to be unfazed; art is meant to be taught by doing.

But then your hands go over his, guiding them to lift each strand of clay gently before interweaving them with one another, and he thinks—

—this must be what it feels to be touched by art.

So, no.

There’s no other place he’d rather be.

DRY. Give it time, let it settle. Watch your art come into form. Is this a good foundation?

“Will you be free next weekend?”

His question surprises you as you stand in line at the bakery. You tend to catch each other at just the right times almost everyday, saving a spot for whoever’s running a little late.

Today, it’s you, rushing in slightly frazzled with your hair sticking out which way; you’d just finished up molding the sculpture late last night, letting it rest out to dry. Nanami’s head is turned towards you, hands in his pockets as he directs the same pointed gaze you’ve become all too accustomed to.

You must have forgotten to mention it.

“Oh,” you turn to him, “there’s no need, our sessions are over.”

His silence makes you nervous, just like it did the first (second) time you met.

Did you upset him? Did he already cancel plans to free up time for your studio?

The entire trip to the cashier is quiet, but you find that he’s ordered ahead for you—your sandwich order and a cup of your usual coffee. He pays for it too, despite your refusal (and confusion).

It’s when he hands over your drink by the corner of the room that he finally speaks.

“Not for a session.”

You tilt your head curiously.

The coffee feels warm on your hand, and you think you see the same warmth at the tips of his ears, dusting it light pink. He coughs, fingers clenching around his tie before loosening it.

“For a date.”

You begin to take up his weekends now, too.

Since that day at the bakery, when you’d nearly dropped your coffee before stuttering out your availability, you’ve already gone on seven dates (to you, at least; Nanami would officially count three).

He insists on still visiting you every Friday, bringing you dinner as a reminder that you should eat on time and not the moment you’re keeling over from a rumbling stomach and a pounding headache. You count these as dates too—because what else do you call spending time with someone you like while having night-long conversations over good food?

(Nanami creates a distinction though, prefers his dates to be more planned out and intended. On the three official dates you’ve gone on, he’s brought you to three different locations—a weekend market, a picnic by a lake after you’d mentioned something about it, and a vintage record shop on the outskirts of the city, a place he frequents often).

The near-perfection you once thought of the man, a geometric study on canvas—he’s still every bit of it, still every bit as interesting as what he seemed, just in a completely different way.

For a man typically so nonchalant, he is extremely particular about his tastes, borderline picky with trusted company.

Nanami enjoys coffee (as expected), but the fermented filter kind, dripped down a V60 pour over to extract different notes of sweetness and acidity. You’d think he enjoys a straight black, face stoic enough to handle its bitter bite; but no, his jaw clenches when he dislikes the taste, his tongue sounding the faintest click against the roof of his mouth before he downs the entire thing in one gulp.

He also happens to be extremely gentle, in a way you don’t expect from a man of his stature and build. Veins run through the back of his large hands, branching to webs around the thickness of his fingers; they may not be delicate enough to weave clay, but he carves out different patterns on the sourdough he presents to you every Friday.

The first time he held your hand, it wasn’t exactly planned—an instinctive move to reach out his palm as you climbed the steps of the spiral staircase in the record store out of town. You’d barely felt it then, just the featherlight hold of his thumb pressed against your knuckles as you gripped the fabric of your skirt.

(To your surprise, he kept it up all the way through, slipping his fingers through the gaps between yours as he showed you around vintage vinyls and the sound of love in muffled 60’s tunes.)

You imagine him to be like clay, a softness hardened over the years that have shaped him; smooth but solid to the touch, breaking into powdered shards once you manage to work your way through.

It’s unexpected, but you like that.

And you like him—quite a lot, really.

This date–the tenth, or fourth, whichever–is a lot fancier than all the others, a more formal dinner with a few glasses of delicious wine whose name you by god, don’t remember. You’d been too focused on something else—the handsome way he’d slicked back strands of his honeyed hair.

Black suits him, contrasting the paleness of his skin and complementing the sharpness of his features.

Black, the color of his suit, pressed neatly to fit him perfectly. He looks clean, broad shoulders with straight slacks falling to exactly where they’re supposed to be.

Black, which is the only thing you see, pressed up against him. You’re so close by your doorway, that half-minute of deciding whether to stay or walk away; he has one foot behind him and one firmly planted right next to yours.

You share a breath, fingers lightly intertwined with his.

There had been signs the entire night that it would lead to something like this—he’d played with your fingers a lot more, kept much closer to you than he ever has before.

Every sound around you is amplified—each inhale and exhale, the gulp he makes; your heart beats on rampage.

When you look up, your noses are almost touching, and his eyes are shut, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once before, when he’s stuck contemplating.

“Kento,” you whisper.

His eyes blink open slightly, the color of your coffee. He leans forward, forehead resting against yours as he takes a deep breath, “I–”

Then you kiss him.

It’s mostly a peck really, and wholly out of character for you, but it’s that same something that compelled you to ask him to model for your sculpture months ago that’s pushed you to do this right now.

You’re worried for that first split-second because he doesn’t move, shows no sign at all of reciprocating. It’s a moment before you consider parting that he finally softens, relaxing his lips as he glides them over yours. His fingers slot themselves by your ear, palm pressed against your jaw as he deepens it; you almost stumble back, his other hand catching your weight as it leans on your door.

It’s a good thing you did this then, because you learn that he likes you too—very much, actually.

Things are good a month until your exhibit.

Things are good until they aren’t.

You end up reading a premature critique on your exhibit, calling it ‘overrated’ and ‘boring’, detailing the trajectory of your decline as an artist, citing your works as having become increasingly more lackluster over the years.

The critic calls your theme ‘lazy’ and ‘unoriginal’, predicting your pieces to be nothing extraordinary or different from your older sculptures.

All this time, your publicist and manager have made it a point to protect you from things like this, requesting that you avoid searching up your name on social media or search engines. You’re usually fed with praises and the occasional constructive criticism, but never anything as spiteful as this.

It’s every possible thing that could be said to invalidate your hard work.

And you break because of it—along with Nanami’s sculpture.

It tips over accidentally, the funk in your mood making you especially clumsy.

The damage is terrible, half of his face is gone, his neck down still intact but chipped off. It’s impossible to repair without redoing the entire thing—which, you don’t have the time for, either.

You groan, banging your head against the table.

Frustration leaks out in your tears, every inch of self-doubt surfacing.

Nanami finds you in your studio that way.

He’d texted you the entire day, tried calling you a few times to no success. It’s a Thursday, but without your usual ‘just got home’ text, he’d gotten worried and rushed over as soon as his meeting ended.

If he’s being honest, you’ve been off this entire week—stressed and distant, overworked from revisiting all your finished sculptures for the exhibit in case of anything to change or tweak.

Then this.

And it’s too much—it’s all too much.

Nanami calls your name from your entryway and you look up with tears streaming down your face. He’s never seen you like this, you could never want him to.

He hurries over, brows immediately furrowed as he digs into his pocket for a handkerchief. The cow print would make you giggle on any other day, but now, he uses it to wipe your tears away.

“What happened?” his gaze shifts to your right, his sculpture half-ruined.

Silence.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, swiping at your nose, “It won’t look the same, Ken.”

“Do you want to redo it? I can clear up my schedule every–”

“There’s no time.”

Nanami takes your hands to rub his thumbs over your knuckles, soothing.

“Then we’ll do what we can.”

The sincerity in his voice hurts you, the reassurance in his eyes even moreso. You’ve never had anyone look at you this way.

“There’s no point.” your shoulders slump, lips trembling as another wave of tears pool on your lash line. “People are calling the exhibit a flop.”

“Who?”

You huff out, exhausted, “I don’t know, critics, media. Whoever.”

He furrows his brows, firm, “They don’t understand what you’re doing.”

You chuckle sarcastically, “They’re art critics, Ken, of course they–”

“If it means something to you, what does it matter to anyone else?”

That makes you look up.

Nanami stares at you with the same unwavering gaze, no longer indecipherable to you. There’s a softness in the squint of his eyes that you now know means concern, with every pointed feature only meant to drive his words home.

You’ve been second guessing everything down to the core of your abilities, because of what? A few words? This must be what you get for having a penchant to people please, for hinging on everything everyone has to say.

“If you love what you create, then continue to make it.” he squeezes your hands, as if pressing the words into your bones gently.

You remold and repair, and you build up your sculpture to something different but not worse than before.

You remold and repair to build up yourself.

The half that broke off isn’t as symmetrical as you’d like it to be—and it definitely doesn’t do justice to the man it’s sculpted of, but you think you like the softness you added to it, how his eyes look kinder. He means something else to you now, after all, compared to when you first started sculpting him.

And you think, you know just what kind of design speaks of his soul.

PAINT. Add the final touches, perfect your piece. Bring it to life with colors and details, whether it be for one pair of eyes or many. Do you now see?

Nanami teaches you how to make bread on a Sunday morning.

Flour coats every surface of his counter, dustings of it transferred to the deep blue of his apron. You’re wearing a white one, borrowed from your studio. Elbow-to-elbow you knead, and he only has to teach you once for you to get the hang of it, really.

He smirks, “You’re a natural.”

“Must do stuff like this a lot in another life or something,” you stifle a giggle, playing along.

It’s a beautiful day out, golden sunlight hitting your cheek—Nanami stares, sneaks peeks between every knead. The same strands of hair tucked behind your ear fall to frame your face, and he hooks his pinky around it to tuck it right back (because he can now, without having to hesitate).

You turn to him, daylight in your eyes when you grin your thanks.

His kitchen has an open space, deep wood and black metal detailings as its central theme (the white bread bread basket you made together stands out on the counter, but he’s done that on purpose). There’s a pretty extensive collection of alcohol in his liquor cabinet, along with his very particular coffee set-up right next to his record player slotted in the corner.

On Sunday mornings, Nanami likes to keep his music playing; today, it’s the classic 60’s–’Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’–serving as your background beat, with the soft meows from the cat on his balcony as added accompaniment to the melody.

He watches you sway, his feet tapping along, then you jolt, giggling in surprise when there’s a hiccup in the song (it’s from the scratches on his record, but he can’t bother replacing it with a new one). After that breakdown in your studio, you’ve seemed to loosen up immensely.

“Ken,” you call him, “how much pressure do you usually put into kneading?”

There’s no way to explain it, really, but to make you feel it yourself.

“Let me–” he lets go of his dough, dusting his hands with more flour before coming up behind you.

Nanami is a big man, tall and lean, all chest and shoulders—when he hunches over you, you look so small, delicately tucked into him. Heat rushes to his cheeks, if you turn around you’d see pink; the music is drowned out by his heartbeat.

He leans forward, palms clasping over the back of your hands, fingers slotting themselves between the gaps of yours.

“Like this,” he pushes down, his chest pressed against your back. To get a better look at the dough, he tilts his head to the side, nearly slotting it by your shoulder, “Can you feel it?”

You hum, your swaying gone. He’s trying hard to focus on the bread, but when you turn your head to face him, the tip of your nose touching his cheek, he stops.

The moment is tense, drowned into silence despite the music playing in the background. He can hear your every breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Nanami knows it’s for many things—for agreeing to the sculpture, for spending time on it; for this Sunday morning, for being there when you needed someone the most. But that’s not the whole point of this, he thinks. It’s how you sound, voice heartfelt and filled with something else—a kind of affection he’s all too familiar with himself.

This must be what you mean when you say you can tell if clay has been molded with love.

In the quiet, Nanami’s hands move loudly.

He holds you gently, just like he always has, but it’s a permission every time—like he’s asking if he can touch you, love you in ways you aren't used to.

Your apron falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, the fabric pooling by your feet. The faded gray t-shirt you wear during studio days is tugged over your head, dropped next to him. He takes his time with you, turning you over, feeling you, knowing you—thick fingers squeezing the sides of your arms lightly as his lips press against your neck.

A gasp escapes you.

Then you move, nimble hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as you feel across the planes of taut muscle on his stomach and chest.

He groans, soft and low, your fingers brushing against his skin, ticklish.

You take a step back and he moves along with you, letting you settle into yourself as you inch backwards, the back of your knees knocking against the edge of your bed. He holds your gaze as you move towards your headrest, your shy smile doing nothing to lessen the butterflies in his chest—you did mention that it’s been a while.

He kneels on your bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate his weight—his slacks have been discarded to the side as he crawls over you.

Beneath him, you look like the very subject art could only wish to replicate.

So, he makes sure to remember all of it—to look close and memorize every detail of you as he dips down, arm planted to the side of your head as his other hand cradles your face, tilting your jaw up for a kiss.

He catches your lower lip between his, running his tongue over it before sucking lightly. You moan, smooth and honey-sweet, bringing him closer with your fingers clasped behind his neck. The room is quiet save for your lips smacking against each other’s, warm and soft as the heat builds between you.

Slowly and tenderly, with the same care you tend to clay, Nanami discovers all your dips and curves; he kneads the flesh of your hips, gripping your thighs as he kisses his way down the slopes of your body.

You squirm in his hold, tugging at his hair when the sensation feels too much, too good.

(But when he reaches between your legs, arms locking your thighs over his shoulders, you realize, nothing could have ever prepared you for this, for him—he treats you as if you are every bit of the art you make, and looks at you like it too.)

Then, Nanami kisses you on the forehead when he’s inside you, lips pressing on the part of your skin that creases when your brow furrows.

A tear drips down your face.

“Should I–” he looks you in the eye, worried.

“No,” you breathe out, a watery smile as you nudge your nose against his chin, “keep going.”

So, he does; he loves you without the applause, with the feel of his hands, leaving no place untouched.

He moves his body against yours.

It’s only after, when he tucks himself into your neck, arms wrapped around you and skin sticking onto skin that you tell him your tears aren’t anything bad.

For the first time in a while, you feel full—perfectly content.

He thinks you should be the final piece to your exhibit.

It’s a grand event, the conference hall decked in some of your previous works; blankets of white cloth drape over the stage—the unveiling of all your sculptures. You’re standing to the side, looking pretty in a long white skirt while Nanami blends among the crowd, far back enough to remain hidden from reporters but close enough to catch your eyes should you look his way.

You present each one, introducing the titles with brief descriptions of the people they’re sculpted from. The reasons for your designs are left primarily up to interpretation, but you’ve explained it all to Nanami—he’s listened to every single one.

Then you present his sculpture, finding him through the crowd. The corner of your lips curl up slightly, the stage lights reflecting on your eyes.

He smiles at you the same.

‘The Undoing’ is what you call it—half-perfect and half-salvaged.

It’s far from your original vision for the piece, but you think you like this more, splitting down the part that’d originally broken off into two different colors. His entire color scheme consists of yellows, greens, and browns—the perfected side of his face appears in clean strokes of coffee, with light yellows highlighting his pointed features. The angles are clean and sharp, his gaze straight and dead-on.

Running down the cracks of the broken half is a sky blue line, an almost glowing effect added to the salvaged side. In a way, it’s an emergence, of the part of him you never thought existed—green wisps like leaves, a life springing from within. You add flecks of gold to mimic light bouncing off his irises the same way sand becomes a glittering sea of sunbeams.

To you, Nanami is warm but cold to the touch, and he’s undone you just as much, has chipped away at the parts of you that have built themselves over years of habits reinforced and untouched.

It is as much you as it is him.

That’s what happens when you love someone, he supposes—an intermingling of souls.

Kraft paper crinkles in his grip as he adjusts the bouquet of flowers behind him, deep red carnations and orange tulips decorated with white astilbe flowers—for when you get down, and he can have a moment with you privately.

Now, he looks at you fondly, shifting his feet from where he’s standing. You search for his face, eyes darting to where you know you’ll find him; he meets your gaze, and you smile brighter, that one look ringing louder than the standing roars of an echoing applause.

a/n: each segment represents the steps to making a sculpture that i tried to parallel with the development of their relationship. V60 pour over is a kind of set-up for drip/filter coffee.

thank you notes: for @mididoodles, this is my very late birthday gift for you midi, but i hope you like it! (this also so happens to be your request for my in's and out's event) 🥺 + @soumies @scarabrat for reading through the first third of this and believing in the vision for this when i was so unsure of it, i love you both 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me figure out what goes in the 'contains' 😭 + @augustinewrites to scratch the nanami itch 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami kento x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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kiss-me-muchoo · 11 months ago

Text

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: stop, you’re losing me || part two: in the trees, in the breeze (here)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ your memory kept haunting Coriolanus Snow, so he found the way to end his exile. It’s a new era, but the same old feelings between Coriolanus and you keep causing scandals. Although, you are not ready to let go the pain he caused to you.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ Capitol ballerina!reader, angst, drama, violence and death lol, jealousy, unhinged Coriolanus, sex mentions, reader still has health problems, etc. 13k words fic IM SORRY

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ hear this along Can’t catch me now, I’m not an OR fan but I love that song from her. I mean, who didn’t? And thank you for the wait and loveeeee. PLEASE TELL ME OF ANY ERRORS BC I CAN’T BE ALMOST ACCUSED OF BEING TRANSPHOBIC PLEASEEEE

♪ ♫ awful Coriolanus Snow playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

_____________________________________________

Red, blue, red, red, yellow, green, green, pink.

Every color is correctly marked. A nurse smiles with some papers on her hand before she dissapears.

You can get dressed again. The color test was done, your vision was okay.

Purple and green bruises are scattered across your skin. Some appeared on your inner thighs. Two on your knees and one on the ribs from the day you collapsed after the post-Hunger Games celebration. You sigh covering your skin with a long floral dress. The reflection of yourself on the mirror salutes you with a tired, broken and sad face. It makes you force a smile, pretending more people were watching you. The room in empty though.

“Everything is fine. Your body is responding well to the shots.” A doctor asks as soon as he walks in into the room.

“The only thing that worries me is your mental health. Have you been stressed or has anything happened to you that could be considered a traumatic experience?”

The pointe shoes soaked in blood. The unstoppable bleeding on your feet. The late nights with panic attacks and over thinking. That young blonde man and the songbird together. The night on dressing room, how your hand burned after slapping the man so hard. The shock of all the events surrounding your life two weeks ago. How you lost control, your head spinning, blurred vision, heart pounding, numb arms and how you felt the oxygen was leaving. All the things you did for someone who never deserved you, making you shatter, fainting as soon as you finished dancing.

“Miss y/l/n… Are you okay?” The distant voice of the doctor breaks your bubble. You shake your head in disguise before turning away from the mirror, facing him and smiling politely.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was very stressed, yeah. Working with the production of the Hunger Games. My artistic performances, last days at the Academy. It was a lot…” the doctor sighs, annotating something. He then handed you the paper.

“I’m giving you some treatment for that. And please, you have to be careful and calm. Only that way the medicine will help everything to work here” he points his head. You nod, accepting the paper.

After that, you leave the private hospital. Trevor is there, your chauffeur and friend. He smiles, opening the door for you.

“Thank you, Trevor” he starts the car soon after.

“Is everything okay?” You nod, looking at the bright day at the Capitol.

“I just need to relax and eat well.” Trevor had trimmed his hair. It made him look younger, making you smile at the memory of him saying his wife was his hairstylist.

“Good. Oh, I received a call from your mother. This woman…uh, Dr. Volumnia Gaul? She wants to see you at the Univeristy today” you frown to look at him confused.

“Oh? So… Can we go now?” He nods, turning left to start the route. Meanwhile, you wonder what could she want. You made your part, the games had a higher amount of viewers compared to last year. You engaged with the production and the celebration was at full capacity. Your little accident even made it more attractive to the media. Appearing on the papers and magazines across Panem.

And after everything, you still wanted to keep dancing. Or else range would consume you.

…

It’s the first time you step inside the Capitol’s University. It’s very similar to the Academy, but the floor tiles are green and white. There’s a lot of white, cream, golden and black decorating the halls and long stairs.

Since it’s summer, most of the building was empty. Only some of the staff, and very few people who seemed like students. You see they dress very elegant. Some women wore hats with feathers or flowers. The men wore classy suits and you genuinely thought you would fit in.

You couldn’t wait to have some sense of normality as a Univeristy student along Clemensia and Lysistrata. Your only close friends left. Well, also Festus and Sejanus. At the time, you didn’t event know your dear friend was dead.

What seems like the private office of Gaul has a red door. Inside, she had a laboratory, smaller but weirder than the one you had seen before. Full of dissected creatures, tanks and crystal containers with unknown chemicals.

Some steps further and you see her desk, where she is collecting some folders and putting them away in some shelves.

“Glad to see you breathing, miss y/l/n…” somehow you found the humor to smile coldly.

“As you can see.” You reply standing perfectly correct.

“By this point you should know what happened to Mr. Snow” goosebumps make you shake your shoulders slightly, you nod again.

“He was exiled. Twenty years. He lied to me and did not said a thing about cheating on the games”

“Indeed. However this morning, I just discovered he bribed a woman to be sent to District 12.” You bite your tongue to hide your fury. A hot feeling invade your chest in rage. But you just breathe, failing to not show discontent.

“That’s not any of my business anymore.” Even Gaul seems taken aback. However, she doesn’t say anything, she just keeps pulling away the pile of folders.

“Well, since it seems you both parted ways… I must share that I’m deleting any record or data related to the 10th Hunger Games. Too many things happened before, during and after the games. Things that would compromise the reputation of the whole organization. Including me, the Academy, the mentors, you and Mr. Snow” honestly, you don’t know what to say. You just frown slightly, demonstrating how confused you were. But you also understood with half of the context. The death of Arachne, Coriolanus and his odd ways to make his songbird oustand, the rebel attack, Lucy Gray Baird winning from cheat. And the things you didnt know like Sejanus entering the arena.

However, you stick to your parent’s advice. You have to think about you and anyone else.

“I understand. But I did my part. I completed my task so I hope this decision doesn’t jeopardize my grant” she smiles. Dr. Gaul secretly believed that you and Coriolanus Snow could rule Panem together. In a sick and evil way, so she really hoped her dark intentions would work.

“Of course not. We had a deal. The views went up this year. You brought a new vision for the promotion that I’ll hardly let go.” The ambition started tickling you. Making you roll your tongue inside your closed mouth, at the verge of opening it and talking.

“Good.”

“In fact, you would be a nice option to become head of the promotion and relations team.” From the last games, you realized the director only gave instructions but he rarely did the dirty job. You liked having some power over the games. And now, a childish and unjustified resentment towards District 12 made you smile as Gaul offered you a new job.

“Is it a possible option to be working in behalf of my mother’s institution?”

“You’re very smart, y/n y/l/n. You are going further than Mr. Snow” your smile only grows, knowing you are nit being correct. You are letting the rage and resentment to guide you. You will make your last name shine brighter than your parents did. Just to rub it in the face of certain blonde who was now exiled. Probably savoring the country life of District 12.

“I just want to make my family’s name bigger than it already is” the woman giggles, taking out a red envelope and handing it you.

“I assume you’ll pursue the arts as you’re speciality. But if you want to get involved with the production, marketing and relations. You are taking politics and some lessons with me” when you look down at the envelope, the golden logo of the university is greeting you. It’s the admission letter.

“I expect to see you here by the end of the summer” you nod, thanking her.

And as you walk outside where Trevor is waiting for you, you have a cocky smile. Feelings like things could go better. You don’t even remember the doctor’s appointment you were in before coming to see Gaul.

…

Your soft hands gently brush against his forehead. Coriolanus had chills, he hadn’t had fever since he was 15 years old. But your hands are so soft even when they feel cold as ice. He just knows he’s in his bed. In his rottening penthouse. He can see a slightly blurred image of you, wearing a green dress, your hair in a braid, a golden necklace, dark purple lips. He can’t hear your words, but you are talking to him, spreading some cream across his chest, immediately he felt the mint soothing his cough and pain. He must’ve said something funny, because he can now see clearly your face, gorgeous as always. And he can clearly hear you laughing.

Coriolanus wakes up smiling. And he realised he was dreaming.

He was in a small and creaky lower bunk bed. Sejanus sleeping in the upper bunk. The sun hasn’t come up. And he’s a peacekeeper in District 12.

It’s been weeks since he left the Capitol. And since day one, you seem to be haunting him.

Current dreams of you, swearing to be hearing your voice. It makes him want to call you every single day. But he doesn’t. He was able to forget about you when he was in the peacekeeper training and duties. When he was with Lucy Gray any trace of you was gone. But as soon as he had a moment alone, he would remember everyhting about you.

He missed you. Painfully a lot.

Every Friday, he had been sending the letters. He hoped your mother would hand them to you. But Coriolanus knew you too well to know you likely would not be reading them. Nonetheless, he was letting himself to write the most vulnerable pieces of him, putting his heart on each word and phrase. Hoping that by the time his exile was over, you would have forgiven him.

When the sun came up, he was up along the rest of the boys. Sejanus gives him a friendly smile and they’re out exercising and doing jobs all day long. During his break, he’s able to seat in an old bench, with a beautiful view of an open green field.

That’s when he dreams of seeing you there, dancing or simply standing there with a sundress. Like the ones you used to wear on summer when he visited the house your parents had in District 4. He dreams so hard that he swears seeing the skirt of your dress swaying through the trees. And that’s when he knows he’s so fucked up.

But that’s long forgotten after the break is over. And by the night, he’s on the biggest bar of the town. He sees Lucy Gray singing something new. He honestly never understood the meaning behind her songs, but he was enchanted by her do what she loved.

After her live presentation, a big projector was introduced. They started playing the weather with Lucky Flickerman. Which made Coriolanus miss the Capitol so bad.

“They’re probably waiting for some women. That’s why the always start that thing” Lucy Gray said, appearing by his side and pointing at the projector. He smiled at her.

“To see women?” She nodded, grabbing a glass of cold water.

“You know how are men around here” with no tv around, no ostentatious lifestyles, men could get excited with little makeup and satin gowns. Coriolanus was disgusted by many mannerism of the 12. He had heard and seen many disapproving behaviors. But he was happy to be able to find some peace along the songbird.

“Yes, I know. What’s that thing by the way?” When Coriolanus turned around to see the old projector, he almost choked after seeing the big logo appearing.

It was the summer fundraising charity of your mother. Another luxurious gala to help the constructions of the Capitol after war. However, that wasnt the most impressive part for Coriolanus. Seconds after the recovered from seeing something directly related to his past, you appeared in the projector, entering the stage and getting in pose to start a performance.

Lucy Gray Baird was in shock. So if she was surprised, the men all around the bar where cheering and whistling.

There you were, with curled wet hair, metallic bronze makeup, wine lips, golden bracelets on your arms. But it was the attire. A two piece set that let your legs and stomach show off. With bare feet, and two elegant knives, one in each hand. Your cocky smile was back. And it was ruining Coriolanus Snow.

He literally jumped from his seat, leaving Lucy Gray to cross the river of men and properly see you.

She knew you had broken up with him. And that relieved the songbird, as she felt like she could let her feelings for Coriolanus flow freely. But seeing the boy literally hipnotized as soon he saw you, it made her feel uneasy. Deeply she knew that Coriolanus wasn’t over you. And no matter what, you were a sensible subject for him. That not even herself could ever test.

But he kept going. Each step meant hearing them say how good you looked, the places where they’d put their hands on your body. It boiled his blood.

But finally, the dance killed him. Because maybe for the capitol you were still elegant and classy. Their eyes would publicly appreciate your art, and privately let their mind wander with your half naked body. But for people from the 12. It was like throwing a piece of meat to lions in starvation.

With your hips swaying tentatively, pointed feet and letting everyone know how flexible you were. That sassy look on your face that Coriolanus was feeling too personal. It was like you were saying “look what you lost”.

He was used to see you in pastel tutus, hair in a bun. Not this goddess ritual dance type of thing. The music was very different, something very uncommon in Panem. He really wants to punch every man in the room. He sees how most of the women in the bar see your graceful image with disgust. And Coriolanus couldn’t blame them. But it made him remember that he had lost the right to call you his. And that intrusive thought made him automatically think he wanted to go back home so badly.

Your sensual and meticulous steps keep going, the knives making him remember the folk tales of women dancing with sharp objects to show fertility, honor of their kingdom and to seal a man’s faith. Every minute more desperate for Snow, who’s over the edge of hearing men say plenty of things about you. But soon, the music stops with you arched, pointed feet, your curls kissing the stage, the knives perfectly pointing like a clock.

Coriolanus doesnt miss your evil smile. He can sense you are changing. And he remember all the pain he caused you, making him sigh in resignation. His desire of going back for you only growing.

“I’m sorry I left like that” he explains to Lucy Gray. She notices how quick he drank his beer. She was a woman after all, she knew the effect a fine female could have on men. Especially on the man who was their lover. The one that probably hurt her and left her, ending their history in bad terms.

“It’s okay. I told you she was very pretty before” Coriolanus learns that Lucy Gray was not being sarcastic that day at the zoo.

…

It had come to the point where he couldn’t run away from his thoughts. Coriolanus was borderline obsessed with your memory. He constantly wondered how you were doing. He had to ask Tigris every time they talked to see learn anything about you.

For the first time, since he left the Capitol, Tigris shares that she had talked to you.

Coriolanus was surprised to hear that the reason you gave about the breakup was only because he cheated with Lucy Gray.

You didn’t said a word about him the lies, the last argument you two had. You only say that his songbird was special. And that you stopped to be what he needed.

Which was heavily mistaken. Some days before he accepted that you were the only thing he needed to keep going. He imagines a fake scenario where you came to the 12 with him. You find a humble home where you wait till his training is over. The lake where he spent hours with Lucy Gray and The Covey could’ve been hours with you. Talking about anything and everything. He would’ve come straight home to you when the training was over. Make love to you, promise to fight for a higher position, possibly as a commander one day and marrying you. And soon the years would’ve passed, his exile would be over and you would go back to the Capitol with him. Maybe some children along.

But that would never happen. And his delusion was starting to make him find a way to go back where he belonged.

He questioned if his urges where for power, or to get back with the woman he loved.

Whatever the reason was, a lot of people would pay the price. First were the daughter of the mayor and her partner, then the man who had the decency to hide the gun he used to kill those two. Who also happened to be his alleged best friend.

His hands trembling as he pressed to record Sejanus. But he knew there were high possibilities of being heard. And that way, he would go back. He would find you and slowly start again.

The death of Sejanus would haunt him for a long time. He knew he was a close friend of yours, which made him get chills, uneasy to decide what could be your reaction to the news. Either way, it was done. The heavens had to have heard him. He was offered to serve in District 2, gain some money and he could easily take the train to see you if anything.

But Lucy Gray had other plans. And Coriolanus wasnt even sure of what he was doing. Probably in his rambling and panic after everything he went through as a peacekeeper, one side of him wanted to run away and never see back again. To forget about his decisions as a mentor, to forget about his decisions as a peacekeeper and to forget about you. That way he would never have to face all the pain he caused you.

After some hours of walking, Coriolanus should have seen the signs.

“Everyone in the Covey are really good dancers. But I don’t think it’s my thing. I just have my voice…” Lucy Gray said, holding her bag tightly. Coriolanus only smiled, remembering how bad the songbird was when he tried to teach her how to waltz.

“Is it like… exclusive in the Capitol?”

“I think so. Today there’s only one institution, the mother of…” he goes quiet, realizing what he was about to say.

“…y/n?” She asked, almost nervous about mentioning your name. But in reality, she wasnt. After Coriolanus nodded, they just kept walking in silence.

“Her mother founded it?”

“It was her grandmother actually. Mine knew her, and they were kind of friends” he said smiling, trying to look away from Lucy Gray so he couldn’t see him smiling.

Once you leaned Coriolanus was financially struggling some years ago, you ended up visiting him for the first time. That day you learned Grandma’am was friend of your family before your mother was born. And that only made her appreciate you faster. Which made Coriolanus happy. Finally seeing her grandmother to let go the days of the war and any crazy ideas that stayed on her mind. All thanks to you.

“Grandma’am even started planting pink roses for her.” It slipped out automatically, he couldn’t control it.

“She’s like ink…” Coriolanus missed the point. But after some minutes of silence, he understood what Lucy Gray said. Which resulted true. Metaphorically, you were the brightest tint he’d ever seen. He let that ink fall and splash everywhere, leaving stains on him that probably would never leave.

And finally, Lucy Gray Baird fell to her end in the shallow woods. Hunted like a prey. By a broken man who decided to stop being good. Who was losing his mind for the pieces of a woman he let go so easily.

That changes like the destination of Coriolanus.

He’s going back to the Capitol. With tiny sparks of hope. But firmly believing that everyhting was meant to happen like that so he could go back to you.

However, as he came closer, Coriolanus realized he was lost. He had no idea what would await for him. And what version of you would greet him.

…

There isn’t an exact period over the Capitol that can’t be considered as autumn. The summer was practically over, and winter was already happening. Coriolanus had to wait longer than expected to get into University. In the meantime, he accepted the money from the Plinth family. He decided to get ahead of time. He used the last hot days to get Tigris and Grandma’am back to the penthouse. He bought the whole building and in two weeks the whole place was renewed. There was only one thing he couldn’t get rid of. The living room and entrance olive paint you brought. He painted the halls, dining room, studio and kitchen in a dark blue paint. But he wasnt able to get rid of the memories he made with you. His old self was long gone. But he had his supcisions that the version he was for you would never change.

However, he decided to stay afar from the public eye for that month after returning from exile.

Tigris said she hadn’t seen you. But that was okay. He would soon enter to University. He was going to see you there.

Eventually the day came. He gets rid off Casca Highbottom and then he walks towards the big and imposing University of the Capitol. He had a driver now, but he thought it wouldn’t be bad to use the mornings to walk.

In his first hours inside, he has private lessons with Dr. Gaul. Already mentoring him to be a game maker. She kind of suspects he was involved with the sudden death of Highbottom. But for some reason, Gaul has a lot of hopes in him, so she would easily act blind to keep her plans to keep going.

After that, Coriolanus starts looking out for you. He crosses the big seminar rooms and other halls. Until he is able to locate the arts building. It’s smaller but probably the most interesting. With a beautiful barroque facade. As soon as he enters, he sees a group of girls holding large canvas with beautiful paintings on them. Then, some steps later he spots two guys trying to carry a sculpture. Coriolanus believes that kind of modern art was the future of the Capitol. He had to admit the arts building was fully alive, he even forgot he was still at the university.

Coming down from some stairs, he sees two girls. A red haired and a tanned with black leotards and floral skirts are giggling. They seems like dancers, he doesnt think twice. He’s already approaching the girls.

“Excuse me, ladies. Do you know by any chance where I can find y/n y/l/n?” The girls look cheekily at each other, before smiling at him. Which makes Coriolanus wonder what type of rumours had been flowing around about you and him. Since mostly everyone knew the last Snow heir was dating the daughter of the kings of Panem´s television industry.

“She’s rehearsing a class for new students. It’s on the second floor, you’ll hear the music…” he thanks the tanned girl before going upstairs.

She wasn’t lying. He started hearing the classical piano music. He can hear some distant and low cheering. The whole floor is full of dancers. It’s a long hall, to the right, a big studio, with a classical mural, chandeliers and the most giant mirror he’d ever seen.

The people outside the studio see him with curiosity. But he only has eyes for the ballerina dancing all across the studio.

There you are, with a coral tutu, baby pink leotard and thighs. Your pointe shoes seem new. Your cheeks look so pink and your smile is there.

He has to understand that you have become popular enough to have your own fans. Some rumors said that your mother was offering master classes at the University. And he couldn’t help but think how much your family’s name have growth since he left.

He lost count of many turns you did, but you finish cleanly, offering a beautiful view of your tutu wadding. He can’t stop smiling.

People start a round of applauses. He debates whether to get closer or not. He doesnt have any speech prepared. He doesn’t know what to say to you.

“Coriolanus?” When he turns around, he sees Clemensia Dovecote there. Her old study buddy looked older, but not in a bad way. He saw the scales on her skin. But he didnt had to ask, he knew it was because of the rainbow snakes. It just seemed weird to see her short sleeves but turtleneck, rather than her trying to cover all of her face.

“Clemensia” he greets her. Clemmie was probably your female best friend. It wasnt a surprise that suddenly the woman seemed to dislike him.

“Since when you returned?” He looks back at you again. As the music keeps playing, he just smiles. He know the way things would now work. With no how are you questions or anything like the past.

“Some weeks ago.” Clemensia looks like she’s analyzing every movement and word of him.

“Why are you here?” Her hostile tone only makes Coriolanus to act more relaxed than he already is.

“I made the promise to come back for y/n…” the woman stares at him, probably taken aback.

“She doesn’t need this, Coriolanus. She can’t have this” Clemensia had visited you at the hospital. She learned most of his lies towards you. She knew you didn’t deserved to fall again. And especially not because of him.

“I know, Clemmie. I won’t be a burden for her” the music stops, and Coriolanus decides that it’s not time to talk to you yet. So he smiles once again to Clemensia.

“I hope so. Because you already failed her once…” his smile drops. Clemensia dissapears to get inside the studio. Coriolanus stares at you one last time, before he silently walks out.

…

Before you can reach your glass of posca, a porcelain plate with your food slides on the way. A soft piece pile of fried little steaks, with melted cheese and a golden sauce of mushrooms dripping. Your stomach churns and it makes Clemensia laugh.

She had a salmon fine cut with caviar and other exotic stuff. It was a beautiful afternoon to have dinner at one of the most elegant restaurants of the Capitol Downtown.

“Bless your food.”

“Bless your food” you reply back to her.

“So, How it went the rehearsal?” You roll your eyes giggling.

“It was great, until the girls taking the masterclass appeared to see me” your father was right. After working in the production of the 10th Hunger Games, many doors opened for you. Splendid career opportunities here and there. Only that you didn’t enjoy a lot of attention.

“Are they still at the Academy” you nod.

“Rich girls who can make their parents pay the classes of course” Clemensia smiles, drinking a little bit before getting back to eat.

“Coriolanus was looking for you…” you literally stopped eating. You almost drop your fork, but you decided to hold it firmly.

“What?”

“Apparently he’s back.” She reveals. Making you close your eyes in panic.

“How? He was exiled” you say whispering. Clemmie shrugs.

“Gaul. He’s her pupil star. And with Dean Highbottom dead now…” it must’ve been great for Coriolanus to learn the man was gone. Always putting him in the lowest, it was a mark for change.

“Doesn’t matter, I won’t let this get into my way” she smiles.

“What about what your father said?” During a late lunch, you had been talking with your parents, revealing that you broke up with Coriolanus because he cheated. Your mother was shocked, but soon she joined your father to give a twisted advice. He asked if you still loved him. You answered you weren’t sure.

Then I suggest you to proceed to ignore him. Soon you’ll learn his intentions if he ever comes back. Play with him a little. Show him that nobody will laugh in the face of family like ours. Let your hands get dirty, but never show this insecurity you’re talking about.

From that day, you still wake up every morning without knowing how you actually feel about Coriolanus Snow. You know you can’t just simply forget about all the things you did with him. But you firmly pretended that he was in the past.

“I still don’t know how I feel about him.”

“Are you still in contact with his family?” You remember Tigris and Grandma’am.

“Not as much as I used to”

“Mhm. Did they ever learned what happened?” You sigh.

“Just that he opted to choose the songbird before me. And I know Tigris has her own opinion. I just never gave her the opportunity to share it.”

“With him back… probably you’ll find out sooner than later” Clemensia admits, leaving you thinking for the rest of the dinner.

Turns out that you are not ready to find out yet.

…

The first time you see him, it’s at the gardens of the University. You had lunch and wanted to have a brief walk. Through a maze of flowers and plants, you spot him on a bench. He’s very concentrated reading a book. Your eyes widen, seeing how much different he looked. The posture, the clothes, the hair, the cold look.

Something notoriously changed. And you have your suspicions. It wasn’t a coincidence that Sejanus was gone, and Lucy Gray Baird had dissapeared.

You mourned the death of Sejanus one week. You send your condolences to his parents at the funeral. And that night you can’t help but cry on your pillow. Wondering why had life slowly turned dark. In a matter of months you had experienced things you never thought you would. You lost people, you had your first heart broken. You had lost the will to do much things. But, you had to keep going. And you felt guilty, because you thought you had no right to feel like your life was hard, just for being Capitol. The districts struggled more. However, it’s not on your power to mend their lives. Just as it’s not their case to judge your life.

And now, seeing Coriolanus so firm, so calm, it makes you doubt. Sensing that there must’ve been something off about him. Something bad, like all the things he did and hid from you.

You pretend you’re looking for some papers in your bag when you walk past him. He doesn’t see you though, and you thank it.

A couple of days later, you hear for the first time the rumours about him courting Livia Cardew. It makes you feel depressed. You cry out of anger as soon as you get home.

And to your dismay, the first thing you see after turning into a room for the politics class, it’s them. Coriolanus Snow is talking to Livia just beside the door.

That’s the first time you two look at each other again. He sees the anger, discontent and so much resentment. You see the questioning, curiosity and admiration in his eyes.

Nothing else is said because you break the gazes, you walk inside the room with your head high, and your presence is so evident that even Livia has to look at you. Taking too much time to see your beautiful heels.

A week later, you are having a good time with your friends. Festus and Lysistrata are there with you and Clemensia. You are talking all about the upcoming winter gala held at the biggest auditorium in the Capitol. Everyone is excited because it’s the great opportunity to make contacts and eat the most delicious food.

“Is your mother inviting Coriolanus?” Lysistrata asks with curiosity. You roll your eyes at the subject.

“I hope not. I haven’t even spoken with him ever since he came back” everyone knew you had broke up with him. But only Clemensia knew the details.

“Well, apparently he is courting Livia now” Festus mocks, making everyone laugh. Not that any of you had something personal against Livia. But she wasn’t the most brilliant star at the Academy. Now not certainly at University.

“Why Livia?” Clemmie asks laughing.

“Perhaps it’s becase how naïve she is”

“Or because of her father’s inheritance” you add.

“I don’t think so. He’s now the heir of the Plinth fortune” Festus remarks with dessaproval, which makes you feel angered.

“He’s dancing on Sejanus’ grave” your words create some minutes of silence for your late friend. Even when Festus and Lysistrata had made fun of him for being District and the ways of his parents to go up, at the end, they were friends. And now his absence had created a void.

“Ambitious and annoying. Just like his father…” Lysistrata comments sipping on her glass of water.

“How unfortunate. If he had stayed with you, we wouldn’t be talking bad things about him behind his back” you sigh at Clemensia’s words.

“Speaking of the king…” when you look past Lysistrata seated on her chair, you spot Coriolanus. He was wearing a dark grey suit, he looked so fine you had to admit. But soon you look away, the sudden memories of your last days with him haunt you.

After spotting his old friends and ex lover in a table at the cafeteria, he start walking towards there. Trying to make his first moves to go back to normality.

“Yeah. He would’ve been seated beside me right now. But he consciously choose the songbird before me. At least he’s refining himself a little bit with Livia” your friends turn to look at you in shock after the revelation, Clemmie only rises her brows as she sips her water silently, hiding her smile. By the time Coriolanus arrives the table, you’re gone and he curses himself for not walking faster. Festus and Lysistrata are shocked, making him furrow his brows in confusion.

“Did I missed something?” He asks.

“You had an affair with your tribute?” Lysistrata asks back in disgust. Coriolanus sees Clemensia giggling in silence with her head down. Probably enjoying his embarrassment.

His silence meets the requirement for an answer. One that they take as yes.

“And now y/n knows about you and Livia” Coriolanus frowns ever deeper after looking at Clemensia.

“There’s no Livia and I” He responds firmly. Even disgusted to her his name along the least smart girl of his finances class.

“Oh but everyone believes so. That you’re courting her…” he rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“I’m just talking to her because we’re partners for some stupid research paper” the silent sipping on their drinks at the same time is ridiculous to Coriolanus. He just stares at them annoyed.

“Do me a favor and leave her alone, Coriolanus. You were gone to go to your nobody girl from 12, but I stayed and saw her struggling in that hospital bed” Clemensia speaks confidently. Making the blonde to feel threatened.

So he realises that maybe you could have feelings for him still. And that this rumors could have weight on you. He curses himself. Even without realizing, he’s still hurting you.

“I won’t lose the girl twice, Clemmie. Have a good day” he says with a fake smile before leaving the table in shock.

He had to quicken the pace of his proximity with you. He had to make you see he never stopped caring for you.

…

There’s a shattering mess of broken glasses. You quickly move away from the crime scene, looking for your pills, immediately swallowing two.

Your mother’s assistant opens the door, asking for you with concern.

“Is everything okay, miss y/n?” You turn to look a the woman.

“I accidentally threw the jar. Sorry…” Millie is in her mid thirties. She was your mother’s confidant, and slowly yours too. She sees the news paper in the floor, half of it drenched from the broken jar that had water. She can see the title, The Snow heir tights the knot with the Cardew family?

“I’ll call the maids. Don’t worry” she says looking back at you.

“Thanks Millie.” She smiles, closing the door behind.

You breathe loudly, sighing in stress. Of course you had purposely thrown the water jar because of the news paper. A portrait picture of Livia is placed perfectly aligned with one of Coriolanus. Between some paragraph there’s your name too. But you don’t dare to see why.

You may pretend to be okay to the public eye, but you’re still drowning in the same feelings you got after Coriolanus Snow revealed his lies to you.

It’s almost like if he was still mocking you. Showing everyone how easy he had played with you. And how easy he got rid of you.

Someone had to pay. No, not someone, he. He, himself, Coriolanus Snow had to fail. Only that way you would feel slightly better. Only that way your tears would stop being for him.

The first chance you had, you would take it.

…

While you loved pursuing a dancing career along the production stuff. You still had some duties regarding politics and economy. Which is why you ended up at the submissions office so early in the morning. To send a petition.

You end up at at a messy office. A man is there, moving folders and other type of papers. There’s three baskets that can clearly be read as; approved, denied, pending.

However, you quickly look away to smile at the man who’s sitting behind the chair.

“Good morning.” Your smile is contagious to everyone. The man replies with a warm greeting.

“Good morning, miss y//l/n. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you could hand me a petition form to send” he nods, standing up, leaving the mess of papers behind.

“I can, just let me go and print the form. It won’t take too long…” you smile again, letting him go outside the office.

As you wait, you start seeing the racks of boxes and more boxes filled with yellow and lined papers.

Your curiosity grows, making you look at the baskets on the desk.

You see at first glance some graduation petitions, letters, etc. You are still curious to see why some papers where pending. So you look at the door one last time before diving into the papers. You don’t know the first students mentioned. Until you see the third yellow folder, where you can see a white strip with black letter saying Coriolanus Snow.

You open the folder, seeing what it was all about. A petition to start a political campaign at the age of 19. You frowned. He was good at writing. Even with letters he had some charm. But you know he never beated you to be precise and delicate. You always heard Grandma’am saying he would one day be president. But you never seriously discussed it with him. Now you know it was real. And you can’t help but feel an enormous amount of remorse.

He doesn’t deserve it. He had lost everything once, but the way he was earning everything was through breaking you, and probably others you’ll never knew about. Even when it would make Tigris and Grandma’am happy, you slip the folder into the basket of denied. You don’t feel nothing as you do it.

In fact, you offer the sweet man a smile when he comes back with the form for you. You thank him and then walk out.

…

Coriolanus swears he didn’t intend to bump into your father at the bank. Your father was a frivolous man, but since he knew him, he greeted Coriolanus with respect.

The blonde was taken aback when he invited him to have dinner at your house. And he couldn’t say no.

Your house is the same. At least from the outside, because inside, there’s more color. Coriolanus sees your mother. And she offers him a smile before he leans to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Coriolanus, look at you. You look very handsome!” His cheeks warm, as your father giggles, handing his coat to a maid.

“I ran into him at the bank. Where’s y/n, dear?” Your mother laughs, rolling her eyes.

“That girl. I haven’t seen her out of her room since midday” the sudden sound of your heels gets noticed.

“I’m here” you say, coming down the stairs, putting some earrings on. Coriolanus notices the grey dress and black heels along the red tights. A diadem on your head and a bright smile that soon dissapears as you spot him in your house.

“Look who I found earlier” you sigh, standing straight.

“I see…” Your parents can see the way you correct your posture, showing how uncomfortable you are.

“We’re having dinner…” you ignore Coriolanus and his deep gaze on you.

“I can’t stay for dinner. I have rehearsals and I promised Clemmie to go to her birthday dinner party” they exchange looks. And Coriolanus is at the verge of smiling at the way you are making up an excuse to leave. Running away from him.

“Are you meeting with Jan before?” Coriolanus head almost pops to look at your father. And you don’t know if you should smile. Jan was your dance partner, he would dance with you at the gala. He was older, very handsome. And you wished he wasn’t off limits from you. Because you easily could admit your attraction towards him.

“Can you at least stay for some drinks?” You shrug at your mother, accepting your purse from a maid. You ignore Coriolanus and his way of looking at you, almost petrified.

His head was spinning, he needed to know who the hell was Jan.

“Unless you want me to do horrible at the Winter Gala, no. I cannot stay, mother” she sighs, tilting her head towards your father. He understands, your father was the one who convinced you to ignore Coriolanus and play with him.

“Well, that’s fine. Just be polite and say goodbye to Coriolanus.” You nod, watching them leave inside the long corridor to enter the dinning table.

You remain quiet, looking down at your purse to avoid his eyes.

“You look lovely” he says, breaking the ice.

“Thank you.”

It’s the first time you two talk since months ago.

“I heard you want to start your political campaign” you opt to pretend you are okay and you can face him with confidence.

“I did. But the idiots of the council rejected my essay. Guess it’ll give me more time to focus on university.” You nod, grabbing a pair of gloves from inside the purse. You want to smile so badly. He would never know you were the reason of his failed first steps in the politic of Panem.

“Anyways… How you’ve been?”

“I’m fine, Coriolanus.” the way you sound tired. Like tired of him makes him uncomfortable. But he tries to keep his best smile too.

“Who is Jan?” He asks almost too seriously. You smile politely at him

“No one of your business, Snow” you calling him by his last name takes him very aback.

“You know, I just hoped that… you know. Maybe we could start off again… like friends of course” you giggle, lowering your head. He frowns confused.

“Miss y/n, Trevor is waiting in the car for you” the butler say appearing from the side door, you thank him and he leaves again.

“I don’t think there’s a way to start again. You already failed me once, Coriolanus.” You admit, putting on the gloves with a bittersweet smile on your face. You turn to pat his cheek, and he swears he’s about to melt. He lounged for your touch since the moment he left you at the hospital. He closes his eyes, hoping to slow down time and felt your cold touch.

But you move away your hand. He opens his eyes and sees you putting the last pair of the gloves on. You walk towards the door.

“You know where the dinning table room is.” And with that, you are gone.

…

Your father gave him the green light to court you again. Coriolanus had to swear that he would never cause you any type of pain, or else, your father would destroy his career before it officially started.

That was more than enough for him. Since that day, slowly, he had been greeting you almost every day, at Univeristy and when you ecountered him and Tigris in a furniture store. You personally invited her to the Winter gala, and Tigris agreed to not share the news about the invitation. But to the young Snow woman, it was a surprise that your father had already invited Coriolanus to the gala.

Soon the day came. As usual the gala opened with the performance of an specific play, than everyone celebrated in the hall with fine dining, and everyone gossiped as auctions happened. It had been a couple of weeks, very busy ones. Probably it was even more important than the arts gala on March. But for this special occasion you had rehearsed a lot to be an elegant black swan.

You smile at your own reflection at the mirror, the black tutu was gorgeous. The crown you had to use was very intriguing. And the black makeup made you feel very confident.

“I came as soon as I could” Clemensia suddenly opens the door of your dressing room. She looks agitated, but she looked amazing on a beige dress and her hair in half ponytail.

“You look very pretty” she thanks you.

“But look at you. You are going to be amazing.” She sits and both start gossiping.

“Your father invited Coriolanus.” It makes you roll your eyes tired. But you are having a heartache.

“I’m… not sure if I don’t feel anything about him” Clemmie leaves her glass of champagne.

“The newspaper rumour affected you. Right?” Slowly, you nod. Too embarrassed to look at her in the eye. But Coriolanus had been really good. He smiled at you at any chance he could. Some days he would join you and your friends and he was fun, you had to bite your tongue to avoid giggling. And Clemensia had seen it too.

“I can’t blame you. I was there since the beginning…” your friend had seen the courting, the first awkward hand holding, how you two formed a strong connection. And Coriolanus left you at the hospital.

“You two had a beautiful bond. And he broke it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss him” Clemmie goes to hug you.

“Pa’ said to keep playing with him, to ignore him. But I’m tired, I just want to heal” she nods, letting you hide your face on her shoulder.

“You want my advice?” You nod.

“Do not force anything. Be polite to him, but avoid giving him any chance yet. As you heal, you’ll find the answer; if you should let him have another chance or not”

A man knocks. When Clemensia opens the door, he receives a bouquet of white roses.

You could recognize those roses anywhere. You get closer, taking the attached note.

Grandma’am and Tigris didn’t know what flowers to cut.

Good luck.

You try to hide your smile. But it’s impossible.

…

The whole place is full. Coriolanus takes a seat with Tigris besides.

“I talked with her yesterday. She said she was very nervous about this one” Tigris says. Coriolanus knows she’s talking about you.

“She’s always perfect, she shouldn’t feel nervous.” His mind was only thinking about Jan. He did his research. And learned he was a former dancer of your mother’s institution. It made him mad.

“Have you thought about inviting her to have dinner?” Coriolanus shakes his head.

“Not yet, I haven’t talked enough to her”

“Well, hurry up. Grandma’am wanted to see you married by the age of 20” she says laughing. But it doesn’t make Coriolanus smile.

“Oh look, it’s starting” Tigris squealed with excitement. The curtains lifted and the show started.

For the first twenty minutes, he’s so bored. Nothing exciting happens. He thinks the white swan is boring. And for the first time, he meets Jan. It makes him feel jealous.

It only worsened when you appeared on stage. Your black attire makes him go mad. He had never seen you in anything like that. He gets very invested in your scenes. He feels the emotion you are trying to project. Sassy, cheeky and attractive. You succeed to him.

Unfortunely, Jan had to appear too. And Coriolanus has to sigh, dealing with the scene of the man holding you to make you gracefully spin. The music doesn’t help, it holds the sense of you and Jan dancing together. Coriolanus knows dancing has a lot to do with acting. But he doesn’t enjoy the looks of lust and desire between you and your partner. The worst part? He had to seat and watch it for at least fifteen minutes.

His head malfunctions. But he already is telling Tigris he needs to the restroom.

It’s a lie. He goes to the dressing rooms. And his luck was so big that he found the one with the name of Jan. He slowly made his way inside. The place was so old that he didn’t need to check for security or anything, but he wanted to make sure nobody would see him in real time.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to accomplish, but surely he wanted to get rid of the man who apparently had your attention now. Your mother had said you and Jan worked very well. And now, with him seeing the performance, he was more than sure he couldn’t let it move forward.

His hand went to his pocket, and his eyes widened. He felt the little glass tubes of narcotics. The same he used to kill Casca Highbottom.

He thought about it just for a little. Was it worth it? Getting rid of a man just to have easier access to you.

Maybe.

Then he questioned how bad he wanted you back. Coriolanus had missed you since day one. He knew he would never love anyone else. He knew no one would treat him as you once did.

So he poured the liquid from one of the tubes inside the water flask resting on the vanity. And before leaving, Coriolanus slipped two more tubes inside the bag that contained Jan’s clothes.

“You took very long at the restroom” Tigris tells her cousin when he came back.

“There was a long line”

…

This time, is different. You smile and you can hear the big round of applauses as you make reverence to go off from stage. You were the last one and the curtains came down finally.

Once you are free, you have all the time in the world to breathe. Other dancers and production staff members congratulate you. But it’s Coriolanus Snow the one who makes you frown confused. He was backstage, looking at you with a soft smile. His classic black suit makes you go back and remember about the Reaping ceremony. How happy that day initiated, and how bad it turned out.

“Coriolanus.” You greet him, he can see a tiny smile on your face.

“You were amazing. As usual, of course”

“Thank you. And for the flowers, they were gorgeous. As usual, of course” he’s so surprised that you were talking to him with some humor sense. Both of you laugh and it feels… warm, and natural.

“It’s nothing. But.. perhaps we could just sit together at dinner?” Your cheeks warmth. You think about your confusing feelings, what your father and Clemensia respectively said. Sitting with him once wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Yeah, we could.” He smiles, and even when his hair changed, his deeper voice. For some seconds you can see the boy you once loved.

And he almost feels like he was seventeen again. Watching you dance backstage, ready to greet you with a kiss. He sees the girl who helped him so much. And he just know all the horrible things he’d done were worth it.

“I-…” but his words stay lingering in the air. Both of you hear a female scream. Coriolanus and you exchange looks before starting to walk where the sound was heard. In the corridor of the dressing rooms you see a woman lingering to an open door. Immediately you recognize it’s Jan’s room. You quickly make it there, through the pain of your caged foot inside the pointe shoe. Coriolanus goes behind you, already sensing the scene inside.

He hears you gasp in shock, covering your mouth and tears forming on your eyes.

You are in shock, you sob, unable to blink.

Jan is on the floor, pale and blood on his mouth. He’s dead.

And as much as the scene shocks you, you are trained to entertain the Capitol, so you turn to them random woman.

“Go and find Millie. Tell her about this and do keep your mouth shut. Nobody can know beside my parents. Understood?” You indicate the woman with a broken voice. She nods in horror dissapearing through the corridor. When she leaves you can finally cry.

When you don’t know what else to do, you are holding onto Coriolanus Snow. You find comfort on his chest. And he immediately holds you back.

As much as you hate to admit it, you feel you are home in his arms.

With one hand, he closes the door of the dressing room and returns to completely be there to hug you. He smiles, knowing he’s already slowly winning.

Because when your parents find out what happened, they make you put a cute black and green velvet gown with crystals. They make you pretend nothing happened and you sit with Coriolanus and Tigris. Ignoring the upcoming rumors, and certainly not respecting the sudden death of Jan.

…

Two days later, Coriolanus finds you seating on a bench. You are eating a sandwich, looking lost. He takes a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry about Jan. It happened so suddenly” he doesn’t feel sorry. Opposite of what he felt about Sejanus and Lucy Gray. However, he firmly believes it was the only way.

“He was a wonderful man. A devoted dancer, with principales. He had a wife in District 3.” Coriolanus coughs. He wasn’t expecting that. That little detail wasn’t on his research. Something twisted inside him, but he still didn’t regret or felt sorry.

“He didn’t seem the type to use narcotics…he must’ve been very stressed out” you add. Oblivious that you are talking with Jan’s murderer.

“Are you sure you are okay?” You roll your eyes sighing.

“No. I’m not okay, Coriolanus. Not since that cursed Reaping ceremony day”

“I’m just trying to be here for you” he admits, and it’s your breaking point.

“WHY DO YOU CARE NOW? YOU FAILED ME WHEN I MOST NEEDED YOU!” He looks around to see if anyone was around. But the place is empty.

“I know I committed many errors but-“

“BUT NOTHING, CORIOLANUS.” You spit out with such anger, that makes him frown.

“You violated the trust, loyalty, respect and love we had for each other. You dissapear after making me have a damn breakdown. Only to go after that girl. And now you appear trying to mend things?” You won’t tell him about his denied petition and what you did. You just want to share all you couldn’t before at his face.

“Do you know how many doctor appointments I’ve had since you left?” He looks down.

“Twelve. And I have to swallow four different pills every day. Only to stay sane. And who’s fault it is? The hunger games, the galas, dancing, Lucy Gray Baird. But specially, you” when he looks up at you again, you are crying.

“If you really want to be here for me, you need to stay away and leave me alone.” You finall state, looking at his blue eyes one last time, before standing from the bench and walking away.

That wasn’t your day. Neither the following ones. Your pointe shoes died and your size was out of stock. The food took such a long time. Your parents left to have an audience in District 1 and your evening was to listen to music and cry.

But certainly what broke you once again was a phone call.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Y/n?”

“Tigris?” You ask. Her voice sounding worried.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Is everything okay? You sound alarmed, dear” you are able to hear her sighing.

“It’s Grandma’am. She’s sick. Coriolanus is busy at the Univeristy and the doctor I requested hasn’t appeared” your heart beats faster.

“She has a strong fever and it’s been like that for hours.” She adds, finally sounding more worried.

“Tigris, calm down. I’ll call my cousin, he’s one of the most prepared doctors around. I’m going there with you in the meantime” you reassure her, already taking off your nightgown and taking out a dress and coat from your closet.

“Thank you, y/n. I truly appreciate this, thank you.” You hang up after saying everything was going to be okay.

…

You see how changed is the penthouse. Fully renovated, with bright lights that contrasted the dark blue wallpapers. But you find interesting how the olive paint you brought is still there. And your portrait from the day of your eighteen birthday is still with the family pictures.

You wait outside the room of the elder woman, as your cousin is checking Grandma’am. You have to hold the urge from biting your nails. A maid offers you posca, but you can’t think about drinking at the time.

The front doors opens and seconds later, Coriolanus is there. He seems surprised to see you there. Since the day of your argument, he hadn’t see you. He tried calling you but your butler said you were out for the weekend to your grandparents house.

“Y/n?” He asks, dropping his coat on a chair.

“Tigris called me. She wanted a doctor for your grandmother” he worried a bit.

“Is she not feeling better. When I left she seemed better…” he says hurrying to go to her room, but you stop him, grabbing by his forearm.

“Don’t. My cousin is already there with her. I’m waiting for the results” Coriolanus only stares at you. He wants to smile. You came only to help his family once again.

“You look very lovely” you smirk, looking at his window with your arms crossed.

“Really? Your grandmother is sick and you are here saying how lovely I look today?” He smiles.

“You told me to wait. What else can I do?”

“How cynical of you” you respond coldly. After all you told him, he was acting like it never happened.

The door of the room opened and Tigris came out with your cousin.

He revealed Grandma’am was having a little difficulties in her lungs, which made her prone to catch a flu. He gave her some strong medicines and promised it would be fine with some days of resting.

After some minutes, you are also ready to leave.

You say good night to the Snow cousins and leave.

“Y/n. Wait…” Tigris comes out. Stopping you some feet away of the now working elevator.

“I-… Thank you.” She slowly says hugging you.

“It’s nothing, Tigris. I told Coriolanus once I would always help the people I love” Tigris suddenly feels so sad to hear you say that. She really hoped you and her little cousin had a different ending.

“He still loves you so much.” You fight harder against the tears when she says that.

“I know. And I still love him too. But… he never apologized. And I’m not ready to let go my resentment towards him.” You admit looking away.

“Although things did’t work out for you and Coriolanus, I really appreciate and care for you, y/n” se almost whispers in your ear. And your eyes water.

“I feel the same, Tigris. I really do” you reply slowly, controlling your voice to not sound cracked.

“I’ll come back in some days” she nods.

She lets you go and you finally head out. Not noticing that Coriolanus heard everything.

He never apologized.

That night, you are reading on the living room when your butler walks in.

“Coriolanus Snow is asking for you in the telephone” you thank him, walking bare feet towards the kitchen telephone.

“Yes, Mr. Snow?” You ask.

“I just wanted to thank you for coming today. You didn’t have to and yet you appeared here” you sigh.

“Whatever that happened between us has nothing to do with my relationship with Tigris and your mother” now he sighs, from his office, in complete darkness.

“About that y/n…” your hands go numb, and panic floods you.

“You don’t know how much I’m-“

“I know.” You interrupt him, cracked voice and you hang up.

“Sorry” he says through the dead line.

That night, you read his letters. The ones he sent when he was a peacekeeper at the 12. Where he seemed to have projected his more vulnerable and emotional side of his heart. Maybe he had been drunk, maybe Lucy Gray wrote them for him. You’d never know, and you preferred to ignore the idea of him actually feeling sorry.

…

A week later you’re applauding for Grandma’am as she sings for you. You smile, changing her pillow case and complementing how much of a sweet voice she had.

It’s getting late, and you must return to your house.

After wishing Grandma’am sweet dreams, you carefully close her door and you walk with the old pillow case away.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Tigris asks with a sweet smile, taking the pillow case from you. Coriolanus is seated, drinking something as he carefully looks at you. You ignore him.

“I must decline, dear. I have to go back and pack some things” she frowns, stopping to put some plates on the dinning table.

“Pack?”

“Yes. I think I’ll spend the holidays at District 1. My mother is opening a new studio and she’s going to need help. And well, if everything goes right, I might even stay there” Tigris almost drops the pillow case. And Coriolanus almost chokes on his drink.

“What? Why?. What about university? The galas? Your production job for the hunger games” you shrug with an honest smile.

“Lately the Capitol life has... it has been a burden. I want to live a peaceful life. I want to heal” Tigris sends daggers with her eyes to Coriolanus. He coughs, uncomfortable.

“CORIOLANUS!” Grandma’am calls the man, you only sigh. And slowly, he stands up to to the woman. He hears you keep talking with Tigris. And he wants to do something to stop you from leaving. Now he can give you the life he couldn’t before.

“Is everything alright, Grandma’am?” The elder woman looks at him from her bed.

“Are you really letting that young woman to walk away again?” Coriolanus frowns.

“What?”

“You’ve heard me.” Even in her sick days, she was firm.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore” Grandma’am shrugs.

“I don’t think so. Her eyes shine sadly at every mention of you. She was part of the family after all.” Coriolanus remains quiet. But he admits to himself that’s what he missed the most.

“I think she always waited for an apology. One that never came.” His heart pounds very fast. He tried, and you hung up.

“What do you suggest me to do?” Grandma’am smiles, coughing tiredly.

“You run to wherever she goes and beg on your knees. One time you show her vulnerability and you’ll never do it again. We, women, only want real love, stupid love. You show her that stupid love once and you can silently do it for the rest of your again”

“You already won the money and respect. You’re just missing out the girl” Coriolanus sweats, but when he turns to look at her grandmother again, she nods, reassuring him.

“Go. Get her back, Coriolanus” without saying anything back, he leaves.

When he enters the dinning room, he only sees two plates of food. He looks at Tigris confused.

“Where’s y/n?” She shrugs, taking a seat.

“She just left.”

Coriolanus runs. He actually runs out of his penthouse and when the elevator starts taking to much time, he decided to choose the stairs as his getaway. He feels sweaty and agitated, but as he goes down, he can’t help but feel slightly happy, the adrenaline of making it on time make him hurry.

“Y/N!” He yells your name once he makes it to the lobby, where he can see you turning back to see him.

You are waiting for Trevor when he appears running towards you.

And before you can even blink or breathe, he gets on his knees.

“Coriolanus Snow. What are you doing?” You ask confused and blushed.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“I’m sorry about all the stupid things I did. I’m sorry about letting you down. I’m sorry for ruining our relationship. For letting you in that hospital bed and return to do everyhting but apologize to you” you look at him perplexed, not believing his words.

“I can’t lose you again. Because I know you’re the last and only person I’ll love. I won’t trust anyone else. And nobody would have ever looked down at me like you did when I had nothing” you sigh, feeling the tears coming again. You know he’s not lying. You knew him so well that you sense it.

“If you let me. To give me another chance, I’ll do things right. I will never fail you again in life. You’ll be the only person I’ll cherish and show love.” He offers you his hand, and he looks very suppliant.

You blink quickly to soothe the tears. And you know he doesnt deserve you. But aren’t the best person, so maybe you two were actually meant to be together.and that’s the only viable reason to why you want to let your heart freely beat for him again.

“Please don’t go, y/n” he whispers, waiting for your answer. You sigh, slowly and shaking, but you end up taking his hand.

“You’ll better be the most perfect lover of the history of Panem, then” he wraps your fingers together, and stands up.

“I promise, I swear” he knows the memory of Lucy Gray would always follow him. As well of all the deaths he had caused. But nothing compared to the joy of him kissing you again.

Your lips welcome him in the most sweet way. And he finds himself smiling through the kiss, gently holding you closer to him.

It’s in the start of the Road of Hope in the Capitol where Coriolanus Snow had his fully owned penthouse. Where he had nothing, and now had won everything.

…

Time flies, things had changed, probably for the better. You made Coriolanus keep fighting for a good and healthy relationship. Slowly, he made you completely fall in love again. And although there was certain spark missing, you knew it would never come back. However, you had also accepted that both of you had grown up.

The late talks were mature now. Talking about the future of Panem, planning dinners together. The kisses were more passionate, unlike the softness that was all over your early relationship. The sex was harder rather than slow and sweet like the beginning. Coriolanus would like to leave many hickeys scattered across your body, make a wet mess of saliva and fluids. He loved feelings your almond nails leave gentle scratches across his pale back.

But certainly, the biggest change was the way you two were handling a life together.

After turning twenty, you got married. Soon Coriolanus bought the house he always wished to give you. The one with black and white tiles floor, beige walls and big stairs.

By the first week in, he had done many refurbishments and he had fucked you in every room, every corner and every surface of the house.

Till the day you turned twenty-two. By that time, you had almost ditched your dancing career. Sometimes you still had some chances to perform on galas. But Coriolanus convinced you to focus on public services and the production of the hunger games. Dr. Gaul had officially retired, and it was going to be the first year of Coriolanus as a game maker. Things had really changed.

But everything seemed fine.

“Dear, Are you ready?” You turn to look at your husband, who waits on the frame of the door.

“Just one moment” you run to slip into your silver heels before grabbing your purse.

Trevor kept his job as your chauffeur and Millie was now your private secretary. Sometimes you hated how formal your life had become. Especially now that Coriolanus had some plans in mind.

As soon as you arrive to the fancy patio from a million-dollar man house, many women eye you and Coriolanus.

“Remind me what are we doing here?” You ask him. He holds your hand tightly, smiling at many of the invited people.

“I’m assuming the role of game maker. You are giving a speech about the improvements for the 14th Hunger Games, my dear” you nod, clutching onto his cold hand harder. Both of you were kind of the sensation around the Capitol. You know how they whisper about your dress and your husband’s physic.

“You’re going to be fine. You always choose the right words. And your voice can charm anyone here” he whispers on your ear, pressing a soft kiss on your temple.

“Thank goddess I’ve been studying the constitution. Or else these men would bury me” Coriolanus laughs. Soon you enter the actual event. With long white tables, candles and everyone dressed either on red or black.

“Men around here don’t know how smart my wife is” he says shrugging, remembering how many honors you received from university. Some of the wives ask you to join them. You wave hello to them before leaning to your man.

“Do not make me jealous or leave me alone during the speech.” You firmly say to him.

“Of course not, my love”

“Love you.” And with one last kiss, you walk away.

For the rest of the night. You feel uneasy. Because you succeeded with the speech. But once you read the part from Coriolanus, you are at the verge of babbling.

He shared some of his initial proposals for the games. Like lowering the age of the tributes, increasing the obstacles in the arena, using more mutts, allowing weapons, and making the interviews with Lucky Flickerman longer.

It had been a long time since you think about the games so much. But that guilt you felt after seeing Coriolanus as mentor, never left. And after that dinner, everyone claps for your husband and you, after being considered as the couple of the next generation for Panem.

In the privacy of your new home, you constantly zone out to think about it. You can’t ask Coriolanus to stop the games, but he could make some changes.

You knock swiftly on his door.

“Come in.” You walk in and he drops the papers he was signing to smile at the sight of you.

“Hello, you.” he says cheekily.

“Hello, you’.” You reply. He indicates you to seat on his lap and you do so. His arms lock around you, hands resting on your back.

“Are you coming to bed anytime soon?” You ask.

“I just need to sign some things, darling” he watches you frown, and he won’t say you look older, because you don’t. But you certainly look wiser, mature and more like a woman rather than a girl.

“I’ve been thinking about the games” He’s all ears now. He knows you had some specific opinions. You had said in your first interview how brutal the games were.

“What about them?”

“I would never ask you to stop the games. But…” you stop, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“But what, my dear?”

“Don’t you think those tributes are humans? Yes, the Districts deserve to be reminded of the consequences of their acts. But most of the tributes are kids. Who don’t even understand everything that conveys a war.” Coriolanus sighs, trying to choose the correct words to answer you.

“What are you suggesting?” He tries to sound calm, but the mere subject makes him a little irritated.

“I don’t know… Maybe giving them more opportunities?” He giggles, caressing the skin on your hips.

“Giving them opportunities means going soft on them. And going soft on them could trigger a new rebellion” this time you sigh, trying to persuade him by brushing his hair, softly grasping his chin.

“Not like that, Coryo. I mean… raising the majority age of the tributes. Giving them at least the chance to train. To eat a proper meal on the last night. To show who they are one last time before they’re sent to die” Coriolanus would always believe that you’re only one weakness was your humanity. How you always turned to see down on others, feeling guilty from being born with all the commodities.

So, he tries to ignore it. He tries to see your suggestions as a way to punish the tributes harder. Give them everything to then killing them.

So, he smiles, urging you to kiss him. You reply immediately, holding him closer to feel the heated proximity.

“I could arrange some changes. Would that make you feel better?” You nod on his lips, smiling.

“Now let me finish this before meeting you in bed. And I expect you have this thing off before I get there” he says grabbing your nightgown. You laugh with a potent blush, gently pushing him away.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly. In two days, we start the tour, we will be very tired to make love daily as we do now” you roll your eyes, almost running away ad your husband laughs, making fun of your embarrassment.

“This is madness. I’m going to bed” you say getting out of his office.

“Don’t forget about what I said!” He yells, making you smile in love as you leave upstairs, wishing good night to the maids and butler. For the record, you do not forget about your husband’s petition.

…

The best part of the house is the rooftop in your opinion. A terrace with cristal walls and ceilings that had a gorgeous view of the Capitol. A view that included some monuments and the snowy mountains surrounding the city.

You had a little bar there, an eccentric dining table and some couches with colorful cushions.

Grandma’am made you take some of his roses so you could start your own garden. That brought tears to your eyes. But now, it was only you and Tigris there.

You asked the chef to make some vegetables and creams as your sister-in-law arrived for dinner. Coriolanus and you were set to leave the next morning for his political campaign tour.

“Have you packed everything?” Tigris asks.

“Yes. I wish I could take Trevor with me. But only Millie will be able to come” you say smiling. Tigris notices how you constantly look at the door, hoping to see Coriolanus entering.

“Have you told him?” You shake your head at the woman.

“Not yet. Probably by the time we arrive District 4. We have good memories from there” Tigris smiles. She was really excited when you got back together with Coriolanus. She even made your wedding dress. And now she was so proud of the career you two were making.

“Sorry for the delay. I was arguing with some incompetent who cancelled the delivery of our new chandeliers” Tigris rolls her eyes as your husband cheekily smiles.

“Dinner isn’t ready yet, anyways” you say patting his back as he takes a seat beside you.

“You shouldn’t be stressing over the tour. Your dear wife must’ve prepared the most wonderful speeches for you to say” Coriolanus smiles, turning to give you a peck on the nose, making you laugh.

“It’s not that, Tigris. It’s the time that’s freaking me out. I don’t want to be gone for almost two months.” You sigh, trying to keep everything together. You just pray that the tour goes smoothly.

“Each district will host you with all commodities” it’s a lie. Coriolanus isn’t ready to go to District 12 again. Where his father died, where he committed the worst decisions of his early life. He knows those days will be a little sour. But he’s willing to play pretend very well for you.

“It’s going to be fine. Pardon me, dear” Coriolanus says after seeing your face of over thinking. His wife is so smart that she’s probably wondering the same as him. And that’s the least he needs of.

You take his hand, before hearing the food has arrived. The air changes, the dinner flows happily as you talk and gossip with Tigris and your husband. It’s a great dinner actually.

Maybe he broke your heart when you were teenagers. But you delayed his political campaign for four years. Maybe he had looked too much at Lucy Gray Baird, but at the end it would only be you.

You could’ve done better to get rid of that guilt for participating in the hunger games, but you just realize that maybe you didn’t because you are not a good person either.

Even so, every morning, you wake up in his arms as he fulfilled his promise of never failing you again.

You just hope that the tour, the upcoming games and everything else doesn’t get into your way. Nothing can be a recoil. Not when Coriolanus Snow’s first child rests peacefully in your womb.

The future was uncertain. But your past and present along him always seemed like… a hatred road.

_____________________________________________

fyi, in my head, if reader hadn’t delayed Coriolanus political emergence, the second rebellion would’ve started earlier and probably it wouldn’t have been successful. (Basically it would’ve been like a second time “dark days” situation and then back to reconstruction again)

Taglist: @dear-bunnyboo @daydreamerprocrastinator @lecrercsgirlshhs @athanasia-day @devils-blackrose @reader-bookling123 @cookielovesbook-akie @justacaliforniandreamer @m1ndbrand @blairfox04 @darktrashsoulbear @fartybobabutt @diannana @iwantosleep @sarysuniverse @unclecrunkle @f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @didneyworld13 @imguce @angelscrime @impeterporker @lem122 @cryaka @ietss @michelleisheres-blog @capsiclesworldsblog @circe143

#coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #corio snow #coriolanus snow #tbosas

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deadbeat-motel · 5 months ago

Text

ᑕᕼEᖇᖇIᗷOᗰᗷ ᗩᑎᗪ ᔕIᖇᑭEᑎTIOᑌᔕ ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

The last two designs for the main cast. With these two done, I can finally work on miscellaneous characters that I've been eyeing the most.

Again, thoughts below the cut:

My issues with their Original designs:

Sir Pentious:

I thought I would only have one thing to say about him (the unnecessary eyes) since he was my favorite in the entire original cast but having taken a closer look at him for this, I saw a lot of things that bothers me.

Too many eyes. specifically the lower half of his body has too many eyes and it seems detrimental to him. It's kind of painful to think about it since I do not think we ever see those eyes close. Is he just slithering on the ground with those exposed eyes? That's got to be irritating at best and damaged at worst as he continuously slithers on them.

There are eyes on the bowtie and the hat? There are already 4 extra eyes on his hood, so why have even more? I get that the original Pentious design was basically a monsterous amalgamation of eyes but the eye thing could have been scrapped altogether.

While his palette was the least red out of the cast (More so composed of yellows), it still blends in with the rest of the reds.

The claws are an unnecessary repeating design trait (Alastor and Vox notably have them too). I don't think it would've been too big of a difference to just keep his fingers fully black.

The stripes on his suit are too thick. It's called pinstripes for a reason.

I don't like how the hat is shaped to fit the head, It's awkward.

not a point, but I just wanted to say how the blue color palette works really well with him in that last episode.

CherriBomb:

She's not that bad of a design (She's sort of bland in my opinion) but it's the little small details about her that makes her so simple and also so complicated at the same time. There are so many batches of freckles scattered everywhere, little explosion lines on her skirt as well as the X on her chest, the tattoos are a jamble of random loops and bombs, and her tattering doesn't have an easy shape to consistently draw.

The thought process for these two:

Mx. Pentious:

Pentious goes by both Sir/Miss/Mx. but uses she/they pronouns.

Minimized the actual amount of eyes on her, I kept it only to her actual eyes and those on her hood.

Gave her a butterfly-shaped hood. It's nothing deep since it stems from the fact the notches in Sir Pentious' hood almost looked like one to my bad eyesight. I decided to play more into that idea.

I read some posts where people talk about how Sir Pentious should have a snout and while I understand why and fully support people giving him one, I really didn't want to add the snout to this design. It drove me crazy since I'm not a big fan of it. I tried a compromise where her head was shaped more like Phineas.

Kept the tophat but removed its eye and mouth. If I remember correctly, Viv took that from one of her co-workers from the pilot. I decided to just have it as a regular tophat.

It doesn't have all the colors, but her design does have the Neptunic flag.

I'm not sure if this even is a real snake but I based Mx. Pentious' design on this:

CherriBomb:

Scraped most of her features in exchange for a sukeban theme. I personally have zero knowledge about the punk scene in Australia.

A majority of the suggestions I received for her rough draft had something to do with the skirt. I elongated it and gave it a slit in which the magenta from the inside is able to pop out.

Thought it would be a cute detail to have her hair explode if she's angry.

----

Apologies this took too long to be posted, Life got in the way as well as the fact I was feeling shitty about Pentious' first draft. Her skin was an awkward and ugly shade of green and seeing some posts critical of Pentious' design got me to think a little bit more about what direction I'd like to move her redesign.

You could see this in the earlier rough sketches but this was how Pentious' first redesign looked like

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel redesign #deadbeat motel mrx. pentious #deadbeat motel cherribomb #deadbeat motel redesign #//I only came back from the dead to post these Neptunic Lesbians on pride month/j //#//Happy pride to everyone btw!!//

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hmslusitania · 4 months ago

Note

15 for timkon if you'd like! (“This is a lot, even for you.”)

“Oh boy,” Kon says, hesitating in the entryway to the microcave Tim’s claimed. When Steph and Cass had called him about it, he’d thought they were exaggerating. In Kon’s defence, Tim’s been on more than a few somewhat unhinged murderboard investigations in his life, and the girls’ claim that this is actually, truly, the most unsettling one he’s done, that he’s locked himself in a microcave and they’re not sure he’s been eating — and are absolutely sure he hasn’t been sleeping — had felt melodramatic in the way only Gothamites can get.

In reality, he thinks they might’ve undersold it.

“Uh, hey, buddy, whatcha doin’?” Kon asks, hovering over the piles of office document boxes that — jesus fuck, is that a LexCorp logo?

He finds Tim in the centre of the microcave next to the aforementioned murderboard, and then he kinda wishes he hadn’t. The focal image in the centre of Tim’s web of red yarn and blue yarn and green yarn and something that looks like yellow caution tape that’s been twisted into thread is… Kon.

Tim is hunched in gargoyle posture next to the murderboard, chewing on the wrong end of a pen while he stares at the board with eyes so far past unfocused and surrounded by such dark bags that Kon’s kinda a little surprised Tim hasn’t like… toppled over and passed out.

At the sound of Kon’s voice, Tim spins on the balls of his feet and hurls the pen from between his teeth at him. Kon rebuffs it with his TTK and when the pen clatters to some scattered manila folders on the cave floor, Tim frowns.

“You’re… real?” Tim asks, lifting an eyebrow to inspect him. When he talks, Kon can see the dark spot of ink on his tongue that really can’t be pleasant to taste.

“Please tell me you haven’t been hallucinating,” Kon requests, and immediately regrets it because he’s really not sure he wants the answer to that.

“Um, n—just like the squiggles in the corners of your eyes when you’re sleep dep—why are you here?” Tim asks.

“Well, this is, uh, kind of a lot, even for you?” Kon replies, and hovers closer to the one working electronic in the microcave besides the flickering overhead light: the coffee pot. There’s nothing but tarry sludge at the bottom of the pot which is definitely contributing to the acrid scent of the cave, alongside Tim’s general state of being.

“Oh,” Tim says, looking back at the murderboard and then to Kon again. He seems to finally register that the subject of his investigation is now in his personal space, because his eyes go wide in addition to glassy. “Oh.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me why I’m the subject of this, uh…” Kon trails off, gesturing at the murderboard. Tim doesn’t write his tacked-on notes in any sort of way Kon can read. It’s not actually shorthand, not the official version of it, but probably some hybrid system Tim’s developed on his own. Whether or not it’s legible to other Bats is anyone’s guess.

“Um,” Tim says, and falls off the balls of his feet to land hard on his ass on the desk where he’s been perched. Based on the way he rubs absently at his knees and rolls his ankles around, Kon gets the impression he’d been crouched like that for way too long. “You’ve been, uh, exhibiting some… uncharacteristic behaviours? For about ten months now, give or take.”

Kon blinks. “I have?”

“Yeah, your sense of humour’s shifted, because you keep finding me funnier than other people in our group,” Tim says. He reaches for the pen he’d had in his mouth, like he means to use it as a pointer stick, and remembers at the last second that he’d thrown it at Kon to test his realness. Kon picks it up and offers it to him. Tim thanks him with a distracted, dazed expression, and then points it at the red lines. “And, um, you’ve been agreeing with me more? So, like, I know you haven’t been replaced by Match this time, because that was all about him trying to argue with me and divide our team. Also, you keep looking at me more when you think I’m not looking, I had to run through so many hours of security tapes.”

Tim points to some pretty damning screen grabs of security footage from the Young Justice HQ that kind of make Kon want to die of embarrassment.

It kind of sucks that Tim is so smart that he’s noticed all of this, but has also completely failed to put it together.

“So, what’s your conclusion, detective?” Kon asks.

“I don’t… know,” Tim huffs, and rubs the heel of his hand into one of his eyes like it’s about to give up on him and he needs to fight it into submission. “And I can’t think of what happened ten months ago that would’ve started a change in behaviour or—”

“Can I give you a hint?” Kon asks, swallowing down the nerves it immediately gives him, just to offer.

Tim blinks. “Wait, you’re aware of the change in behaviour?”

“Yeah, Tim,” Kon says, only keeping himself from laughing at the consternation on Tim’s face by the skin of his teeth.

Tim looks between him and the murderboard, a deep frown on his face. “So what happened ten months ago?”

“Well, eleven months ago, you told us you’re bi,” Kon says. He folds his arms across his chest and tucks his hands under his biceps to keep Tim from noticing them shake with nerves. Not that Tim’s really in a state to notice anything at this point. “And it took me about a month to do some soul searching and figure out that I am, too?”

The furrow between Tim’s eyes gets just a little deeper, like he can’t make the math problem add up. “But… if that’s it, then why are you looking at me like…”

He trails off, staring at the board for an excruciating enough length of time that Kon seriously considers just flying away and hoping Tim’s so out of it that he won’t actually remember this conversation.

“Wait, you like me?” Tim asks, face fever-bright when he looks away from the board to stare at Kon instead.

“Only kind of, like, a lot?” Kon replies, balling his hands into fists under his arms.

“Oh,” Tim says, and finally, to Kon’s relief, his face smooths out into a smile. “Cool.”

And, mystery solved, he immediately loses power to all systems, and slumps into a deep sleep. When he starts to topple forward off the desk like a marionette with the strings cut, Kon swoops forward to catch him. There’s probably a bed somewhere in this microcave, but if there is, it’s completely buried by Tim’s boxes of files, and Kon doesn’t want to dig. He cradles Tim in his arms and carries him out of the cave into the uncharacteristically pleasant Gotham evening, and when Tim burrows closer into his chest and murmurs, “like you too,” Kon can only smile.

#kon-el #conner kent #tim drake #superboy #red robin #timkon #dc #the ghost ship scribbles

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overtaken-stream · 6 months ago

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Sweets Full Of Lies

Sanji x F!Reader

``I think you stole something from me.``

``I stole something?``

This doesn't need a warning, this happens after the drum island and It's just tooth-rotting fluff for me and me only, be grateful I'm sharing my Pookie with all of you😤

The sky is captivating, gleaming, and full of wonder as it overlooks the reflective sea below, each star lit with passion is moving along the calm waves that are dragging behind The Going Marry, gently slanting the ship to its tastes.

The watch tonight is beautiful as the cure for the country's heart dims on the horizon, scattering pink cherry blossoms across the dark and endless ocean, each piece lightens the midnight, giving hue to a brand-new kingdom.

The scenery is getting further yet, the cherry blossoms follow after the ship, leaving no space for a threat too small.

The chilly atmosphere grows distant as the island strays and the crow's nest feels ever desolate in this bitter aftermath. If it wasn't for the subtle footsteps making their way up to your location in this stillness, you would have slacked off.

A nice scent of roasted baby potatoes entices your nose as a pleased sigh leaves you, slacking off indeed.

Crows nest is not made for two people, yet, with intense and swift maneuvers he lets the plates holding the delicious food dangle on his palms, your pupils follow them, until he brings the right one near your face. You spare him and grab the food, digging in with vigor, among the bites you let out a satisfied hum.

``This is delicious Sanji!`` Delicious as always, one can taste the love and passion through the spices and the warmth of the meal.

His voice volume dismisses the late hour of the night.

``Really?! Thank you (Y/N)-chwan~♡`` Sanji sure appreciates compliments from a lady, maybe a little too much. Though you don't mind his swooning, it's certainly fun to see him become overly affectionate and energetic, a considerable change compared to his interactions with the male members of the crew.

``Thank you too, Sanji.``

After you, Sanji turns to his plate, staring into the view that brought the night chill. He doesn't waste any time as he bites into the hot meal. The silence is welcome among the stars, shining bright from the dark horizon. The obscurity brings peace, the comfort of knowing little and needing no more.

The time is but an illusion as the meal on both plates shrinks until it's consumed with no remains left. Calm is not addressed between you two, finding peace in each other's presence in enough, no words are needed.

Binoculars rest on the floor, unused, but no amount of enlargement of distant images could find the reasonable explanation for the bravery brewing as you stare at the side profile of a blond. The soft features and the clean skin mix well with the pink undertones. You know he is handsome.

You're sure most would agree to that statement. Perhaps that's the thought that picks the simple, sweet, and corny line out of your teeth. It pierces the silent atmosphere.

``Sanji.`` You watch as he turns. The dim blue eye answering your curiosity. At first glance, the cook appears yellow or black, depending on the individual. However, you'd say his soul is the color of roses, with shades of light and hot pink mixing with his pale outer layer. Yet, you can hear a green-haired man argue that his inner soul is but a burning red and orange at the back of your mind. The color of blood on the tip of a silver knife he handles with ease.

You find yourself seeing all three views. Sanji is all of them. You don't seem to mind.

You watch that eye blink twice before opening your mouth.

``... I think you stole something from me.`` You find yourself craving that shade of blush that only appears on his face whenever a compliment is given to him by a woman. You want to see the pink blush appear on that ear once more tonight, it would be such a beautiful sight next to the falling cherry blossom petals.

You watch as Sanji takes in what you said. His baby blue lights up with curiosity and focus. He thinks about what he could have stolen as he goes through the memories of today, only to come up blank.

``I stole something...?`` The confusion settles as a smile appears on your face. The man appears oblivious to your deep emotion. The wicked hidden-entertainment. He can not distinguish the extra twist added to your lips.

``I think you stole my heart, Mr. Cook.`` There's a moment of silence that's quite loud, it stretches for a while as you stare at Sanji's widened eyes, you would have compared them to dinner plates if it weren't for the fallen cigarette, that you stomped and made sure to put out. (Can't forget to pick it up later!)

His reaction is not something you've expected. The frozen state as he gazes at you is new. The blank eyes speak of such a shock that you are not sure it could be considered as an emotion, rather a process of doubting oneself, the reality, and the life itself. You're thankful it doesn't last because soon the man you are familiar with, returns.

Sanii who closes his mouth and lets the pink petals land on his head, shining and adorning him with pink light. The blush that arises on his cheeks is shy, the pupil holding a small heart as love colors the iris. Eye round and sunken, Sanji seems small, his body unmoving as he gazes at you. Tongue dripping with romance.

``...I did...?`` You didn't know that a voice could be described as small. It's almost enough to shock you into silence.

Lightly, you bite your lip. You should know better by now.

Your mouth moved. It spoke in a tone you are unfamiliar with, almost like in a trance, addicted to a man much like candy, so sweet and sugar-coated. Your face must be red too, but it can't compare to the flustered Sanji standing in front of you, lighting up in shades more intense.

Cute.

Hopeful, he felt hopeful. The smell of fright coming off of him, is thin.

Shit. You might just devour him tonight.

#If sanji has no fans im dead.#one piece #sanji x reader #sanjionepiece #one piece sanji #anime #fuck the vinsmokes #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji fluff #sanji x reader fluff #sanji #black leg sanji #.my writing.#sanji x female reader

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vecnuthy · 11 months ago

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new

Late entry for @steddiemicrofic December prompt: pine, and for @steddieholidaydrabbles December 31 prompt: New Year's Eve/Resolution | wc: 508 | G | pre-steddie |

Eddie looked around him and took a deep breath.

Another year had come and gone, and he'd made it.

There in the woods, scattered around a fire among the people that mattered the most to Eddie, it really hit him. All at once. That warmth in his chest, the sting behind his eyes, the pull of the corners of his mouth. He was relieved - happy, he thought, gripping his beer can too tightly. The pop made him jump, which made Jeff jump and yelp beside him.

"Scared the shit out of me, man!"

Eddie laughed.

Jeff nodded toward the cabin's porch where Eddie saw Robin and Steve making sloppy light designs with sparklers, wiping tears from their eyes because they were laughing so hard.

"I never would've thought that he was such a...." Jeff stopped, getting caught on the right word.

"Lame dork with a heart of gold?" Eddie supplied.

Jeff's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, sure. Robin had it right: he's a dingus. He just genuinely doesn't care, does he?"

Eddie shook his head, eyes glued to the Steve and Robin goofing around. He caught Steve's eye and they smiled at each other.

"You know," Jeff's voice softer. "I know somebody else who doesn't care," he said with a nudge.

Eddie's smile lingered a little longer, then faded as he cast his eyes down and played with the tab on his can. "I care."

"I know," Jeff conceded, understanding, then grinned to himself when he saw Steve look over at Eddie again. Robin disappeared inside the cabin. "New year, new possibilities. You should get a sparkler. You're starting to give this tree over here a run for its money."

Eddie snapped his head up, confused. "What?"

"Pine. It's a pine tree, and you're pining. You know, identify theft is not a jo-"

"Jesus Christ, stop," Eddie shoved him with a laugh. "Fine."

Nineteen steps brought him to the porch, under the glow of the strung Christmas lights and a grinning Steve, who said. "Hi."

"Hi," Eddie breathed out.

The sparklers had made the air smokey, filling it with color from the shining Christmas lights. Red, yellow, green, and blue bloomed and swirled in the smoke, bathing Steve in color and light, and Eddie lost every train of thought he'd ever had.

"Can I use your light?" Steve asked after a few moments, his face kind.

"Yeah," Eddie said after a beat, patting his pockets, then reached up behind Steve's ear, conjuring up the lighter.

Steve's eyes went wide, and he barked a laugh. "Did you just do a magic trick?"

Eddie blushed hard. "No," he lied. Why would he do that? "Why would I do that?"

Steve laughed, bright and colorful in a way that had nothing to do with the lights. "I'm not complaining. I already thought you were magic, but...." Steve shrugged with a smile that Eddie couldn't help but mirror, Christmas lights dancing in their eyes. "...proof."

For Eddie, 1987 started within a cloud of color-soaked smoke, with a boy that would become his. Soon.

#steddiemicroficdecember #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddie #steddie microfic #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

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ad-caelestia · 2 months ago

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i've spent a lot of time saying "here's what you could do" as a witch versus "here is what i actually do" as a witch, so let's go.

as much as i try to stir my coffee in one direction or another, it always ends up counter-clockwise - instead of seeing it as a mistake, i just work around it by thinking of it like, i'm banishing (counter-clockwise) negativity from my day versus attracting (clockwise) positivity.

i tend to use colors that align with planets versus other folkloric associations - instead of a green candle for money, i'll use a blue one because blue is associated with jupiter which is associated with wealth and good fortune. lucky for me, all the other planets have colors that align appropriately so i don't have to think about those as much (sun - gold, moon - silver, mercury - ehhhhh a mix of like, yellow/violet/indigo, venus - baby pink/mint, mars - red/rust, etc etc.).

i have a money bowl that i redo on the first of every month and i set a cinnamon stick above my front door for prosperity - i have a tiny little angel of a bunny whose health means more to me than the ritualistic act of blowing cinnamon into your home from outside the front door.

my "grimoire" or book of shadows or WHATEVER you wanna call it lives on my computer via onenote and is also scattered through many many notebooks i have collected over the years - if i'm being honest, i am way too picky about my handwriting and messing things up when i am writing in pen that i would just rather keep it somewhere i can type and alt+f to get where i need to go.

my main altar lives on a pretty gold and faux marble bookshelf but honestly, my whole house is my altar - there are sacred spaces at every corner if you know what to look for.

if i want something for my craft, i try to repurpose old things or thrift for them - you'd be amazed what you can do with some of the most basic things (i found my money bowl, which is a crystal dish, at the thrift store for 99 cents); the dollar 25 tree is also a good spot to shop for cheap trinkets.

much of my craft is muscle memory, which has come from YEARS of practice - if i'm cooking and need to use like, basil for example (luck, money, protection), i just kind of already know what it's "good for" and keep that in the front of my mind while i'm cooking so the intent doesn't get buried.

i really REALLY prefer to make my own stuff but that's not always feasible - i really thought the other day that i could just start making candles for myself and had to put that thought on HOLD because let's be real, i'm not doing all that. instead, i will continue to use all the chime candles i have collected over the years instead of immediately going out to find something new.

cleansing ritual who? every time i mop my floor or clean the baseboards or wipe down the counter, i'm cleansing my space. i very much believe that mundane cleaning can be equally as magical and therapeutic if the intent is there.

same thing with literally any other magical thing i do these days: i won't go digging for new items to serve me and my spellwork, i will just use what i already have.

doing spells when the opportunity presents itself versus days of planning - i got a new body wash the other day whose main ingredient and scent is rose so i figured i could use it for a glamour at some point; needed some cinnamon the other day for pancakes and stashed some away for use as a catalyst later on; stuck a bay leaf in my pasta sauce while cooking and made a little wish beforehand.

tethers. everywhere. this one's a bit personal for me but generally speaking, i like to tie energy to a physical object and store it for later use.

i have never buried anything in my yard for any reason - i usually just stick it in a box if the spell isn't finished, cleanse and reuse, or discard all together after thanking it for its assistance.

i swear i have a mean tarot deck and a nice one so i tend to be biased and choose accordingly. 🙃

i also have two pendulums i don't use and a set of blue goldstone runes that i have had for 8 years but don't touch anymore. let that be a gentle reminder that you don't have to do all the things, i promise.

anyway, those are some things about my craft ok bye

#witchblr #witchcraft #witchy #witch #witch community #ad-caelestia

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years ago

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Broken Glass On The Floor - Joker X GN Reader

Title: Broken Glass On The Floor

Joker X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Batman (Mentioned)

Requested by @getmesomethingreal!

WC: 2,592

Warnings: Fighting (verbal), angry J, J doesn't like feelings, J also hates being wrong, death mentioned, the ending of TDK mentioned, J's in love and he hates it, anxiety, hurt/comfort, angst, and a fluffy ending

You hummed a soft tune as you adjusted the beautiful bouquet of flowers into your favorite vase. The vase was a tall one, with lovely shades of blues and greens to complement the pale yellow roses that sat inside perfectly. It sat in front of your window overlooking the small garden behind your home. A few pots of sunflowers and irises were scattered throughout, giving off a relaxing scent. It felt perfect for the springtime season. The vase was your most prized possession, it was the first item you bought when you got your first apartment, and it had been with you for years ever since; plus, you greatly admired the way the blue and green swirled and contrasted against each other. You smiled at the memory as you put away the remaining flowers, turning to see Joker enter your home from the back door, slamming it shut.

Your smile dropped, watching as the Crown Prince of Crime stalked angrily to his office, completely ignoring you, slamming the door shut. Your shoulders drooped, biting your bottom lip as you wondered what happened while he was out. You wanted to do something for J, to make him feel better, so you wandered over to his office door. You paused at the door, letting out a small breath before you knocked. Now, you weren't scared of J, you never would be, J never turned his anger toward you so you didn't hesitate in helping him when he was angry. Normally when he did come home angry, you'd let him calm down a bit and ask him if he needed anything, or even, rarely, you'd hug him. Even though he normally didn't hug back, you felt like it helped him; to an extent.

You slowly opened the door, spotting J sitting hunched over at his desk, hands in his hair; the dim light made the room a little eerie but you ventured in nonetheless. You hated seeing J so upset, you loved him, so you wanted to help him in some way. "J?" You softly, not wanting to startle him. His head whipped up, his eyes dark as he glared at you, slightly startling you but you continued, "Was it the Batman again?"

Joker practically growled as he dropped his hands and clenched his fists, "Are you trying to mock me?" He asked through gritted teeth as he drew out his words, voice rough and laced with anger.

You frowned, "No, I'm not, J." You said, walking slowly to him. "I'm just worried about you. If you need anything, or if there's something wrong, you can talk to me-"

"I don't need your help. In fa-ct," He licked his lips slowly, "I don't need you." Joker interrupted, standing abruptly as you bit your lip to try and hold in your tears of confusion and rejection.

“You… You don’t need me?” You asked softly, voice breaking slightly before J pushed past you and out of the office.

You turned, following, your heart hammering in your chest and eyes widening as J stormed back over to the back door, backhanding your precious vase off the windowsill, causing it to shatter on the ground below. J then left the house, leaving you all alone again. You stood frozen where you stood in the hall, staring dumbly at the shattered pieces of glass and petals in front of you. You couldn't believe what just happened. Tears pricked your eyes as you sank to the ground, burying your face in your hands. This isn’t fair... You thought, tears spilling down your cheeks as you sobbed quietly, mourning over your now broken vase.

~~~

J didn't come back for the next couple of days, probably staying over at that abandoned warehouse, and you were actually glad he wasn't home. You didn't want to see him. Even though he broke your treasured vase, you still loved him. You would never stop loving him.

You sighed, staring blankly in your bed, unconsciously cuddling J's pillow to your chest, curled up into a ball as you replayed over and over your vase falling to the floor. You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes once more. “I can’t believe he broke my vase…” You mumbled to yourself sadly. “I really loved that vase...” You trailed off, sighing sadly once more. J had never done anything like that before, yeah, sometimes he let out his anger, but he never broke things.

Sitting up, you sit back against the headboard of your bed, lazily grabbing the tv remote and turning it on; maybe your favorite show or movies are on. Flipping through channels, you stopped at the news when you saw a glimpse of your Joker on the screen. You watched as police helicopters recorded Batman dropping J off the high skyscraper, before catching him with some device and just letting him hang there. You felt as if your heart fell to the pit of your stomach. J almost died. He was caught by Batman, his plans were foiled, that was why he was so upset.

You shook your head, that was no excuse for J to snap at you and break your vase. You sighed again, feeling defeated. You didn't know what you should do or what to think. What you did know was that you still didn't want to see him, no matter how much you missed him.

~~~

The next day, J finally came home. His gloved hand holding a piece of paper, he went straight to his office. Dropping the paper on his desk, he exited and looked around the living room, not seeing you anywhere. The room was deathly quiet except for the sound of the occasional car driving down the neighborhood road. You didn't even have the radio playing. J narrowed his eyes in thought, normally when he came home you were doing something in the main room, reading, cleaning, watching tv, dancing even, humming while you put those flowers away in that dumb vase of yours... J turned his head to where the vase had been, the windowsill was empty and the wooden floor underneath was clean. J didn't mean to break your vase, he was just blinded by his fury and the vase was just there. Batman had ruined his plans and destroyed everything he worked so hard for... He was just so angry he needed to do something.

But J would never hurt you. Never. You were his and only his. Though he would never admit this out loud to you, and it bothered him just thinking about it, he cared about you, enough to probably call it love, but J hated that word. And he knew you loved him too, since you told him all the time. But, he hated how weak it made him feel, he hated how weak you made him feel. It was disgusting. It made him feel terrible, he'd get this weird icky feeling in his stomach around you, and his heart would hammer in his chest from just you smiling at him. Disgusting. Though the thought of you with someone else made his blood boil, he wouldn't let anyone else touch you, he wouldn't let them get close. You were his. Only his and no one else’s.

So, where were you?

J wandered around the home, slowly, his defense up just in case, J checked each room, before stopping at the bedroom. The door was closed and J tilted his head to the side as he stared at the dark oak door. It was usually open during the day, so why was it closed? J licked the scars on the inside of his cheek, glaring at the door as he heard a tv playing on the other side. You were there. Normally, J would just enter the room, but when J tried to turn the door handle, it wouldn't budge. Locked? He thought, staring at the door a little bit longer before heading back to his office.

A few hours later, heading to the bathroom, J passed you in the hallway. Stopping he turned and watched as you ignored him, making your way down the hall and to the kitchen. J continued to stare as your body turned the corner, confused, before he continued to the bathroom.

A couple hours later, J couldn't find you again, and you weren't in your room, his mind racing as to where you could've been before he found a Post-It on the fridge . At least you told him you were at the store. He'd have to send a goon or two to watch over you.

And only later, when you came back and were reading in your favorite chair and he had entered the living room, only then did Joker realize that you were actively avoiding him as you got up from your chair and left the room, almost as quickly as he entered.

Now, Joker hated being wrong, being stubborn, but what he hated more was you ignoring him. After spending so long getting used to your presence after all these years, you were always with a hand on his arm or doing some sort of physical contact, only to now be ignoring him... It was irritating. He hated it. It made his skin itch. No matter how much he hated it, he knew he had to do something to try and get you to talk to him again; look at him again. He was becoming restless. Obsessed with the thought of you as he thought up a plan. So, J did what J thought was best, went out into the Gotham streets.

~~~

You sat in your chair, a few hours since J had left again, and you let out a sad sigh. You had been finding it harder and harder to distance yourself from J, but you had to do it. You hoped he'd understand that you were angry and that you were hurting because of him. You did want nothing more than for him to apologize, but you didn't want him to make an attempt to comfort you if he didn't actually mean it, you didn't really care anymore. You knew deep down under that hard exterior, under the mask, J loved you. You knew it. That was all you could ask for.

You sighed, watching the sun begin to set over the horizon, turning the sky a pinky-blue. You wanted J to come back and hold you and kiss you... And tell you that you were his, something you took as his way of showing that he loved you; along with his very actions alone, the way he held you told you everything. You didn't want an apology, all you wanted now was for your Joker to come home and for things to get back to normal.

As the minutes passed and your eyes began to droop, you heard the back door open. Opening your tired eyes, you slowly blinked, your neck straining as you sat up in your chair after falling asleep oddly on it. Looking over at the back door, J stood there, watching you. You felt your stomach flutter softly at just the sight of him, you were happy he was back. You both said nothing as you adjusted awkwardly in your seat, pushing your legs out from under you as you stood, eyes raking over him as you looked at his overall appearance. His hair was all over the place and the grease paint on his face was cracked and slightly smeared. Looking closer, it seemed that he was holding something, his arms up in an odd way that looked like he was crossing his arms; dare-say like he was holding a baby.

You watched as J slowly walked over, stopping before you as you looked up at him with a small frown. You stared at him as he did the same to you, silently asking him to speak up first, along with asking him where he had been. With no answer, suddenly, J opened his arms slightly, revealing a small gray kitten with little black stripes and bright blue eyes. You gasped lightly, staring at the baby cat in his arms as the kitten meowed; looking up at J, you could tell he was uncomfortable with the little animal on him, so you took the cat into yours. The kitten meows again as you hold it to your chest, feeling the kitten nuzzle its head against you. You couldn't help but smile down at the little one, before looking up at Joker, who just stared at you and the feline in your arms.

"J..." You whispered out, tears forming in your eyes as you tried to push them down, only for J to let out a gruff hum in return, reaching his finger up to gently poke the kitten on the head, as if he was trying to pet it. It was adorable. You then looked down at the kitten, your mind racing with different name ideas as you thought about all the things you now needed to get, like cat food, a fluffy bed, treats, toys, a food dispenser, and maybe even a cool cat tree. You looked back up at J, a small shy smile growing on your face, "Thank you." You went on the tip of your toes to press a soft kiss onto his lips, your cheeks flushing as his hands immediately reached to your sides, pulling you flush against him, one hand going behind your back and one hand weaving through your hair as he possessively kissed your soft lips. Your eyes slid shut as you melted against him, kissing back as passionately as he kissed you. As the kiss slowly died down, you let out a small laugh, J's finger coming up to brush against your bottom lip, smearing the red grease paint that transferred there.

You hummed happily before hearing the kitten meow, looking down, you scooted the kitten to one arm, the kitten's tiny claws digging into your sweater lightly as you grabbed J's arm with your free hand.

"Let's go to bed. I'm going to make the baby's bed and find him some food." You spoke, your voice mimicking a child's as you merged to talk to the kitten, "Yes, you are so cute, the cutest of cutes. Who wuvs you, I wuv you!"

As J watched you from the doorway of the bedroom, he placed a hand over his heart, rubbing the purple suit slightly as he felt the faint rapid beating of his heart. His eyes almost softened as he continued to watch you interact with the kitten, seeing that smile on your face, the red grease paint still on your lips, he wished you would keep that paint there forever, showing that you were his. J swore he would protect you from anything and everything, not even Batman could get close to you. Mine, mine, mine, mine. With those words echoing in his head, he entered the bedroom, getting rid of the grease paint on his face before joining you on the bed, and taking you in his arms. You smiled as J buried his now clean face in the crook of your neck.

"I love you." You mumbled, your hand going behind you to brush your fingertips against his cheek briefly as your eyes began to drift close, sleep beginning to take over.

J kept his eyes shut as he felt your breathing slow into a soothing, peaceful pace before he opened his mouth only to close it a moment later; pulling you closer into his chest.

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rainforestakiie · 2 months ago

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More Often AU

hello, another quick AU that popped into my head while writing Be Lonely with Me!

at the end, you can decide if Lucifer believes Adam or not~

Dear God by Confetti

The world was breaking, unraveling at its core. Heaven was falling apart, its light dimming into shadow. Hell endured, coping as it always had. Earth was dissolving, crumbling into the void. Souls splintered and cracked, emotions ran wild, uncontrolled and untamed. Adam sat on the edge, his legs swinging into the swirling abyss of purple and pink chaos beneath him. His golden, starlit eyes gazed upward, staring into the vast emptiness, because that’s all there was now. Sinners, Winners, Humans—they had all blurred into the same fragile thing. Two sides of a shattered coin. The Angels were losing their wings, the demons their horns. And humans—they were losing their sight, their very souls slipping away.

Adam remained still, bathed in silence. The golden star-shaped eye on his chest blinked open, casting faint, flickering sparks of light into the air, shimmering weakly around him. His wings—once radiant—lay in ruins behind him, fractured and jagged, like pieces of a broken mirror. Eight shattered wings, splayed out, reflecting the emptiness they once soared through.

His lips barely moved, settled into a weary line as he watched the universe tear itself apart, strand by strand, like old fabric coming undone. His hands rested in his lap, cold and numb, while his feet gently kicked at the nothingness below. A soft, tuneless hum escaped his lips, his golden eyes closing for a brief moment as his head tilted in a small, tired gesture.

"Dear God, where'd you go? You haven't been answering your phone," he sang softly, his voice distant, unearthly in his own ears. His mind, like his wings, had shattered into countless pieces—scattered across time itself, past, present, future all bleeding together. He saw the void this all led to, the nothingness behind everything. "Not sayin' I'm mad, but the world is fucked up. So you should come around more."

Orbs of purple, blue, green, and yellow drifted aimlessly through the air, as if lost in their own confusion. Every so often, a flash of white light zipped by, but Adam didn’t bother to notice. The vicious battle happening far to his left—it didn’t matter. None of it did.

Nothing ever changes.

"Oh dear God, I hate to say, people don't believe in you these days," he hummed, the melody a soft echo in the dying world. The golden eye on his chest glowed faintly, its light pulsing, shards of divine energy flickering in and out of existence around him. If he focused, he could almost see the remnants of others within those fragments, the echoes of something long lost. "Not saying I don't, but the world is fucked up. So you should come around more."

A soft yawn broke the silence, his ears pricking at the distant sound of the crumbling world, though he did nothing to stop it. He was too tired for that. Always tired now. He had lived through every cycle, played every role. He had been the villain, the hero, the redeemer, the destroyer. He had saved souls, damned them, lifted them up only to drag them down. Over and over again. And yet—nothing ever changed.

"I bite my tongue but can't change how I think," he whispered, quieter now, almost lost in the hum of the void. "I talk to you because I can't afford a shrink."

His golden eyes drifted lazily to the side, upwards, where the heavens screamed, a long, piercing wail, as they collided with the outer edge of Hell. The shattered remnants of Earth floated in the chaos, fragments of a world that had once been. Heaven was falling, tearing through everything in its path, as it always did, following the script written by God himself. Adam felt the tremor as the grand barrier—the universe’s final defense—quaked beneath the pressure. He knew it wouldn’t hold. In less than a minute, it would shatter. The weight of divine corruption always breaks through in the end.

"It's the everyday people who do the ugliest things," he sang softly, watching the cracks spiderweb across the multicolored barrier. He always found it strangely beautiful, how, when the end came, people would set aside their differences. It was never enough to change anything, but it was admirable in its own tragic way. "And it's never gon—never gonna change. So you should come around more."

No one had wanted to believe Heaven was falling. Sera had ignored the warnings, brushing them off, hiding the truth from the Winners and the other Angels. She refused to tell Emily until it was too late. Eventually, even the higher archangels became involved. You knew things were truly dire when Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael descended from the upper rings of Heaven, panic etched into their once-serene faces. Adam had always found it fascinating to watch the normally composed Michael grow more frantic as the celestial rings collapsed around them.

"Oh dear God, we haven't talked in a while. I'm all grown now, but still feel like a child," Adam sang, his gaze locking onto the first crack as it spread like branches, climbing higher and higher up the barrier. "And I'm sorry that I only holla when I need a favor. But all my people really need a Savior."

When Heaven came begging at the gates of Hell, it was clear the balance of the universe had finally tipped. Lucifer, of course, laughed in their faces, casting them aside like broken toys. He didn’t realize how serious things had become. None of them did. Hell had shrugged, telling Heaven to deal with it—it was only a few divine rings breaking. How hard could it be to fix? But it was that hard.

Heaven was falling. And as it tore through the earthly realm, everyone felt it—the humans burning away, their souls consumed before they even had a chance to be judged. No time to become a Sinner or a Winner, just obliterated in a blink of an eye.

Desperation brings strange alliances.

Soon enough, Lucifer relented, and Hell opened its gates to Heaven. The Sinners mocked the Winners, as they always did, but beneath the surface, everyone felt it—the dread, the slow unraveling of everything they knew. Sinners couldn’t grasp what was happening, and even the highest ranks of Hell struggled to devise a plan to save what little remained.

The irony.

There was hardly anything left to save.

"And the longer you go missing, the more the story’s twisting," Adam murmured, his voice soft, almost lost in the void. He breathed in deeply, feeling another pulse of golden light ripple through the fractured time and dimensions wrapped around him. His starlit eyes became half-lidded, the golden eye on his chest mirroring his gaze. "And people count the days to make their birthday wishes. And it’s never gon—never gonna change. So you should come around more."

Things had grown darker, more serious, when Lilith returned to Hell. The memories blurred together, too full of old tears and worn-out drama. Adam had grown numb to it all—he’d seen it so many times before, lived through every moment like a script he could recite from memory. The words, the rhythms, the patterns were all predictable now. His wings strained under the weight of each new feather, each new failure.

Heaven and Hell bickered endlessly—arguments, accusations, power plays. Sera and Lilith, Michael and Lucifer, Emily and Sera, Lilith and Lucifer even more often now. It was exhausting, watching it play out again and again. Charlie sat on the sidelines in stunned silence, unsure what to make of it all, while Vaggie held her hands, never leaving her side. The sight was almost painfully sweet. Sometimes they’d talk of marriage, sometimes they’d simply hold each other, once or twice dreaming aloud about having children—two, maybe three, running around. Adam supposed it was sad, in its own way.

Emily, brave as always, tried to hold it together for both the Winners and the Sinners. When the Sinners finally understood the gravity of the situation, their fear began to swell, and Emily’s hands were suddenly full. As the Seraphim of Emotions, she was their anchor, and soon enough, Sinners came flocking to her, desperate to confess their sins, their regrets. The darkness of their souls weighed heavy on her, far more than she had anticipated. But she smiled through it, kept her face brave and kind. Eventually, they began to look up to her, even more than they did to Charlie.

"And hiding is insulting your intelligence. That fake-ass walking 'round in Sunday’s best," Adam continued, stretching his arms above his head, a loud crack echoing through the silent void as he shifted. The barrier surrounding Pentagram City was crumbling, fractures meeting in the center like broken glass. "When they know the world revolves around money and sex. The worst people are the first to forget."

Then, with a sudden, inevitable shudder, the barrier shattered. It fell in glittering fragments, shimmering like snowflakes as they drifted down. Adam watched them fall, holding out his hand to catch the tiny sparkling pieces. Such a pity. Such a shame. It had been made by all of them—Lucifer, Michael, Sera, Emily, Lilith… even Eve. Yes, Eve had returned to help. Well, not Eve exactly—she called herself ‘Roo’ now, the root of all Evil. Adam snorted softly at the thought, watching as the fragments of the barrier danced across his golden-tipped fingers, the light crawling over his skin like bruises.

Funny how, when the end is near, everyone comes crawling out of the woodwork.

"Oh dear God, where’d you go?" Adam’s voice dropped to a whisper as he let his hand fall to the ground with a quiet thud. "You haven’t been answering your phone…"

"Not sayin’ I’m mad, but the world is fucked up," another voice called from behind him.

Adam didn’t need to look. He knew who it was. Lucifer slumped down beside him, the King of Hell looking as worn and exhausted as Adam had ever seen him. His magic was spent, drained, leaving nothing behind. He had done everything he could, just like the rest of them. Adam couldn’t hold it against him. Lucifer always gave his all when the end came. Adam had seen it countless times, over and over.

"So you should come around more," Lucifer sang quietly, his voice hollow, but not broken. Just resigned. Accepting that this was the end. "Oh dear God, I hate to say, people don’t believe in you these days."

Adam tilted his head. "Not saying I don’t, but the world is fucked up. So you should come around more."

A soft hum escaped Lucifer as he closed his eyes, resting his claws on the cracked ground beneath them. Slowly, he reached out, curling his fingers around Adam’s in a gesture so gentle it almost felt like an apology.

"Is this really it?" Lucifer asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hm," Adam nodded, rolling his shoulders in a slow, tired shrug. "Don’t feel bad. You really did do everything you could."

Lucifer frowned, his tired eyes searching Adam’s face for something—maybe hope, maybe reassurance—but found only the same weariness reflected back at him.

Lucifer let out a long sigh, his gaze distant as he stared at the fractured sky. Heaven was crumbling, falling like shattered glass, each piece taking more of the world with it. He had always known this moment would come, but acceptance still felt like swallowing shards of truth too sharp to hold.

"Was this always His plan?" Lucifer asked, his voice soft and full of quiet despair. "All of this… has it always been set in stone?"

Adam hummed, the sound light and airy as if Lucifer had asked something far too simple.

"Plans… scripts… they're just words, aren’t they?" His golden eyes, fractured like mirrors reflecting endless possibilities, flickered. "A path is a path until you step off it. But maybe stepping off is part of the plan too."

Lucifer frowned, the answer twisting in his mind but never settling. "How many times have you lived through this, Adam?"

Adam shrugged, his wings trembling slightly with the motion. "I lost count a long time ago," he said, his tone devoid of weight or emotion.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed as he looked at Adam more intently, searching his face for something—anything—that would give him clarity. "And how many times… how many times have you come to me? Have I helped? Have I ever really helped?"

At this, Adam chuckled, the sound low and soft, like a fading breeze.

"You ask questions that don’t need answers, Lucifer. It’s pointless. But…" He trailed off, his golden eyes drifting away as though watching something only he could see. "If it’ll give you peace…"

"I need to know," Lucifer said, his voice tight with a desperate edge. "I need to know how long you’ve been trapped in this endless cycle. Have I ever truly been there for you?"

Adam paused, his gaze growing soft, almost tender, before he reached out. His fingers, light as feathers, touched Lucifer’s cheek, his golden light glowing faintly against Lucifer’s worn skin. "Of course you have. You’ve always been there, whenever I decided to tell you the truth."

Lucifer swallowed, his throat tight. "You told me… and I believed you?"

"Not always," Adam replied with a knowing smile. "At first, you thought I was scheming. But I always managed to prove it, didn’t I?"

Lucifer’s shoulders sagged with a mix of relief and pain, the weight of countless lifetimes falling heavy on him. "And… were there times you didn’t tell me? Times you didn’t come to me at all?"

Adam’s smile faded, his eyes growing distant once more. "Of course there were," he whispered.

"I gave up a long time ago, Lucifer. Heaven always falls. Everyone always dies. Sometimes I wake up in Eden, and I tell you immediately. Other times…" His voice softened, laced with a quiet resignation. "Other times I do nothing. I just lie there, in the grass, and let things play out. Following the script, step by step, word by word."

"And it always leads to this," Lucifer muttered, gesturing up to the sky as Heaven continued its descent, tearing through the realms like an unstoppable force.

Adam nodded, his eyes flickering up to the sky, then back to Lucifer. "It never makes a difference. This is where it always ends."

The silence between them thickened, broken only by the distant rumble of the world coming apart. Lucifer’s grip on Adam’s hand tightened, his claws gently curling around his fingers as if holding on to the only thing left that hadn’t been destroyed.

"Why didn’t you come to me every time?" Lucifer asked, his voice pained, his grip firm. "Why didn’t you tell me, Adam?"

"Because I grew tired, Lucifer," Adam said softly. "Tired of fighting. Tired of hoping. When you know the outcome, over and over… it’s easier to stop trying."

Lucifer closed his eyes, his chest tightening with a mix of grief and guilt. "And I… I couldn’t stop it. No matter how many times you told me."

"You couldn’t," Adam agreed, squeezing Lucifer’s hand in return. "No one could. Not even me."

Lucifer let out a shaky breath, his heart heavy. He held onto Adam’s hand tighter, as if anchoring himself to this moment, to the only constant in the endless cycles they had both endured.

"But you were always there," Adam murmured, his voice soft, almost comforting. "Whenever I decided to tell you the truth, you were always there."

He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Even if you didn’t believe me at first."

Lucifer let out a weak chuckle, though it was tinged with sorrow. "I suppose I’ve never been the trusting type."

"Not at the start," Adam said, his voice light again. "But you came around. You always do."

Lucifer was silent for a moment, his eyes distant as he considered all that had been said. Finally, he turned back to Adam, his voice thick with emotion. "And when you didn’t come to me… when you chose to say nothing?"

Adam’s gaze softened, full of a sadness that had lived in him far too long. "Sometimes, I just wanted to see if anything would change if I let it all play out on its own. But it never does. Heaven falls. Everyone dies. Whether I tell you or not… it always ends like this."

Lucifer’s chest tightened, his heart aching with the weight of inevitability. "But this… this can’t be it, Adam. There has to be more than this."

Adam only smiled, his eyes distant, filled with the knowing of countless lifetimes. "Maybe. But I wouldn’t hold your breath."

Lucifer clenched his jaw, holding Adam’s hand even tighter, as if afraid to let go.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Adam didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let his thumb brush gently against Lucifer’s knuckles, a quiet gesture of comfort. "You’ve always tried, Lucifer. That’s more than most can say."

And so they sat there, side by side, as Heaven crumbled above them and the world slowly dissolved beneath their feet. Adam, the eternal witness, and Lucifer, the fallen king, holding on to each other as the end came once again.

"Adam…" Lucifer began quietly, his voice soft and intimate, as though afraid that the weight of his words might break the fragile space between them.

Adam responded with a quiet hum, his golden eyes barely flickering in acknowledgment. "Yeah?"

Lucifer shifted closer, his presence a comforting weight in the midst of the crumbling world around them. His claws, gentle despite their sharpness, traced up Adam’s arm, caressing the soft skin of his cheek, before gliding down the curve of his throat, lingering there. "Can I ask one more thing of you?" His voice was tender, laced with a vulnerability that Lucifer rarely allowed himself to show. "Though I suspect I might’ve asked it before."

Adam tilted his head, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You might have."

Lucifer’s breath ghosted over Adam’s lips as he leaned in closer, the unspoken request lingering in the air between them. "Can I kiss you? One last time?"

Adam chuckled softly, his voice filled with both warmth and a weary familiarity. "And I always say the same thing, don’t I?" His gaze softened as he looked up into Lucifer’s eyes. "You don’t have to ask."

A slow, loving smile spread across Lucifer’s lips as he closed the distance between them. With a tenderness that seemed almost impossible for the King of Hell, he pressed his lips against Adam’s in a sweet, lingering kiss. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, the weight of countless lifetimes, endless cycles, all captured in the simple act of their union.

As Lucifer kissed him, Adam felt the familiar pulse of golden power flare from the eye on his chest, a warmth that spread through his body, a power that hummed and vibrated with life. The air around them shimmered, the sound of the crumbling world fading into an echo. Adam’s ears rang with the pressure of it, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

And then, just like that, Adam opened his eyes to find himself lying in the soft grass of Eden once more.

The world had reset. Again.

The dawn of Heaven's fall was upon him, the sky bright and unmarred, as if the destruction and chaos from moments before had never existed. Adam blinked, his fingers pressing into the cool earth beneath him. It was always the same. The endless cycle, resetting with precision, every time Heaven crumbled, every time the world dissolved.

The familiar weight of inevitability settled in his chest, but for now, there was only silence—the quiet before the storm. Adam closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the untouched garden, waiting for the world to fall apart again.

And like clockwork, the familiar call reached Adam, pulling him from the quiet hum of the universe resetting itself.

"Adam?" came Lucifer’s voice, bright and innocent in its familiar way. His once regal robes were now a pure white and soft blue, the attire of an Archangel. His wings gleamed, unblemished, feathers fluttering lightly in the calm Eden air.

"Daydreaming again? Will you tell me about them? I love it when you share your dreams!"

Adam lifted his gaze slowly, eyeing the pristine figure of Lucifer as he hovered above him, unaware of the endless cycle that would eventually shatter him. With a sigh that carried lifetimes of knowing, Adam stretched out a hand, his fingers brushing Lucifer's smooth cheek. The warmth of the Archangel’s skin beneath his touch was real—too real—and it brought a flicker of emotion to Adam’s hollow heart.

Lucifer’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected touch, a soft flush spreading across his pale blue cheeks. "Adam?" he began, a confused smile forming, only for his words to falter as Adam rose.

Without a word, Adam pressed his lips softly against Lucifer's. The kiss was gentle, tender—a brief moment of connection amidst an eternity of endless cycles. For a moment, Lucifer froze, his wings twitching, his breath caught in his throat. But soon, he melted into the kiss, lowering himself to sit on the grass beside Adam, his dazed eyes filled with wonder and confusion.

When Adam pulled away, Lucifer's wings fluttered behind him, and his expression was one of pure adoration. A dreamy smile curved across his lips as he blinked in a daze. "Adam? Why did you do that?"

Adam sighed again, his hand slipping down to rest on Lucifer’s lap, his golden eyes weary but full of something like affection. "Lucifer," he began softly, "will you listen to me? I have something important to tell you."

The innocence in Lucifer’s eyes flickered with curiosity, the smile never fading, though the weight of Adam’s tone seemed to reach him. "Of course, Adam. I always listen to you."

Adam’s gaze lingered on him, on this pure version of Lucifer, still untouched by the darkness he would eventually bear, still so full of light.

"What if I told you," Adam said, his voice a whisper as if sharing a secret, "that we've been here before... many, many times?"

Lucifer tilted his head, confusion deepening. "Here before? What do you mean? Is this one of your dreams again?"

Adam let out a soft laugh, but it was hollow, devoid of true humor. "You could say that. But this… this isn’t just a dream. It’s a cycle. Heaven falls. Hell rises. The world crumbles, and everything—everyone—dies. And then… I wake up here. Again and again."

His voice grew quieter, but the weight of his words pressed heavily on the air between them.

"I’ve lost count of how many times, Lucifer."

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #guitarduck #au #fanficiton #Should Come Around More Often #AU Time #resets au #Dear God by Confetti #More Often AU

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lalune9x · 25 days ago

Text

SCTIR Translation - Chapter 474: The Owner of the Letter (1)

I swallowed back the words, 'I'm sorry for being late. Did you wait long?' The hall was just as dark as it had been before I entered the drawer. But something about the atmosphere was strangely different.

Chapter translation under the cut.

—-

Chapter 474: The Owner of the Letter (1)

I was in exactly the same spot where I had used the drawer. That is, a spot slightly suspended in the air. It wasn't too high, and since I had prepared, I landed lightly. At the same time, I remembered to turn off my Curse Resistance.

My socks, still soaking wet, were now covered in flower petals. White, pink, yellow, light purple, and various other colors—they were scattered all over.

Not whole flowers, just petals.

Sung Hyunje was sitting in a chair, leaning back against it. Flower petals were scattered all over his body, and beneath his long, stretched-out legs lay piles of stark green stems stripped bare of all their petals.

It looked like a graveyard of bones. That thought suddenly crossed my mind. The soft, vibrant petals were dispersed in all directions, with only the long stems in piles overlapping here and there. He must have gathered all the flowers that had been decorating the room, as there were more than enough to bury the chair's legs.

"You… must have been very bored."

If he had burned the flowers or smashed the table, that would have been less surprising to me. Even if the entire hotel had been blown away, revealing the blue sky, I might have just rubbed my forehead. Someone suddenly disappearing without a word was more than enough reason to get angry. Maybe even to break some of the surroundings in frustration. But this… this felt like a calm, quiet madness.

I swallowed dryly.

After a brief silence, Sung Hyunje spoke.

"1 hour, 29 minutes, and 51 seconds have passed since Han Yoojin-gun disappeared. And now, precisely an hour and a half."[1]

Click. The cover of the pocket watch in Sung Hyunje's hand snapped shut. He was sitting slightly outside the hall's illuminated area, so I couldn't see his expression clearly. His face was cast in deep shadows.

"Out of sheer boredom, I decided to try flower divination. Fortunately, there were plenty of flowers."

He must have sat there, picking the petals one by one. The chains must have quietly wrapped around the piles of flowers and stacked them at his feet. It would have been better if he'd just destroyed everything. Without fear resistance, I’d probably have goosebumps by now.

"I didn't mean to be late, but an hour and a half isn't that long, is it? And we were playing tag, so you must have guessed that I was hiding on purpose."

I didn't think he would have been worried. When I first disappeared, he must have been surprised, but also found it amusing. But as time dragged on, he must have gotten a bit annoyed.

"Of course."

Sung Hyunje crossed one leg over the other and continued.

"I figured you had gained something new that I wasn't aware of. But the human mind… this brain." He lightly touched his temple with his fingertips. "It likes to imagine things. What if, perhaps, maybe, surely not… and so on. I was once human, after all, so it wasn't an entirely pleasant time."

"I… apologize for that."

"I believe I've told you before—I'm neither accustomed to nor fond of having anything taken from me."[2]

"But it's not even yours."

"Not just objects, but people and relationships can be taken as well. Didn't you once mistakenly think you'd lost your position as your little brother's guardian?"

"…I did lose it. That wasn't a misunderstanding."

"Well. From my perspective, you never lost it once." His pale-colored eyes remained the same, but the corners of his mouth lifted faintly. "And waiting, as it turns out, really doesn't suit my temperament."

Waiting, knowing nothing, unable to do anything—that was what he really didn't like. Although Sung Hyunje's voice was relatively light, I had the sense that he was more displeased than he'd ever been before.

"I've spent years like that. But no matter how much time passes, I've never gotten used to it. It's always infuriating."

Thinking about it that way made me feel even more guilty. I had just assumed that he hated waiting a long time. In any case, since we were supposed to be partners now, it wouldn't do to just suddenly go missing… Though, he had also hidden things from me.

Anyway, I had won, right? But the atmosphere didn't seem right to demand the letter right away.

"Um, I drank a bit, and finished off all of Hyuna-ssi's wine but… would you like a cigarette, at least?"

This was a non-smoking hotel, but still. Sung Hyunje tilted his head slightly and beckoned me with a finger. The gesture was disgustingly arrogant, but just this once, I should bow my head. I took out the cigarette case from my inventory and approached him.

"You're wet," he noted.

"I fell into some water."

"Oh my, and in this chilly weather."

"It was pretty warm there."

I opened the case and pulled out one cigarette, then took out another.

"It's not good for—"

"Secondhand smoke is worse, you know," I cut him off and put the cigarette in his mouth to stop him from nagging.

I couldn't touch these things in front of the kids anyway, and I rarely went anywhere alone these days. Especially recently, with Gyeol trying to stick to me all the time.

Of course, I had no lighter. I was looking around wondering how to light it, when Sung Hyunje picked up a flower that hadn't been torn apart yet.

Around the full, pale pink bloom—

Crackle.

Electricity sparked. The skillfully ignited flame enveloped the flower. Usually, something so moist wouldn't catch fire so easily.

With the flower in the middle, both cigarettes were lit. This would be the last time; truly the last.

"I received it from the King of the Mist Sea. There's a limit on the number of uses."

I spoke as I watched the smoke curl and dissipate into the air.

Sung Hyunje seemed as if he was only half-listening. The way he held the cigarette between his fingers looked like something the kids should never see. If they tried to imitate him, I'd have to cut them off. Even adults might be tempted to smoke more just watching him. He looked like a high-budget commercial ad.

In the meantime, ash fell from Sung Hyunje's other hand as the fire that had burned down to the end of the flower stem quietly fizzled out. He still didn't seem to be in a good mood.

"…Do you want to go to the aquarium? I'll buy you ice cream, too," I offered.

I wondered why I was trying to comfort him, but it was true that I had been quite late.

"What should I do with Han Yoojin-gun?" Sung Hyunje murmured as if talking to himself.

What do you mean, what should you do?

"Just leave me be. I'll take care of myself. Not everyone will turn out the way you want, you know. Take Director Song, for example."

"I recall a certain someone desperately trying to give him a baby lamb as a gift."

"…No, that was… that was just because I wanted to be of some help. Besides, well, you know about Director Song. What happened before the regression."

I wasn't trying to change someone completely. I just wanted him to take better care of himself. But even if that wasn't possible, I wanted him at least to survive.

"It's not easy to mold someone as you want while respecting them," Sung Hyunje commented.

"Look, the 'respect' part completely disappears if you're doing it 'as you want.' First of all, abandon the idea that you'll lead."

Even among natural born S-ranks, considering he’d lived for so long as a Transcendent-level being—though he’d lost those memories—it was only natural, I supposed. There was no way most people would feel like equals to him. Honestly, him calling me his 'partner' was probably not acknowledgement, but more something he was 'allowing'.

'It would be difficult for someone who's lived like that for hundreds of years to suddenly change.'

It hadn't even been six months, after all.

"Turning a blind eye to danger just to show respect is putting the cart before the horse," he said.

"Well, that's true, but…"

"What if a non-Awakened Park Yerim said she wanted to enter a dungeon?"

"Obviously, I'd stop her," I replied.

And I had also tried to stop an S-rank Yoohyun from entering dungeons. It wasn't that I didn't respect them, but… molding them 'as I want'… Then again, stopping them was an attempt to impose my will on them… It was complicated.

If they were complete strangers, it would be different, but with people around me, especially people I liked, wasn't it nearly impossible to just leave them alone? Even if it was for their sake… hmm. It was still my desire at the end of the day.

After taking a single drag and letting the smoke drift out, Sung Hyunje simply held the cigarette in his hand.

Meanwhile, my cigarette had already burned down quite a bit. As I glanced around, wondering what to do with it, Sung Hyunje held out his palm.

"…Come on."

Surely he wasn't asking me to put out my cigarette there. He was S-rank, so a lit cigarette would be nothing to him, but still I grimaced at the thought and stared at him.

Sung Hyunje reached out and pinched the end of my cigarette to snuff it out. Ash stuck to his pale fingertips. Then, he crushed his own cigarette with his hand. When he opened his fist, there was nothing left but a faint trace of ash.

Right. I could've just put it in my inventory. I followed suit and stored the cigarette butt.

"Let's say it wasn't pleasant, but it was a productive time," Sung Hyunje said lightly.

Productive? What had he been thinking about? He stood up, and the skeletal flower stems lightly brushed against his feet.

"Oh, the flower divination. What was it for?"

I was curious and concerned about what conclusions he had come to during that hour and a half.

Looking down at me, Sung Hyunje's eyes crinkled. "The young lady called."

"What? Yerim called?"

"She said she couldn't reach you and asked if I had broken your phone again. Then she asked me to tell you there's a famous dessert sold at this hotel and that she wanted to have some before leaving. And then…"

And then?

Sung Hyunje's eyes crinkled further as his smile deepened. "I told her Han Yoojin-gun wasn't here."

"T-that's—! You can't do that! So then, what did Yerim say?"

"She asked what I meant, so I told her again, you weren't here. Then she shouted for Han Yoohyun."

Ack, she told Yoohyun? Wait a minute—so the kids now…!

Sung Hyunje shamelessly continued. "When he asked where his hyung was, I honestly told him I didn't know either, and that Han Yoojin-gun had left this place about twenty minutes prior."

Twenty minutes prior? That was over an hour ago. Of course they'd be in a panic. Sung Hyunje!

"You were unnecessarily honest!"

"I only told the truth."

I quickly took out my phone. It had gotten wet but fortunately was still functioning. Thank god for waterproofing.

"Do you really want to be grabbed by the collar that badly?" I demanded.

"It seems they immediately left to look for you, so they didn't come here."

"Of course, because Chloe—Yoohyun!"

[Hyung!]

Yoohyun picked up almost immediately. There was a slight tremble in his voice.

[Where are you? Are you okay?]

"I'm fine. I'm at the hotel."

[…What?]

"It's true that I disappeared for a bit, but no one kidnapped me or anything. I was in a place kind of like Myungwoo's smithy—the drawer from the King of the Mist Sea."

I could hear him gritting his teeth on the other end, so I quickly added that Sung Hyunje hadn't known either. We didn't need the hotel to go up in flames.

[I thought you were taken while returning to the room alone…]

"You must've been really worried. But there are so many hunters around that it's hard to imagine I'd get kidnapped. Besides, if Sung Hyunje hadn't escorted me back, I would've called you."

There was no way I would've wandered around by myself without Gyeol.

"What's the situation now? You didn't announce to everyone I was kidnapped, right?"

[Of course not. We contacted the Awakened Management Office and the Association to check the airports and track Chloe Alger's movements. Only Director Song Taewon and a handful of people at the Association know.]

"Good job. Come back for now, but just ask Director Song to meet us at the hotel. Leave the Association out of it."

Even if they tried to handle it quietly, the fact that the airports had been checked meant it was unlikely the information hadn't leaked. Since things had already escalated to this point, we might as well make the best of it.

[You're not alone, are you?]

"Nope. The Sesung Guildmaster is right here in front of me."

"Don't worry, young master. I'll take good care of your hyung. You can come at your leisure."

[…I'll leave him to you for now. Hyung, stay put.]

The call ended. I quickly called Yerim next.

[Ajussiii!]

[Daaad!]

Gyeol was on the verge of tears, and Yerim was half-scolding, half-grumbling that they'd been worried sick. Poor kids. It really wasn't a big deal. But wait… Oh no, this meant…

[…Yoojin, you.]

Sure enough, Myungwoo sounded angry. His voice was heavy and intimidating.

[How on earth could you—!]

"No, really, this time nothing happened!"

[We were so worried, Yoojin-ssi. Myungwoo-hyung, please calm down.]

So the two of them were together. Well, even though this time wasn't my fault, I felt guilty since I'd worried them so many times before. I humbly apologized.

Finally, I called Director Song, who sighed heavily as soon as he answered.

"It was really a misunderstanding. I swear."

[At least you're safe. Is Hunter Sung Hyunje beside you?]

"I feel a little sorry for Director Song Taewon," Sung Hyunje said, his tone and expression showing not the slightest bit of remorse.

[Please refrain from making false reports.]

"False? I only spoke the truth. There was merely a slight misunderstanding in the process of the message being relayed."

It was annoying because technically, he wasn't wrong. But thanks to his mischief, Sung Hyunje's mood seemed to have improved a bit.

After finishing my last call, I looked up at him.

"Anyway, I won."

"I concede."

Nodding slightly, Sung Hyunje took out the letter and placed it in my hand. I hoped it wasn't just some trivial content after all this.

---

Footnotes:

[1] It says 1 hr 27 min 51 sec in the e-book but I think it is an error.

[2] The lack of a word in English that captures both "things" and "people" again makes it awkward to translate this without specifying one or the other. In Korean, Sung Hyunje doesn't specify what he doesn't like losing, which is why he then clarifies that it's not just objects but people that can be taken away.

#this chapter was the entire reason i started translating this arc in the first place #i hope you all enjoyed this arc and especially this chapter as much i do!#my s class hunters #the s classes that i raised #tsctir #sctir #s classes that i raised #jinjae #jinje #hjyj

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ressjeon · 2 years ago

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storge: painting | myg

summary: you're busy preparing something for your one-two arguably little ones without thinking they'll do the same to you

rating: pg | word count: 0.8k

genre/au: slice of life, domestic!au, family!au

content: dad yoongles 🥺 and cute stuff (what is happening to me)

a/n: happy 30th birthday to the loml yoongi! finally posting a dilf drabble for him and posted on time. i suddenly wrote this out of nowhere after seeing some clips from the RUN episode last year because he's just a husband material oml i couldn't help it >.<

The smile hasn’t left your lips when you hear the bickering at a distance.

You’re currently approaching the door right at the corner, carrying a tray of snacks and a pitcher to where the source of the noise is from. You knock as soon as you reach the door but they couldn’t seem to hear it because when you opened the door, your daughter and husband are still arguing in front of a canvas on the floor.

More like your baby girl complaining while Yoongi is purposefully being stubborn to tease her.

"daddy, come on, it's pretty easy" your toddler huffs as she tugs on Yoongi's rolled-up sleeve. Your husband’s wearing a yellow suede shirt, paired with a white one underneath that made you mildly concerned about getting dirty until he reassured you that he’d be careful. He’s wearing a long dark green canvas apron but even if it gets messy later on, he’d never mind so long as it makes his little girl happy.

Your daughter’s little eyebrows are still scrunched together as she stares at her father's canvas. She seems to want him to paint a similar picture as hers, with bright colours closely depicting a flower garden. Your heart melts at what you’re seeing, Yoongi watching your daughter fondly while she tries to teach him how to paint like her.

The art supplies scattered around the covered floor that they're both on just add how beautiful what you’re looking at is. And now you know what to paint on your canvas.

You have to carefully mind your steps until you reach the table so you can place the snack tray you’re carrying.

It’s the weekend and you’re both thankfully off from work, allowing you and Yoongi to have a bonding time with your daughter. Every week, you let her pick on what activity you’re all doing as a family and this time its painting.

"he's too lazy, mommy!" your daughter accuses, finger pointing at her father while holding a mini paint brush with her other hand. She’s pertaining to the plain hues of colour that Yoongi has been painting so far and it made you giggle. You approach his sitting form to see his progress so far.

"not bad yoongs" you stare at his canvas of greys and blues with a teasing lilt in your tone making Yoongi pout.

"can you see my ruthless brush strokes? my plan was to only paint whatever comes to mind" he complains, lips puckering at your comment and it makes you laugh even more.

"okay, break time for now" you called, unloading the snacks and a pitcher of pineapple juice. Your daughter immediately drops her brush and excitedly approaches you, having you remind her to be careful not to step on anything.

You handed her a glass of juice and a small slice of pajeon.

"thank you mommy"

“ask daddy to get his share”

She hesitates a bit before calling for her Dad in which Yoongi replies with “i’m almost done baby”.

He's getting lost in what he's doing again, similar to when he's working that you often have to remind him to get breaks.

“the hotteok’s gonna get cold Yoongi'' you playfully scold him, aware that he usually prefers to eat it quickly while it’s hot.

This got his attention and he eventually stands up, following his daughter to where you’re currently sitting. He grabs a bite and takes one fish-shaped bread after, humming when he tastes the red bean inside it. Of course, you have to make two flavours since he prefers that flavour while your daughter loves the custard cream filling like you do.

You help your daughter sit in her chair and move towards Yoongi next, bringing up his left arm to take off the hair tie from his wrist. He raises a brow at you, munching another piece of hotteok.

“you’ve been moving your bangs a lot earlier, don’t want any paint on them” you smile, gathering his hair and pulling it back before securing it with the hair tie you’re holding. Yoongi's hair has been very luscious since he started growing it, and you've been doing your best to keep the scissors away.

However, you’re starting to regret doing so and your husband seems to notice it. Yoongi knows how you love his man bun, that little quirk of his lips stayed the entire time until he finished his glass of juice.

He stands up to grab his apron to finish his own canvas, ignoring your flustered reaction.

“mommy, come” your daughter breaks your reverie when her tiny hands reach for yours, dragging you to the empty canvas on her left side.

They've both gone quiet and are now focusing on their own canvases so you decide to do the same. You sat down and stare blankly at the canvas, forgetting what you wanted to paint when suddenly you feel strong arms caging you from behind.

Only then do you notice the paint streaks on your daughter's face, who's grinning widely while holding her small wood palette in her hand, fingers coated with paint as they reach out to your cheeks.

“your turn” Yoongi whispers beside you with his gummy smile, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before applying his paint-coated fingers to your other cheek.

In the end, you never get to paint anything on your canvas.

divider by: @cafekitsune 💕

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lumizwrld · 9 months ago

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ＰＲＯＦＥＳＳＩＯＮＡＬ✯

"I love, you love. This love, we're professional..."

➢ !Dom¡ Ryohei Arisu ♥︎ Afro-Latina Reader

☕︎ word count ・3.2k (This late ass lil Valentine's Day smut, I'm so mad bc I wanted to post this on valentines Day but I ended up changing some things around.♥︎) GIF~ @jeongjinman

⚠︎NSFW WARNING⚠︎

cw ✐ outside the borderland universe, valentines day sex, shy arisu turning into dom, sensual, passionate, roughness, dirty talking, teasing, arisu eating reader out, cowgirl, missionary, reverse cowgirl, swallowing, submissive reader, moaning, whimpering, groaning, arisu being a good boyfriend, only Arisu Ryohei's perspective

✍︎ Summary = Not only had it been Valentine's Day, but it was also the day that Arisu showed his all to you. Being your boyfriend of just 1 year, he wanted to end this Valentine's Day off with a banger. As you're met with his surprise, you also find him hiding away from you (knowing his cowardness). After met, you encountered with his aggression, his frustration with himself, handing it all out to you in the most sinful way. ✧

It felt like she was never going to walk through that door, time unexpectedly reached a standstill lingering for her urgently to open that door and die from the death-defining adornment of all my love scattered through the apartment loft.

Anxious, I spent hours trying to find the best-looking outfit I could find and made sure it was her favorite color. Midori, the creation of yellow and blue. A green dress suit that complimented black pants and a pair of dress shoes embodied on me. I only desired perfection yet, she wouldn't want it any different. She would be happy even if I wore black sweats and a white t-shirt. From what I can recall earlier, she preached, “Please don’t go overboard about today, when I come back home, let's just smoke and lay in each other's arms? That could be our lil Valentine's Day right there." however, I feel like sometimes she doesn’t know how tenacious I can be when I listen to her.

Call it crazy, I was never the type to do anything so grand as this. Granted, I’m best with my hands yet I’d never expected to create an outbreak of devotion to her. Petals of roses scattered all over the floor, the flame of the candles shining so bright like an August day, inhaling the air of romance in the atmosphere, and centering the stage with her favorite songs faintly singing their way throughout the place….

God, she's gonna kill me…

“Shit Y/N, stop making me panic like crazy just hurry please…” I prayed in my head, disregarding the fact that the more I kept my eyes on the door the more I’d be tempted to faint. “C’mon baby, make it home quick.”

Pacing, fidgeting of fingers as I tried to ignore how nervous I was. “Shit.” I groaned to myself, placing my arms behind my head. For a moment, I thought I heard keys fidgeting at the door. Anxiety rushed all over me again, striding toward the door and then taking a slight step back.

“Fuck,” I groaned, “I-I can’t do this…” I uttered in my head.

“Baby I’m home-“ She spoke before being astounded at the place. I could sense her soft footsteps kissing the floor, loving every moment of this affection. Nonetheless, I hid in the master bathroom. Heart pulsating out my chest, I had no clue why I felt terrified to meet her.

She drives me crazy, I hate the way I get with her…

I hate that she tenses me up without doing absolutely anything to me…

Her gentle voice sang out my name yet I refused. It was guilt, agitation, and love fighting in my body right now. I couldn’t regulate to move.

“Ryohei? Where are you amor come out,” She questioned, sauntering up the stairs to the bedroom. “Baby you don’t understand how in love I am with the place. You didn’t have to do this.”

“G-Give me a second hani, I-I’m in the bathroom.” I notified her, head thrown into my palms as I elongated a groan.

“Hey…” She expressed, embracing her body against the bathroom door. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t be nervous baby, I love what you did. Thank you for that.”

A weak giggle flew from my lips, “Hani I’m fine I swear. I just had to use the bathroom that’s all. You love it huh?”

I could hear her voice pitch up scarcely, chuckling while battling to open the door for me. “Ryohei c’mon, I wanna see you.”

Hesitated, my hands trembling as if the temperature plunged in the room. I held my breath for an instant, my hand reaching out for the knob. A slight turn for the lock, gradually opening the door was all I needed to do before her eyes lit with a thousand stars.

“Hi…” I spoke, shoving my hands in my pockets as her eyes scrutinized my frame.

“You went all out for me,” She confessed, creeping closer to me with her hands elevated towards my chest. “You look so handsome cariño, oh my god…” She adored, inclining her head against my neck.

“I’m sorry for-“

“I know it’s okay, you went all out for me I know this probably overwhelmed you.”

“I just feel like I made this awkward now. I hid away from you and it’s like…I’ve been waiting for you all day you don’t understand mama I-

How swiftly, her lips shut my doubts up. Her fingers, locked themselves up behind my waist. Her tongue, communicating with mine. She made me melt in her embrace, I didn’t know where to position my hands. It was so bad how this kiss instantly made me desperate for her.

My head tilted inwards, permitting her hand to crawl up my back to the strands of my hair. She certainly knew for a fact that this was all gonna be in her control yet, I desired things to change for a second. Her free hand seizes my neck as her kisses trailed down my lips to my jawline. I guess this was her turn to show me her devotion to me cause, it had me to a point where it illustrated all over my face how badly I wanted to touch her beautiful body. All her pent from work, relieved from my bare hands. Even though she was always the one to command, I yearned for this to be all about her.

“How was work baby?” I communicated, my hand going for the back of her head as she made love to my neck.

“It was slow, but…All I thought about was you. I couldn't wait to get here.”

“That's…” I spoke before sighing at her gentle bites. “Good to hear baby, I've just been doing this all day.”

“I can tell, you do love me.” She whispered in my ear. Kissing it gradually, she was luring me deeply into her pool of lust.

“C’mon baby, let me take this off you.” I offered, taking her coat off. As she became free from the restriction of her puffer coat, her hands latched onto my entire body. “Baby, it's okay you don't gotta rush.”

“It's not me rushing, you deserve this.”

“I deserve this? All I did was just show you how much you mean to me, you always show me how much you love me. Granted I do, but I wanna do it in a form-”

I could feel her taking the lead, slowly walking back to the bed as she clung to me. “Mi amor, you talk too damn much. Just look pretty and let me do everything okay?”

I giggled, “Alright don't fuck with me like that."

She giggled in unison, “You’re everything to me. I love you, but you need to realize how much you are worth. You're worth every fucking thing on this planet.”

I guess this was it.

I guess this is where it ends.

All this shyness, is gone.

I guess, this was where I made a mark.

I pushed her onto the bed, leaping on top of her frame. My hands grasping her neck as if she disrespected every inch of me. This went along with a harsh, desperate kiss.

I heard a whimper, yet that didn't cross my mind at all. I could tell she was surprised with every bit of emotion rushing throughout her body in this moment. Mainly, I was focused on one thing.

“Nobody’s ever told me that before until I met you. You love me too damn much, that's one thing I fucking hate about you. I hate how you make me feel this way and don't let me do anything in return.” I spoke right in her ear, her pants in mine as a form of a response.

“Ryohei…” She sighed.

“I want you,” I demanded, finding my way down my belt buckle. “I want you to let me do everything.”

Her hands reached on my belt, supporting me with unbuckling. Crazy, it seemed like I had her wrapped around my finger.

Assertive, her hand went inside my pants.

Heart felt, the way I spoke in her ear.

Temptation, her hands trying not to go any further.

“I won't stop you at all.”

“Y/N…”

“Do it please, I promise I won't stop you.”

Her desperate hands found me in my boxers, exposing myself on her own. Her kisses deprived my lips again, this time with a sense of belonging to be submitted to me.

Her defeat, she wanted this from me all along.

So in my response...

Don't hold this back, let it out….

First, it was me losing myself in between her legs.

Her thighs were gripped with my cold hands as I kissed the lips of her deprived pussy, darting into her eyes while I licked her sensitive clit. She felt the exhilaration instantly, her hands lost in my hair as she whimpered for me to slow down and stop. Still, such a beautiful woman who doesn't know how hard-headed I can be.

"Fuck." She moaned, "Ryohei just like that, lick me like that."

I answered her demands, licking her til she would see stars while I had my free hand teasing the entrance of her hymen. Entreating her right, she kept trying to close her legs yet I retained them open with all my might.

"You're all in my mouth." I teased, "All in my mouth."

She winced, panting at my fingers fucking her, imitating what I had planned for in a moment. Her begs and cries, all in my ear like a siren luring in a sailor. She had me hypnotized.

"I've never been so jealous of fingers in my life." I teased once again, "Mama, why are you holding yourself back?"

"I-I'm not."

"No?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Why are you lying to me?" I spoke, inching myself up to her face. "Don't lie to me."

I then lost myself in her eyes, brushing her hair from her cheeks. Nobody said anything, just a swift grab from her back, switching positions that transitioned this moment.

Her warm skin was positioned on top of me as her hand latched on my chest while straining to place me inside her. Her eyes revealed all her lust, how she begged for me without even saying a word. Gradually, she consumed all of me. Songs in unison, allowing me to thrust deep inside her warmth. It was as if this was the last day we'd be together. Who would have known, I'd be the one in control of this.

“Hold my hands mama, let me help you.” I panted, observing her lustful face as her body fucked with mine. “Nobody can hear you let it out for me baby.”

“Don't say that Ryohei.” She moaned, tossing her head back.

“Why?” I conversed, “The way I'm talking to you, does it bother you?”

“You know exactly what you're doing.” She groaned, vigorously grinding herself to the profound thrusts I provided.

“Tell me then, what am I exactly doing then? Speak to me mama, tell me what I'm doing to you.” Overstimulated, her hands released mine and grasped on my neck. This encouragement I gave was gonna finish with something grand I persisted to myself. However, it seemed like even when this is finished. She's gonna want more.

My cold hands rushed to her nipples, caressing them with gentle squeezes. The evil giggles she made that were intended with lust filled my ears, moaning afterward when I brought her close for me to suck on.

“I want you on top.” She panted faintly.

“What did you say?” I questioned, slowing my strokes.

“Please,” She panted, “Get on top of me.”

My eyes dilated, soon switching positions. She looked so innocent, like a porcelain doll. So fragile if I were to even touch her, she’d break. My arms found themselves beside her head as she held the support placing me inside her again. Silk soft legs, trapping me around my waist as a so-called embrace.

“Is this a trap?”

“What are you gonna do if I say yes?”

Aggressive, I thrusted once. Her gasp left her lips however before getting just a slight exhale, I placed my index finger right inside her needy mouth. Creeping myself closer to her face, she was like a model, a sight of pure beauty to me. This was all mine.

All of her was mine...

All of mines, to ruin...

Sounds of sin, the aroma of sex, the sloppiest of kisses, the sensing of sweaty skin, all at once could be seen as a form of art. My hand went from her lips to fondling her chin as the other maintained my balance, compelling her to look directly into my eyes as I slowly stroked up the pace.

“You want it like this baby?” I moaned, observing her surrender her beautiful body to me. "Tell me your beautiful thoughts I promise it won't hurt to just tell me."

“I-I can’t,” She panted, straining to fuck me in unison. “Control me fuck, I feel like such a whore Ryohei I'm sorry-”

“No no, fuck me like a whore then, don’t be scared baby. Show me how much of whore you can be to me.” I encouraged her, leaving her to snatch my hand and kiss my fingers, slowly suckling them.

“Ruin me, ruin me.” she entreated. First my thumb, then my index finger along with my middle. She replicated what she would do to me, It was to a point where I could die right from how much of a slut I turned her into. Neediness overfilling her eyes as she wished for me to cum...

Was it bad that I faintly felt it?

“Ruin? Did I bother you too much hani? I'm sorry, that's all my fault. Isn't it?” I giggled, moaning afterward.

“Don’t apologize,” she panted, removing my damp hair that began to cover my eyes from the thrusting. “I love everything you’re doing to me.”

“I forgot to tell you how beautiful you looked today. Mama is this what you want from me?" I intended, my lips inches away from hers. "Yes, this is what you want, right? You want me to talk to you like this when I fuck you like this baby? Tell me I know you do." Brown profound eyes, darting right into her soul as she hesitates to choose which action to make, panting or moaning her heart out of the pleasurable feeling of me penetrating her swollen pussy. Her grip was so strong I couldn't help but moan to her embrace on it.

Her eyes were in such worry yet, smiling like a complete slut at my weakness. Her right hand on my neck, resisting herself to combust from me. “Keep talking like that and I swear I’ll cum all on you.”

“Do it, mark all the things that belong to you. Mark your territory baby, cum on my dick.” I intended, deepening my penetration to hit her where it hurts.

Her head was sunken into the pillow and her hand that existed on my neck soon felt her body. Rushing hands, all on her breast. Generously squeezing her nipple to the stimulation, god it was all my fault she acted this way with me. Her luscious lips were soon bitten. I could tell she was starting to feel her climax.

“I…I can’t…Ryohei…” She moaned, arching her back leaving me to slide my hand under. Obtaining her close, I departed subtle kisses on her neck down to her chest.

“Do everything on me. Like I said before, show me how much of a slut I turned you into.” I groaned, maneuvering my head to her deprived breasts, brushing her finger away to allow placement of my tongue on her nipples. Sucking passionately, I offered her soft bites to signify my admiration to her breast instead of just her pussy and her lips. And so, just when I thought this session would last for a while longer, I winced at myself gaining a strong sense of sensitivity. “Tell me where you want me to cum mama, give me what you want.”

She panted, “No, no don’t do it yet, please. I wanna keep going please, don’t stop Ryohei please.”

I awed, “I’m making you feel good, aren’t I? You want more of me huh?”

“S-Shut up.”

“Shut up? Mama think before you speak. You said you love everything I’m doing, right?” I taunted, pulling out of her. “You told me to ruin you, don’t take back anything.”

“R-Ryohei why did you-”

She found herself on top of me again, this time her eyes darting to the ceiling. My grip, so profound, and down on the stands of her hair, her back arched to the tension. Devouring, her needy pussy embracing my dick made my body rush with nerves. God, I’d loved to watch her fuck me if we placed mirrors on the ceiling. Observing her face full of pain from my thrusts, her perky nipples all alone likewise yet the hypnotic bouncing would be such a movie I’d reminisce every single fucking day.

“Lose yourself to me Y/N, let me be the only one to see you like this. I wanna be the only one to make you this filthy.”

The exertion she had was overwhelming mine, I felt depleted to where I lost grasp of her hair. She sensed me discharging, “Amor, please. Don’t stop please, let me help you.” She pleaded, going on all fours. “I need you.”

The minute she slid up, I directly jerked up from the sensation on my tip. Yet, she never left that spot. I worshiped every moment, her pussy fucking my tip knowing damn well she desired for me to cum.

“You want it inside you mama? Advise me.” I demanded, seizing her arms and bearing them back aggressively, gasping on her back. “Let me do it inside you, let me cum inside you.”

“Do it then Ryohei, let it out please.”

“Y/N, I'm starting to...W-Wait I feel it.”

My eyes latched, throwing my head back as I moaned as loud with all the strength I still had.

Yet, this feeling only grew stronger.

Grasping my hair, I couldn’t help to sustain my body from all this pleasure.

But, once I opened my eyes. Her beautiful eyes were met with mine, but her mouth was full of me.

“I thought…I thought I came inside you….” I huffed, wincing at her subtly licking me.

“You really did lose yourself." She giggled, following her tongue down my shaft.

“Fuck,” I huffed, “You're an evil woman y’know?”

“Yeah, you know I love you right?”

“Uh-huh”

Her tongue had found a home on my dick, licking my hardened tip as she motionlessly kept her gaze on me. “Good, I want you to remember that.” She grinned, spitting on it as she watched me jolt up again.

“Y-Y/N!?…” Whines, the pain yet pleasure filled my soul. Seizing her hair, I forcefully fucked myself into her filthy mouth for a moment. “That’s what you wanted huh? All of me in your mouth right like this?”

Her soft giggles flew in the air, “Yeah, it seems like you wanted it more than me.”

I soon hauled her up to my face, kissing her passionately as I released her from my grasp.

Once again, she got on top of me but soon began wrapping the covers on us. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I spoke, caressing her in my arms as I kissed her forehead. “God, you took everything outta me.”

As we snuggled in each other’s arms, it went silent. Taking in this void of quietness, my lips soon parted those soft, heavenly words of...

“Hani, I forgot to tell you once you got home...Happy Valentine’s Day.♥︎"

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