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mingi-bubu · 2 years ago

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4. “How would that even work?”

Fictober22~ soulmate au, uni au, strangers to soulmates, mingi is mentioned a lot for a character who doesn’t actually speak in this, author plays fast and loose with electrical engineering and art, seunghun x reader, ~2.4k

Ever since you were a wee lamb, you've known about Words. You knew that They connected you to another person, or persons. According to your Ma, Words are the first thing that comes from the person you're Connected with when they meet you.

Your Ma told you how she found hers, suddenly appearing one day when she was starting uni. She traced over Them on the side of her neck, just barely hidden by her hair, with a faraway look on her face. 'As far as the crow flies' is what her Words are. She met your father in the courtyard by the dorms because he overheard her asking her friend how far they thought she could throw the Frisbee. And the rest was history.

Your Words didn't appear until you were nearly out of uni. One day your left hand was plain and unmarked, and you woke up the next with Words that said 'How would that even work?' running from the crook of your thumb to almost the tip of your index finger. You remember staring at Them for ages, marveling at how right it felt to see Them, how They didn't seem to feel any different from your own skin. They were a little faded compared to people who've met their Connected(s), but that's normal. Words don't darken until They're communicated by the right person.

It was weird how fate had matched with your bachelor's program—electrical engineering major with a minor in visual arts. You used the things you learned in major courses to help with projects in your minor courses. Of course, this caused a lot of people to ask, “How could that work at all?” or “Why do you think that would even work?”

Questions that were so similar to your Words, but just a bit off. You're happy you made friends with people who understand your ideas, though. Yonghee, an engineering mathematics major whom you met in your freshman year, was someone who encouraged you to try anything you came up with. Mingi, an econ major a year ahead of you who studied how math and the fashion industry intersect, was someone you relied on for inspiration for your visual arts minor. You often asked him about current trends to see how you could incorporate that into your robots' designs. You have a few other close friends—Jenny who was a year below you and studying data science; Belle who was undecided but seemed to be leaning towards math education—but Yonghee was your closest friend.

Which is why you called him at six in the morning because you finally had inspiration on your next art project and told him to meet you at the art studio in an hour and bring black tea with a smidgen of honey.

"And I'm doing this for you on a Saturday, why?" He asks, his words coming out muffled. You figured he had his head half buried in his pillows as usual. "Mmm, because you're my best friend whom I love and cherish?" Your voice is sugar-sweet as you set your phone down on your bedside table and put the call on speaker. When he doesn't respond, you call his name to see if he was awake still.

"No, I'm awake," he says, and you hear the sheets rustle as he turns over, "I'm just waiting on a better reason." His voice is still sleepy, but the words come out much more clearly.

You roll your eyes and start sifting through your dresser for your art clothes; clothes that you wouldn't mind getting paints, oil pastels, charcoal, etc. on. "Okay, how about I buy us lunch when you force me to stop working because you're hungry?"

"I choose where we eat?"

"Yes, Yong, you can choose where we eat." You throw on your paint-stained jeans and an old T-shirt from your high school days. It has a purposefully faded image of a dragon being slain by a knight. It used to have words underneath that read something like 'A Knight to remember!' and the date of the big game between your school and your rivals. You turn to your desk and open your Little Box of Toys, as Mingi calls it, and start checking to see what you want to bring with you for the beginning stages of the project.

"I'll see you at seven. You going to your regular studio?" He checks, yawning afterwards. You hum an affirmative, and he says, "Cool. See you soon."

The phone beeps to let you know he ended the call, and you walk back to your bedside table to grab it. As soon as you pick it up, your phone begins to vibrate, your ringtone playing. Yonghee's face appears in the little contact circle.

You're a little confused, but you answer it. "Yeah, Yong?"

"Forgot to tell you something," he says. He sounds completely awake now, and you take a guess at what he forgot.

"Aww, you forgot to say you love me," you simper, batting your lashes even though he can't see.

"Sure," he dismisses, "but also that a friend from high school is visiting from out-of-town, and he might be coming with me to the studio."

"I'm not buying him lunch," you immediately say, "if we're going where I think you'll want to go, I'm barely going to have enough to cover the both of us."

"It'll be fine. He might choose to sleep in, instead." The unspoken "like I was going to" hangs in the air. "Either way, Mingi is going to whisk him away in the early afternoon."

"Gi knows him? You guys didn't go to high school anywhere near each other, though."

"They both did dance competitions back then. Min just didn't choose to major in it, unlike Seunghun."

"Oh, neat!" You say. "Well, he is certainly welcome to come with you. Mingi, too, if he wanted to get up this early."

There's a moment of silence before the two of you laugh. "Okay, okay, I'll see you soon!"

Once again, your phone beeps to let you know that the call is over. You set your phone on your desk next to your Little Box of Toys and go into the bathroom to brush your teeth and finish the rest of your morning routine. When you come back, you see that Yonghee texted you to remind you to bring a heavier jacket because it's supposed to be cold out today.

You smile, touched at your friend's thoughtfulness. You open the message to thank him, but before you can type the words, he sends another message explaining that he didn't want to deal with you being all whiny when you got sick.

Refusing to dignify it with a response, you shove the phone into your jacket pocket. You grab the rest of your things, put your shoes on, and check that you have the keys to get you into the studio. With that all done, you leave for the studio, locking your door behind you and pocketing the keys.

You get there before Yonghee, of course. The route to the building has been ingrained in your mind since the second half of freshman year. You're polite about it, though, and wait just on the other side of the entry doors. Yonghee was right; it was cold out today. While you waited for him, only twenty more minutes before he was late, and he had to pay for lunch as forfeit, you looked around at the entryway. Your eyes fell on the bulletin board filled with posters advertising everything from a reward for a lost hedgehog to baking lessons for French pastries.

There was something about the arts building in the early morning when nobody was around that gave you a sense of where you stand in the eyes of the universe. Sure, you have Words, you have fate that Connects you to another. But the universe doesn't care about that, or rather, Words are not the only thing that exists to the universe. You can tell by how the weak light of morning starts to fully come out from behind the clouds. The beams of light fall through the window and dust motes dance in it. The leaves outside that had dark outlines around them on the sidewalk from the rain the night before that hadn't yet evaporated. The birds starting to chirp and bounce from branch to branch, tree to tree. The universe had its own rhythm and beat, and it didn't care what you did or who you were. It was both comforting and terrifying at the same time.

The idea of Connecting did the same. Words were, in a way, Themselves Connecting you to the universe. You’ve heard different reports on what happens when one’s Words darken. Some people say they feel like the wind has been knocked out of them. Others say they feel like something in their life had clicked into place. Your Ma told you that for her, she felt like someone had put her inside a meat locker. She said your father felt like he was sitting right next to a bonfire.

You were broken from your thoughts by the door opening, the cold air whooshing in along with Yonghee and another person who you assume is Seunghun. Yonghee held your tea in one hand, his drink in another. The edges of a bright orangey-pink paper bag from the café by his apartment sticks out of his pocket. Seunghun was eating a breakfast sandwich, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold. You waved them further in, grabbing the door behind them and pulling it shut faster than it would have on its own.

Yonghee was bundled in a sweater with a scarf and his windbreaker over it. A beanie with a pink and gray poof on top, matching the scarf, sat on his head. His darker pink hair stuck out from it in several places. Seunghun was wearing a dark gray beanie and a navy blue peacoat. Despite it being obvious he was still tired, he was handsome. You could tell from the way he carried himself that he is a dancer, and that he seems like someone who wants to and likes to laugh a lot. Both of them wore their backpacks.

Yonghee hands you your tea. "So, tell me about your project."

You excitedly start talking about your project, leading the two down the hall to your favorite studio in the back, a corner room. You like the amount of natural light that you get there. It’s also usually ignored in favor of the other studios because of its size, so you didn’t really have to worry about someone walking in and disturbing you.

"Okay, so I read about this story that someone told about their college professor who used Tesla coils to show how electricity is conducted in plexiglass. I want to do something similar to that, but with a different spin to it." You explain as you open the door to the studio, setting your Little Box of Toys on the design desk. You gesture to the chairs, "Go ahead and take a seat wherever. Today I'm just getting the rough idea of it down, the blueprint if you will, and maybe starting on some smaller Tesla coils."

The two guys do as you say, sliding their backpacks off, dropping them to the ground, and Yonghee pulls out the paper bag from his pocket. He takes his own sandwich out of it and starts eating. Seunghun looks at you politely, watching as you talk with your hands about the project.

"I want to do something similar, but with paper if possible. If not, I'll use plexiglass and inks. I’m probably going to experiment with sizes of the coils first to see which one is most doable in this context." You take a sip of your tea and set it down, exchanging it for a little robotic joint from your box, just to have something to fiddle with in the meantime. Yonghee nods along, understanding the basic idea of your project.

Seunghun raises a hand, and when you look at him, he asks hesitantly, "How would that even work?"

You nearly snap the joint in half at hearing him say your Words, and you look down at your finger. It felt like it was burning and cooling all at once, Words darkening as if They were rising like a tide. Staring at Them, you reflexively reply, "Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

As soon as those words come out of your mouth, Seunghun's eyes widen. Thinking he is upset with you, you start apologizing. "I am so sorry, I have no idea where that came from! It's just something I do to Yonghee all the time."

“Thanks,” said boy mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

Seunghun breaks into a smile, his left hand coming up to rest on his right shoulder, fingers tightening around the dark wool. "Still don't have a clue about how you'll control the electricity, but I'm glad to know that the person with my Words is so ambitious."

You can't help but smile back, a warmth spreading from your chest to the rest of your body. You feel a little giddy, a little like you can’t really focus on reality. "Well, I mean, I'll have a Faraday cage around some of my stuff. My electronic devices—phone, tablet, etcetera—will be protected from the electricity, but no, I won't have any control."

He looks a little worried at your explanation, but Yonghee reassures him. “YN is used to working with this kind of thing. Believe me, they’ll be fine.”

A thought strikes you, but hesitation rises with it. Deciding that there’s no harm in asking, you say, “If you wanted, if you’re able to of course,” the words stumble out of your mouth, “you could, um, sit with me and watch when I get to that part of my project?”

“Yeah…” he says slowly, “yeah, that would be nice.” He ducks his head down briefly, and you can see that he’s trying to hide another smile. As a result, you do the same, looking down at your shoes, trying to hide your pleased smile.

Yonghee looks at the both of you, and sighs dramatically while he picks up his backpack, walking towards the small set of tables clustered in the opposite corner of the room. “I’m going to die from sweetness overload if I look at the two of you any longer.”

#fictober22 #cix scenarios #seunghun scenarios #kim seunghun scenarios #sorry about my mingi bias LEAPING out in this #jae.works

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catharrington · 4 years ago

Note

It’s Highnon, not high when she writes to you (ironically). The prompt was doctor-patient porn, but not like a porn video being made within the fic story, but just straight up porn. Doctor A must give a full... physical... examination of Patient B, both inner and outer for a full health check up. Mmm what kind of instruments would Doctor have? Hey! That one’s not medical grade appropriate that one looks like was specially made for a particular use! Oh Doctor, do make me feel... better 🍆🍑💦👅

Highnon you are a dirty dirty dog. That’s why I like you ;) idk why I’m always thinking about hockey player Steve. I think I’m projecting Keanu Reeves on him a little bit lol. But w/e~ enjoy!

Fooled around and fell in love.

Steve skated towards the exit gate with a hiss of pain, clutching his side where one of his teammates sticks had broken over it. He didn’t want to listen to his coach and get it checked out. He actually insisted on continuing practice. That was until a friendly pat on the back had his breath shortening in his chest, his ribs seizing up, and his legs giving out. So it became less of a suggestion, and more of an order.

Stepping off the ice and across to the locker room, Steve changed out of his not thick enough padding and jersey for his street clothes. A skimpy pair of shorts almost pastel in their spearmint green color, and a cut off tshirt that once read a band name and is now too faded from sweat and washing detergent to decipher. Skating got him cold, but hockey practice always left Steve over heated so he didn’t like to wear much after.

Now, however, as he lifts his duffel bag and skates tied together with their laces over his shoulder, and carries his stick in his hand like a wizard on an adventure, his shorts feel a little silly.

He’s got to make the trek across his university campus to the infirmary. Any other day, Steve would dump his stuff in his car and maybe drive his car. But it’s sunny outside so he walked to the closed off air conditioned auditorium. Of course.

The sun comes down on his back as he thinks about the physical therapist he’s walking towards. Hargrove, Doctor Hargrove, if one can even be a doctor of giving massages. He’s just transferred down from being a football teams specialist in California and he shows it. Young and talented. All sun kissed skin and rippling surfer muscles. The type of guy to pull his long blond hair back into a pony tail and roller blade down a boardwalk with cut off jeans on— and only cut of jeans on.

Steve shivers with the image.

But it’s real life that has those shivers crawling as goosebumps up the patch of hair on Steve’s chest and to his neck. It’s the real life Doctor Hargrove that wears sun faded button up shirts left unbuttoned just a smudge unprofessionally. And the real life pair of gold wire frame glasses he keeps on the tip of his button nose. Looks over them with a smile when he’s listening to Steve’s story of his visit. Doesn’t judge, just smiles perfect teeth. Makes Steve feel warm all over no matter how much pain he’s in.

And damn, that’s not great. Having a school boy crush on a Doctor he’s only meet three times. That’s not going to keep his scholarship he so desperately needs.

So Steve tries harder, pushing himself to skate faster and shoot straighter and shove bastards up against the glass. Prove he’s good as hell at hockey. But that leads to more accidents. More injuries. And now he’s here, in front of the quaint little therapy office, for a forth time this season.

“Harrington,” the receptionist calls as soon as he comes through the door.

Steve smiles sheepishly back at her, dumping his equipment off on a coffee table littered with magazines before he goes up to her window. “How’s it going?” he tries to lean casually but ends up wincing in pain.

She’s not impressed, sympathetic, but not impressed. She doesn’t look down as she picks up her phone and presses two buttons before saying his name out loud again. It’s only a short call, just to get Doctor Hargrove out, just to hear those unprofessional boots hitting the linoleum floor.

“Stevie,” Doctor Hargrove opens the door with a salty breeze of ocean air. Catches Steve right on his jaw with how he’s got his hair pulled back in a loose pony tail. His wire frames folded to the pocket of his shirt making it weigh down teasingly showing off more tanned skin. Steve licks his lips and tries to focus on the doctor’s words as he starts speaking.

“Your coach called me and let me know what happened. A whole stick cracked over your back. I gotta say— that’s pretty hardcore to take and keep trying to play... for a pretty boy like you.” He ends the last with a wink.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here? The best care for the school’s best team players?” Steve tries to casually complement him. Remind him it’s professional.

“The best care, and the best hands... all for you, Stevie,” Doctor Hargrove smirks.

He gets his words thrown right back to him with a flirty force strong as California sun burns. Makes Steve blush up his legs and under his shorts to the softest part of inside his thighs. Steve can only giggle, running a hand over the sweaty back of his neck while keeping his head down.

“Lets get started, I’ve got you all set up,” he steps aside to hold the door open. Steve doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to let himself get too close. But at the same time he craves it, yerns for it, would beg for it, if it would make a difference.

So he leaves his huge bag of equipment in the safety of the waiting room and scoots past his physical therapist close enough to make his mouth water.

“Last door,” the Doctor whispers directions into the narrow hallway. Steve goes quickly to the open doorway. Settles inside in a not settled way, clutching his arms across his stomach as he watches Doctor Hargrove ready about.

One hand motions Steve over while the other slides across a massage table’s plush leather. A long dark cream colored thing he’s familiar with. Each massage is simple, lets Steve keep a pair of shorts on the whole time, stands him up nicely with a hand to his lower back, and leaves him feeling all together lighter and heavier at the same time.

“Shirt off, lay down, call me Billy,” he starts listing off more orders. They sound so good.

Steve follows easily. Yanking his shirt off, rustling his shoulder length brown hair, and going to the table to lay down right at his doctor’s beck and call. “Billy,” he tests the name on his mouth lastly. He knew Hargrove’s name was William— but Billy tasted so much better.

“Stevie,” Billy says as he hovers his hands over his naked back, “this whole side of your ribs are going to bruise.” He makes a tisk sound with his mouth like he’s scolding him. Makes Steve’s breath hitch.

“I’m going to feel around, make sure nothing is broken or misplaced. Let me know if you feel any shifting or pain.” Then fingers are on Steve’s side, playing with his skin to shift it around and feel the ladder of his bones. Wide fingers that are well used with calloused tips, but somehow soft and warm. Sand underfoot on a beach you know is made of tiny glass shards but you cannot help but to burry your hands up to your wrists in its warmth.

Steve shivers again, doesn’t moan. “Just super sore,” he replies. And yes, there isn’t any sharp pain or poke, just his skin clouding over in purple as his muscles throw a fit from being abused.

“Then that’s good,” Billy hums. His hands leave only for a moment. Steve doesn’t have to look. He can hear a clicking top of a bottle and the tell tale sounds of wet hands rubbing against each other. Warming up. Steve puts his face as flush into the fluffy white pillow of the table as possible to hide his dusty rose cheeks.

“I believe a deep massage right now will do you well. Loosen up the tension and bring healing blood circulating back to the bruise. Get it nice and worked out, hum? That sound good, Stevie?” Billy prattles on but hasn’t touched him yet.

Steve doesn’t reply, he’s thinking about why and when Billy considered it okay to call him Stevie. A part of him realizes he’s been doing it since their first meeting.

Before his mind wanders too far, there’s two warm hands palming his shoulder blades. Wet and sopping in oil that slides across his skin easily. Melts his stiff back good enough to make his eyes flutter closed. Steve wills his arms to come from his sides up to wrap around his head, uses them like a makeshift pillow when he has a perfectly fine one, really uses his flushed skin to bite down on.

“This is a brand new oil I had delivered here from California,” Billy makes small talk as if his hands weren’t working circles into the top of Steve’s tense muscled back hard and deep enough to make him see stars. “It’s organic and world peace, all that stuff. Made with real hemp oil local to there. Really supposed to do the trick.”

“Hemp oil?” Steve purrs out. Doesn’t really registers he’s done it until his mouth is already open and dragging the L noise through the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut. Presses his forehead into his pillow.

Billy only laughs over him. His hands working down and down, working right where Steve’s spine dips. Rubbing long lines in and out the dip with his two thick thumbs every inch and sends an electric shockwave of pleasure. Does it unhindered and unbothered and so professionally it’s making Steve’s toes curl in his Nikes.

“Yeah hemp,” Billy keeps talking. “They are really looking into it back home. All the uses. Oil, of course, but then there’s the seeds they can use to make flower, and the plant itself can make fibers for rope or clothes. Imagine that, hum? A shirt made from hemp?”

Billy’s hands are down at Steve’s Venus dimples. Right above the waist band of his pastel mint shorts. The oil is soaking into his skin making him feel drunk. The pressure of the fingers are turning his body numb in the best, the very best, of highs.

Steve isn’t paying attention anymore, he’s got his eyes closed and his tussled hair falling over his face. Only hums back for a second as a reply. Doesn’t care the hum comes out much too deep and long. And then comments without filtering. “I imagine some hemp rolled into a joint would be pretty good right about now.”

That earns him a laugh. And Billy’s pressing his thumbs directly into his Venus dimples as he lets the laughter roll through his fingers.

Steve wasn’t ready, can’t stop the moan that comes out of his mouth. He tries to catch it with a hand slapped to lips but it’s too late. Billy’s fingers are gone. There’s a list of apologies already forming on Steve’s tongue, but then those fingers are back. Not back on his skin, but pushing lightly against the waist band of his shorts.

One hand teasing right where they sit over a hip, the other hand pressing into the bruise on his side. But not his hand, something else. Something long and thin and curved off at the tip.

“Billy?” Steve shivers again. Wishes he had all those fingers back.

“I’d like to try something else new, if you’d permit me?” Billy asks. The object tracing around his ribs. Putting more pointed pressure down on them then fingers could. Making Steve’s breath fully catch with how his body can only mold around the solid object.

“This is a massage stick. It’s wooden, hand carved out of real cherry oak. It’s supposed to calm and relax and also reach where I couldn’t with my fingers.” The round tip traces one rib all the way from Steve’s stomach to his spine. Leaves a trail of oil as it goes. Billy must have gotten it dripping wet with the stuff.

Steve moves his hand off his lips, groans as soon as he does, but recovers with a soft nod. “Oh— Okay,” he permits Billy to continue. Steve moves his hand up to get a fist in his hair in an attempt to shut himself up.

“Good, boy,” Billy growls out over him, his tone changed. Warm sand sweltering under the hot sun. Steve’s skin blistering where his fingers are still playing with his waist band.

“Let me take these down, just a little, don’t want to get oil all over your shorts?” and his voice is gravel rough and sickly sweet all at the same time. And better, he’s bent over whispering right into the back of Steve’s neck. His breath his fire scorching over the long hairs that curl over the nape of Steve’s neck. Making them blow in his wind and also get wet and tacky all at the same time.

Steve yanks the fist of his own hair he has hard, trying to swim back to the surface. It doesn’t work. Instead he only drags out another moan, sluty, needy, and at the end of it begs, “yes, oh, yes,” in a chant.

Billy listens, sliding his shorts down just so they clear the curve of Steve’s ass. The waist band hooking under his curvy shapely cheeks to make them plump up even more. One hand splays over his ass. Palms him easy and whole like a fucking basket ball. Billy’s hand still wet and soft with the oil gives his cheek a testing squeeze that makes Steve whimper and buck into the massage table.

It’s embarrassing, but Steve can’t think. Can only smell Billy’s cologne, his own cock hard and dripping pre cum in his shorts, and good weed.

The massage stick moves from his ribs to the small of his back. Testing their muscles like before, making them give in easy ways fingers couldn’t. Billy rubs before he starts dragging the stick up the dip of Steve’s spine. He’s pushing hard but not painful, not enough to bother the curve of each disk in his spine but enough to pressure each muscle to a romantic numb feeling.

Billy takes the stick up and down twice, letting Steve’s posture completely change under the treatment, arching up into the touch, before he drags it down farther. Over the knot of his spine at the very bottom. Then the slickness of the oil drips down the crack of his ass. Steve’s eyes snap open, screwed shut focusing on his haggard breathing, now he has to stop himself from thinking he’s dreaming.

Doctor Hargrove, Doctor dream boat, shirt left unbuttoned because he’s an asshole who loves to put on a show. Knows exactly how beautiful the rippling waves in his blue eyes are. Knows he promises with each muscle and motion to the domination he could have over those waves if he only had a board.

It’s almost a dream. He’s got those hands on Steve’s body, asking Steve for permission and taking the reigns at the same time. Steve’s good at skating and chasing a puck. He was raised under thick trees in a dark forest and cold winters practicing on his skates with the headlights of his car the only light. He’s not used to the glare of the sun, not used to how his leaves unfurl under the attention. He’s embarrassed, but god he can’t help it.

Billy keeps moving the massage stick down, over the curve of his ass and gets the oil spread all over his hole. Gets the side of the stick rubbing on him long, hard, dominating every inch of him.

“Holy shit,” Steve finally lets out in a breathy coil. His arms fold under the pillow to press it hard to his face. While his thighs press together in a full body shiver, his hips arching up off the table for more friction.

The pillow is stifling his whimpers and moans, Billy seems to notice. He gets the hand not occupied with the massage stick to trail up Steve’s back. Dragging his thick, heavy fingers up to run through the length of Steve’s brown hair at the back of his head.

Billy gets his fingers buried in their damp length and pulls Steve’s head out of the pillow.

“Holy fuck, Billy,” Steve lets out unhindered. His neck pulling taught as he chants out, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” then drops into wordless moans.

“Yeah, I knew you’d love this, pretty boy,” Billy murmurs right into his ear.

His hand is still moving, up and down, before the rounded tip catches lightly on the rim of his hole. Steve whimpers desperately, arching up so the well oiled tip pushes easily right in. Billy keeps his wrist straight as the wood inches inside, positively growls as Steve fucks himself on it. Pulling his hair tighter, yanking his head back makes his back arch even more, Steve moans out as his knees push his ass up higher. He’s letting Billy play him like an instrument.

And honestly, Steve doesn’t care he’s letting Billy play him like an instrument. The only thing he’s thinking about is the thick fingers gripping his hair and the hard shaft of wood working inside him.

It’s been a while for Steve, trying to maintain a good grade point average and be the best at a difficult sport, he hasn’t been fucked in a while. His rim opens slowly, dragging slightly painfully as the massage stick goes deep. But the oil is slick and the wood is smooth. He whimpers out a soft gasping noise as he feels Billy’s knuckles brush against his ass cheek.

Billy keeps his fist around the base of the massage stick, twists it so his hand is flush with Steve’s skin, sinking the wood as far inside as he’ll let it go. He manages to keep an air of professionalism, much to Steve’s disappointment, as he rolls his wrist to push in and out. Dragging until the rounded off head is almost out then pushing right back in knuckle deep.

Steve’s straining, pulled taut between Billy’s fist and his own eagerness to get filled with whatever he can reach. His back straining beautifully in a way that hurts his muscles as much as massages them. If he could stay like this, head yanked back and practically sitting up on his knees to get his ass out, for hours he would. But his cock is still trapped in his skimpy little shorts. His cock is dripping wet pre cum that’s leaving a wet spot almost up to his navel. There’s a smell of it in the scented air. And with each thrust of Billy, those languid and deep thrusts of the massage stick inside his ass, the tip of Steve’s cock presses into the leather of the table.

“Bill— Billy,” Steve struggles to get out, struggles to keep his balance with how he’s wiggling and whimpering around. “Please, I want to cum,” he begs.

Then generously, with his own low groan breathed right into Steve’s ear, Billy picks up the pace. Starts thrusting the massage stick short but fast, tilting the head downward to spear into Steve just correct and earn him a sob.

“Yes, fuck yes, Billy,” Steve’s thighs are shaking, his arms that are trying to hold himself up to Billy’s mercy are quivering. His muscles crafted so skillfully for his sport melting sticky, hot under the California sun. Sugar water dripping down Billy’s arms in the middle of the afternoon while he gives his popsicle one lazy lick root to tip.

Inside his shorts, Steve comes a jagged thrusting mess of white. Pumps himself to the same neck breaking thrusts Billy keeps pushing against his prostate with. It’s embarrassing, to cum first and untouched. But the leather is enough to rut against and milk himself with. Dry humping the bed like he’s a teenager again with his magazine of David Hasselhoff lounged out across the hood of his car.

Billy lets his head drop back to the pillow. A kind allowance, let’s Steve’s cries get muffled into the cotton pillow. The massage stick comes out slowly, careful of his sore rim. Steve isn’t thinking about much other than how fucking good he feels until he feels velvet softness press on his ass.

He pushes himself up on one elbow and strains over his shoulder, hurts like hell. But he gets to see Billy, Doctor Hargrove, taking his own cheery red cock out the front of his unzipped jeans and pumping himself mean over Steve’s ass. His lips are glossy and swollen, parted in a groan, and his chest left open by his shirt is flushed with sweat. His doctors coat is open and disheveled, one side fallen off his shoulder. The side he ain’t using to jack himself off on his patient’s ass.

Light blue eyes swirled with sea foam green look upwards at Steve. Catches his own big brown eyes like a cat catching a bird out the sky. With a smile.

He cums like that, making eye contact, smiling with his mouth open and his white teeth sparkling. His tongue rolling out one side just to lick over his fat bottom lip in a tease. His cum shoots fat across Steve’s exposed ass, making it just as glossy as Billy’s lips.

With one hand he pumps himself dry, Steve watching as he shakes with the effort, then uses the other to tuck himself back into his jeans and zip up. Billy has a smile on his face that’s faded slightly from his leering, made softer. He takes both hands and palms them against Steve’s ass. Kneading the muscles of his cheeks just as skillfully as he worked the oil into them.

“Stevie,” he leans back over. Steve drops himself from his elbow as Billy comes in close. Sinking back down to the pillow to lay across it, desperately falling away from those lips. “Feel better after that treatment?” And Billy knows what he’s doing. He leans as far forward as he can, getting his mouth ghosting across Steve’s jaw. Laying open mouthed kisses long his sharp bone as he waits for a reply.

Steve works on one with his spent throat. Struggling slightly to make any noise other than a mewl. Finally he rasps, “feels much better, Doctor.”

Billy giggles at that, right in his ear again. His breath tickling Steve’s hair. “You’re such a good boy for me, Stevie. Let me fix you up perfectly. Let me ruin that pretty ass just right?”

“Billy,” and it’s more of a plea than a name. More of begging than a declaration of anything.

Steve full body shudders on the table as if he’s cuming again when Billy blows a soft breath of air past his ear to lay more kisses. His thick wet tongue curls around Steve’s ear lobe and licks, one long swipe around to the tip, his glossy lips catching all the messy strands of Steve’s hair going everywhere. His tongue moves past. Then he presses one last kiss to the side of his forehead before moving away.

There’s a second’s tick as Steve realizes he’s supposed to move and get up and the knowledge that he simply doesn’t want to. Suddenly he does, pushing himself up and onto shaky legs. Feeling like a doe on thin wavering legs stepping out to the slippery sands of a beach for the first time. He pushes off the table wearily. Reaching for his shirt he discarded on a nearby chair. And oh, thankfully finding a dispenser of paper towels he grabs a fist of to clean his shorts off.

Billy’s still close. A lingering presence right behind Steve as he works around the Doctor’s office. Watching him from those blue eyes predator hungry. Steve wants to rolls his eyes, the man seems starved, but Steve also wants to try for a swim. See where else they can take that old massage table to.

Instead they stay quiet, stay smiling. The cramped examination room very warm now. Steve pulls on his shirt and starts working on wiping the inside of his shorts clean. He feels Billy come up along side him before he can hear him. Even smells his cologne again. The lingering hemp oil on his hands that now reach up to trail along the sensitive skin between Steve’s elbow and his shoulder.

“Want to schedule a follow up? Let’s say?,” and Billy trails off. Steve turns over his shoulder to look at him. His dark eyebrows high on his pretty face and his eyelashes long.

Steve swallows, “Saturday? At 8?” He blurts.

There’s a moment of hesitation on Billy’s face, his thick brows knitting together on his forehead for a second before that wild wolf grin he was wearing as they walked into the back room earlier. “You asking me on a date, Stevie?”

Throwing the towels into the waste basket to clear up his hands, Steve spins in Billy’s arms. He looks up, meets bright blue eyes, wants to watch as his hands trail over the shirt still spread wide on his chest but doesn’t want to look away. Steve nervously plays with the golden wire framed glasses still tucked into Billy’s pocket.

“Yeah, I am,” he says. “My apartment. Got a nice one just a few blocks from campus. Tiny. But decent kitchen. I make a great red sauce pasta, at least that’s what my nana says.”

Billy nods along. Smile turns a little more kitten than wolf as Steve mentions his old nana. “Pasta, your apartment, Saturday at 8? Sounds like a fairy tale date, pretty boy. I won’t miss it for the world.”

Steve shrugs. Feels powerful with his fingers the ones all over Billy’s body. With his appointments and plans the ones taking up Billy’s schedule for once. He feels like sunshine. So he takes his hands and cups them over Billy’s cheeks, slids his own calloused fingers over the subtle beard there, leans in for a soft press of their lips.

Billy is smiling into the kiss. Steve smiles back just as wide. Their teeth knock together once. Steve’s nose gets squished as they move around.

He parts for a second just long enough to whisper, “bring that hemp oil with you, yeah?” before Steve’s got those dreamy lips back on his.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #my fic #harringrove fanfic #steve/billy

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ducknotinarow · 4 years ago

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Bird Ask Meme for Richard: corvid, eagle, owl, sparrow, falcon, hummingbird, cardinal, peacock, crane (fun fact, the only two i didn't send was the one about family and love language :P)

Corvid- in what ways is your muse intelligent? Are they street-smart, book-smart, etc? Do they have any interests in particular? Where is their knowledge lacking?

I guess book smart is obvious with his background? so logical-mathematical, he can use abstract and symbolic thought his mind likes to be fed information he may not need to hit the books but he dose like seeing new museums exhibits time to time. Being good at math helps with work when it comes to seeing sale reports and guessing how much the cafe and his business over all will make in a day. so much more a logical person in a short answer. I’d say word smart well since he dose speak two languages and has a vocab that lacks slang himself. And why he is more observant he spend a lot of time in his head. he lacks in interpersonal smarts/ people smart. He can talk a good game and is good at dealing with people to form business connections or handles customers to his cafe’ well even knowing how best to flatter someone. But understanding and building meaningful connections? hes not the best with. He never knows how to really handle people on a deeper level, and can’t always pick up on peoples feelings or even their motives. because he’s used to keeping distance. out side a small circle he has allowed in. Likely also lacks in intrapersonal so he doesn’t always understand his self like not able to see the suffering he is blind too ;3; or how worn he makes himself from pushing himself a bit too far.

Eagle- is your muse courageous or cowardly? What might cause them to act in the opposite manner, if anything?

So this i’m not too sure cause in some cases you can say he may be cowardly? but over all he did set off on his own to make his dream come ture even after the lack of support from his parents, losing his brother, the first time being taken from him due to being betrayed by his first love, going it all alone. But he kept away from people because he didn’t wanna risk it again? then you have how he once mind set on it went after Bailey when he ran away from him after confessing their own feelings nothing was going to stop him. So I guess case by case and situation but once Richard has his mind and heart in agreeance nothing stops how determined he can be for something he truly wants.

Owl- is your muse a day person or a night person? What do they do during this time?

mmm He may be more a night owl. Mostly cause he needs a good hour to wake up, often groogy and his mind isn’t always ready to work. Sometimes his bilingual issues happen the most at this time and he just forgets words altogether “food for the morning,” Where he can easily stay up late with no issue, from busy working or busy working his body uwu

Sparrow- what artistic or creative hobbies does your muse have? What is their favorite or most treasured creation?

Art in general has become a passion for Richard, he mostly works with pencils, but I can see him taking a liking to pastels as well, he may give painting a go but he’ll likely do water color over like oil or acrylic (also then he can be one of those people who dose water color painting with coffee and you know hell love that) So far? the portrait he drew of Bailey, cause he loves his husband so much he wanted to make a piece it was very detailed down to having all his nicknames for them included

Falcon- what is your muse's biggest accomplishment? Do they like to show it off, or keep it to themselves?

NESTcafé it started as a small idea when he was still young and turned into a successful company, it’s second to him getting Married though and building his own family and you know he brags about his husband.

Hummingbird- what are your muse's comfort objects, comfort foods, comfort objects, etc?

Bailey uwu Everything about his husband brings him comfort. Bailey can simply kisses his forehead or trail fingers down his face or press their forehead to his as it’ll bring Richard out of his thoughts. Richard is just able to relax when Bailey is around he can just be Richard and not Richard Evans. Love nothing more then resting on their chest, tier tails feathers draped over him like a blanket well listening to the roosters heart beat. They can sit and talk about the more random things or not at all and Richard enjoys every moment uwu Zane’s class ring is also a comfort object to him, he will sometimes fidget with it when he is getting anxious. Coffee: he took in interest as a kid well being home schooled and it became a fixation. From even just the scent it can clam him down a lot which is why he wanted to own a Cafe’ Baked goods, mostly conchas they haven been his favorite since he was old enough to eat food. Often he dosen’t eat them only here and there but its hard to resist when Sue his Abue baked some treats He owns a little pin from Val that he wears sometimes when he has days he can’t go to the cafe because he has to deal with other stuff for his business, he acts like its nothing but its kind of his good luck charm. Cardinal- how does your muse recover from strong emotions? How do they recouperate?

....acts like they didn't happen X'D

Hes used to taking it all internally and keeping it buried. Now that he's going to therapy seems hell be learning new ways to deal with this stuff. His love for art may come into play more, as a way to clam himself down.

Peacock- How does your muse tend to their appearance and hygiene? What kind of message do they send, and does this contradict who they are internally?

Richard is big on his appearance, clothes never can be messy or solid, why he has a closet in his office at work so he can change his clothes if he needs too. Likely the time to fix up his clothes after sex as well if it was during the day pft He likes to look good and present himself in a certain way. Cause Richard is perfect even to his appearance. Richard is that guy who says he was blessed with natural beauty and good looks but he still needs to put in effort because he deserves it. unlike his fluff husband Richard keeps his feathers smoothed down and like silk, even uses special conditioning oil to help them keep their healthy sheen. beauty products are used to just up the care he gives to himself message sent? that Richard is a lot of work but hes worth it pft, uh contradict who he is deep down? mm if anything deep down is likely why he is this why on his looks. But sometimes he’ll slack let his hair get messed up by his husband, will wear casual clothing at home or pjs around the place. bed head will remain for a bit cause hes home it’s okay to not be ‘perfect’ 24/7

Crane- Is your muse graceful or clumsy? How is their posture? How do they carry themselves?

Richard carries himself with confidence, as if he is the boss or owns the room he is in. Hes the bitch who runs the show, having all eyes on him is to be expected by Richard and he acts in a way to prove why that should just be how it is. Richard sees no issue with his confidence either he feels he has every right to feel as he dose even down to how he holds and carries himself. Richard is a god among mortals and they are lucky for a chance to even just see him.

#madamkezzie #richard evans bio #muse| richard evans alder

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Beneath the Amber Moon, Part 6 (Galactica AU Group Fic) – TheDane & Veronica

Heyyy!! Welcome to Part 6 of “Beneath the Amber Moon,” a group fic set in the Galactica Universe. Click here for previous chapters.

We hope you’re enjoying it! Let us know what you think!

Summary: Sand witches, sketches, jet skis, and baby influencers.

/////

Courtney skipped down the beach, Julia’s hand in hers, the little girl giggling and running to keep up. She was glad that she had an excuse to avoid the huge buffet and endless sugary cocktails. She’d already indulged quite a bit this week, and knew that any more would only make it even harder to get back into Supergirl-shape for her publicity shoot back in LA. Not to mention, Bianca had given her a look as they disembarked that sent shivers down her spine. But she wasn’t thinking about that, not now...

“This looks good!” she said, pointing to a spot in the sand and handing Julia a bucket. “Can you fill this with water? Then I’ll show you the secret.”

“Okay!” Julia took the bucket and ran off towards the ocean, Courtney spreading out a towel and watching her closely. The water in the bay was calm and gentle, and while she knew the 7-year-old would be fine, she didn’t want any accidents.

“Courtney!”

Courtney glanced up to see Violet, walking down the beach towards her, tote bag in hand.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I made you something.”

“You did? For me?” Courtney smiled. “What?”

“... A sketch? For the jacket?” Violet said, a small smile playing on her face, as if she couldn’t believe Courtney had already forgotten. “From yesterday.”

“Oh. Right.” Courtney blushed, waving to Julia as she scampered back from the water, now able to turn fully towards Violet.

“So, it’s a truly horrendous piece of… clothing, but I think I made something you might like.” Violet reached into her tote, taking out a thick piece of paper, and Courtney gasped.

“It’s a completely different jacket!” Courtney grabbed the paper, holding it up in the light so she could see it. It was drawn in soft watercolors, but Violet had managed to keep the rainbow theme, the new cut she had suggested giving it a much more current and young vibe, while the simple buttons, the denim material and the strategically placed rhinestones somehow aged it up to almost be appropriate for any adult that actually wanted to wear a full rainbow. Courtney was elated at how much better the new version looked. Maybe her new collection would be wearable after all.

“Hi Violet,” Julia said, settling down in the sand.

“Oh,” Violet shifted. “Hi.” Juju’s twins were at that awkward age where they were almost real people, but not quite, and it was very unsettling.

“Courtney’s gonna teach me the secret to making creepy sand witches’ castles.”

“That’s...nice.”

“Get it? Sand witch?” Julia asked gleefully.

Violet blinked down at her, and Courtney stifled a laugh, putting a hand on the little girl’s back.

“Okay, first we need to make a nice tall mound for the base. That’s right, work on that.” Courtney turned back to Violet. “That jacket is amazing. Have you thought about any of the other designs?”

“I may have...made a few more sketches.” Violet bit her lip, clutching the sketch book. “I was gonna work on some more now...do you wanna go over them...later?”

“Sure!” Courtney grinned up at her. “How do you feel about the title ‘Creative Director’?”

Violet laughed. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh...” Violet looked at Courtney, like she was still searching her face for traces of a lie. “Well... We’ll see.”

“Is this good?” Julia asked.

“That is the most perfect mound I’ve ever seen!” Courtney told her. “Okay, are you ready for the secret part?”

“Yes!”

“Um…so...”

“Do you wanna hang out with us and work here?” Courtney patted the towel beside her, and Violet shook her head. “You sure? I’m about to reveal a pretty cool secret…”

“No thanks,” Violet said with a light chuckle. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” Courtney smiled again.

“Bye Violet!” Julia called, then clutched Courtney’s arm. “Show me show me!”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

/////

“Oh my god…” Raven groaned with delight, biting into a sugary, cream-filled donut. With a crispy outside and a soft, pillowy center, drizzled with the perfect amount of doce de leite. Heaven.

“You want me to leave you two alone, or…?” Juju teased, taking a bite of her panna cotta.

“Shut up, I’m having a moment,” Raven said.

“Yeah, I can tell. Let me know if you need a change of panties.”

Raven laughed and punched her lightly on the shoulder.

“Just let me enjoy the afternoon, bitch! I have two babies; I never get me time.”

“You have two nannies, too. Your whole life is me time,” Juju countered.

“Okay, do you know what it’s like managing two nannies and a housekeeper? Because that is noteasy.”

“No, can’t say I do. But if I want to know, I’ll be sure to ask Raja.”

Raven let out an indignant little shriek, then picked her donut up again.

“You’re my real friend,” she said to the pastry, taking another bite as Juju laughed beside her.

/////

“Hey, guys.” Alaska approached Courtney and Julia, who were still busy making tall, drippy sandcastles.

“Look!” Julia cried, happily showing off her creation.

“That’s amazing!”

“It’s a castle for a sand witch!”

“Sand witch?” Alaska laughed at the silly pun, while made Julia giggle.

“Courtney taught me how to do this drippy thing, wanna see?”

“Totally.” Alaska knelt down, watching Julia drip the wet sand through her fingers, adding to her already towering castle. “That is a very cool technique.”

“I know,” Julia said, beaming and hugging Courtney around the waist.

“Is there no end to your talent, Court?”

“I’m just trying to stay out of trouble,” Courtney laughed.

“Trouble?”

Courtney’s eyes shifted over to the nearby lounge chairs, where Bianca was sitting, oiled up, skin already glowing with a healthy bronze tan. She’d pulled the straps of her bathing suit down off her shoulders, giving Courtney an even better look at her cleavage. From this angle, she looked like a 50’s pinup girl, and all Courtney could think about was sinking her teeth into the smooth skin of her perfect thighs.

Alaska followed Courtney’s gaze and let out a little chuckle.

“Having some...self control issues?”

“You could say that,” Courtney admitted, biting her lip. “But I’m trying to take precautions.”

Courtney wiggled her fingers, showing off her decadent stiletto nails, and Alaska laughed, shaking her head.

“Trust me, girl...those are not gonna stop you. But I wish you the best of luck.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Julia asked, head tilted curiously.

“Um, we’re talking about...the tickle monster!” Courtney grabbed her and began to tickle her, causing her to shriek with happy laughter.

/////

The fact that he had managed to slip away undetected should probably have made him feel bad, but honestly, Patrick only really felt ecstatic at the fact that he avoided an afternoon of beach activities and jet skis. He had made his way to the top of the boat, setting up so he could easily see and hear the entire party going on, in case Fame needed him.

For now, however, he was beyond happy to just sit down, the budget his assistant had mailed him and one of the staff had kindly printed in hand along with a red pen, the sounds of everyone floating to him on the wind, as he got down to work.

/////

“Hey, lil bear…” Jinkx wrapped her arms around Adore’s shoulders from behind, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. “How are you, baby?”

“I’m good!” Adore swallowed her mouthful of paella, picking up a piece of fried calamari. “Trying to sober up so that I can ride on one of those sick jet skis.”

“Mmm, sounds fun.” Jinks settled down onto the bench beside Adore, adjusting her hat.

“You wanna join? They said that Courtney and I could do it after lunch.”

“Uh, no. Not really my thing. But I’ll be cheering you on.”

“Fair enough.” Adore took a huge bite of a shrimp pastel.

“So...do you think we could have a little chat, just the two of us?” Jinkx asked, voice low. “When you’re done eating.”

Adore’s blood ran cold, unfinished pastel paused in mid air. Shit.

“Sure. I mean...I don’t know when I’ll be done, though. Did you see that spread? Ha ha,” Adore laughed weakly.

“I know, it’s fucking awesome!” Detox agreed, devouring a bowl of moqueca like he needed it to live.

“Right, but...look, I’ve really been wanting to talk to you, babe,” Jinkx tried again, tucking a lock of Adore’s hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, too bad we don’t live together!” Adore joked.

“Dore.”

“Be right back, Imma go get seconds!” Adore jumped up from the table and raced back to the buffet.

Jinkx let out a sigh, then saw Alaska glowering at her from across the beach.

“Ugh, don’t start, I tried.” Jinkx knew Alaska couldn't hear her, but she still wanted to say the words.

“What?” Detox looked up from his plate.

“Nothing.”

/////

“Well that looks, complicated.” Fame took a sip of her drink, looking over at Raven.

She was standing in the water nearby, trying to get both of her twins to sit still on a big flat rock. They were dressed in crocheted mermaid costumes and giant ridiculous flower headbands.

“Tanya! Smile for Mommy! Smile!”

Detox stood by, snapping photos, the man clearly finding the entire thing beyond amusing.

“You should see the shopping session.” Raja bit into a strawberry. “They had custom Dolce & Gabbana jackets.”

Fame shook her head. Her friend was truly delirious. She had always known that Raven would go completely overboard, but it was still somewhat unsettling to see toddlers that were only serving as playthings for their mother, though Fame would never dream of saying it. She loved Raja too much, and it was never wise to get in an argument with a business partner. Fame turned away from the beach, the amusement of toddlers in mermaid costumes already passed, as Courtney and Adore rode by on their jet skis.

Raja watched Fame’s face fall. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss the fact that Courtney had showed up, both of them too busy, but Raja could see it as plain as day on Fame’s face that she was unhappy with the turn of events, though she was sure Fame would look exactly the same to anyone who hadn’t worked with her for more than a decade. Raja didn’t care about a lot of people, but she did care about Fame, the blonde somehow worming her way into her heart and staying there.

“So, how are you holding up?”

“Holding up?” Fame bit her lip, so clearly lying it was almost pathetic. “I’m holding up amazingly.”

Raja smiled. “Don’t lie to me. I know you too well for that.”

Fame sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Just know that I’m here.” Raja touched Fame’s shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

/////

“Augh!” Courtney shrieked, as Adore rode by, dangerously close, spraying her with water. The two of them were tooling around the bay on jet skis, having beelined for them the second lunch was over. Adore could barely listen to the instructions, she was so anxious to get on.

“Is this what it would feel like to ride a motorcycle?” she yelled to Courtney.

“I think this is probably way more fun than a motorcycle!” Courtney shouted back. She sped up, chasing Adore around the boat, seeing Bianca standing on the dock, watching them, a drink in hand.

“B, you’re missing out!” Adore called to her. “Too bad you’re so old and no fun at all!”

Bianca raised her middle finger. Courtney slowed her own jet ski, looking up at her with a cheeky grin.

“Wanna get on?” Courtney asked.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Bianca chuckled.

“Why… Ya scared?” Courtney revved the engine, riding in a slow circle, and Bianca smirked at her. She sucked down the last of her cocktail, setting her glass down and taking off her cover-up.

“Scared...pffft,” she scoffed, slipping on a life jacket, handed to her by the steward trying to keep them all from killing themselves. “How the fuck am I supposed to do this, anyway?”

The steward beckoned Courtney forward, helping support Bianca’s weight while she lowered herself down, hands gripping Courtney’s shoulders.

Bianca eventually settled in just behind Courtney, pressed into her back.

“It’s probably better to hold onto her waist,” the steward told her.

Bianca swallowed, placing her hands around Courtney’s waist, feeling those abs under her hands.

“Are you good?” Courtney asked.

“I’m good.” She then let out a gasp as the jet ski lurched forward, Courtney accelerating quickly, causing her to hold on tighter. “Fucking hell!”

Courtney giggled, gunning it even faster, loving the feel of Bianca’s thighs gripping hers, arms now tightly wrapped around her waist, lips inches from her neck, where the hair was standing on end. The faster she went, the closer Bianca held her, and so she zipped around the bay like a demon out of hell.

Bianca’s heart pounded, cheeks feeling hot and flushed as she pressed close to Courtney, clinging to her. Why did she think this was a good idea? And why did Courtney always have to feel so fucking perfect in her arms? She cursed internally, kicking herself for letting her feelings run away with her. Honestly, it was unlikely that Courtney was thinking about her as anything more than an ex. Her best friend’s sister.

Of course, then a hand reached down, gently squeezing her thigh, as Courtney asked, “Everything okay, B?”

“Ahem…Yeah. Everything’s fine. You’re an excellent driver.”

Courtney giggled, leaning back into her arms, and Bianca felt her icy heart melt a little.

/////

“Almost seems fun.” Karl looked at the jet skis, the sounds of Adore’s screams carrying from the distance.

“Almost being the keyword.” Sutan laughed. “Remember when we went to Sunny Beach? In Bulgaria?”

“You almost died.”

“And who’s fault that was?”

Karl rolled his eyes. “No one forced you to drink a double whale and go swimming.”

Sutan smiled. “Everything seems like a good idea when you’re high on coke.” They were some of the last to make their way towards the boat, the two friends having spent time at the beach, looking for seashells for Sutans mom, Karl’s pockets filled with conchs of different shapes and sizes. Sutan threw an arm around Karl’s shoulder. “Thank god we don’t do that anymore, huh?”

“Yeah... Thank god.”

/////

“I like your bracelet.”

Violet looked up from her magazine, surprised etched into her features at Fame’s voice, the blonde standing behind her deck chair, a small smile on her perfect face. They had all returned to the boat, the giant ship now cruising through the water to whatever destination Fame planned for next.

“I…” Violet touched her bracelet. “I, umh. Thank you.” It was a thin golden band, the metal woven together, and Violet had fallen in love with it the first time she had seen it.

“Where did you get it?”

“I found it at TILT.”

“Oh, so it’s vintage?”

Violet nodded. She was unsure why Fame was being so welcoming towards her, her mind briefly wondering if Sutan had asked Fame to keep an eye on her, but that didn’t make sense.

Violet stood up, ready to respond to Fame’s question, when her world turned dark.

/////

Courtney climbed out of the hot tub and onto the deck, muscles loose and relaxed. The evening air had turned chilly, sun low in the sky, and she shivered.

“Need a towel?”

Bianca caught her eye, giving a half smile, unable to stop thinking about their jet ski ride.

“Yeah, thanks.” Courtney hugged her arms, and Bianca stepped forward with a large beach towel from the shelf, wrapping it around her shoulders.

The gesture was more intimate than she’d planned. She looked into Courtney’s eyes, lashes wet with tiny beads of water, and gulped. But at the same time, she didn’t really want to look away.

And it appeared that she wasn’t the only one, Courtney holding her gaze, an inscrutable smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Violet!”

A sudden shriek pierced the air, Fame’s voice ringing out, snapping both Bianca and Courtney out of their little daze.

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theory-talestelltalesss · 6 years ago

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∙ Parallel Hearts 2 ∙

Idea:

AU where Taehyung is a former street artist who sells Van Gogh imitations in Paris that gets him in trouble.

Description:

Her is a docile perfectionist art student who is unsatisfied with the course of her life. She meets Taehyung, a beautiful and free-spirited boy who sells Van Gogh imitations to pay his tuition for art school. They have something that the other lack. Her needs Taehyung’s creativity and Taehyung needs Her’s painting skills in order for them to produce great paintings. Her is the better painter but Taehyung is the better artist. One day, they wake up and the other is nowhere to be found. Both of their pursuit is to use their paintings as clues to find where the other is. Along the way, they learn more about each other and uncover a dark past.

You can read more details of the fic HERE if this is your first time.

-TT 🌹

Chapters: | 1 | 2 | - (Fanfic in progress )

CHAPTER 2: THE GAME

(8.3 K words)

Third wing studio. Third wing studio. Third wing studio.

It compulsively echoes in Her’s mind like an alarm clock in the morning. She blasts the music through her earphones, trying to drown out her thoughts with each melodic beat. In a pursuit to concentrate on the items she assembled in her corner before class, she picks up the broken piece of chalk pastel again and begin scratching the surface of her canvas. A ray of the morning light from the windows of the slanted roof luminesce her canvas into a bright neon white.

To Her, oil painting class always had one of the best ambience on campus. Student artworks cover the brownish white walls made from the past number of classes, always in view for critiquing. Paper maché animals made by the sculptors in the other class gracefully float from the ceiling. Curtains and tapestry dangle from the windows and house plants both big and small cover each corner of the room. Old wooden carts are neatly placed by an easel, each temporarily owned by a student. The room is quiet, filled only with the whispers of scratches against the canvases made by the students. However, the room’s ambience contrasts Her’s feelings at the current moment.

Her’s professor is making rounds, hopping from one student to another, listening to each student as they present to him briefly about the current state of their work. He then critiques their ideas and objectives afterwards to enhance their paintings. Soon, it will be Her’s turn, but her mind is somewhere else, distracted, and she’s afraid she might not be able to communicate her thoughts properly. Her efforts become futile every time she tries to push the mischievous boy’s image from her mind.

“Her...Heeerrr. Hey Her! you just knocked down your turpentine,” Gabrielle rushes to her side to turn the bottle up. She then grabs a bunch of paper towels and soaks them with the metallic odorous liquid that floods her cart.

“Are you ok, Her? You have a glazed look in your eyes,”

“Uh- yeah, sorry, no, I’m ok,” she grabs some of her art materials and transfers them to an extra cart nearby.

“Gabrielle…do you know where the third wing studio is?” her lips started moving on their own, and instantly she regrets her words as soon as they left her lips.

“Yeah, you just have to cross the grounds and go into the other building. Is that what you were thinking about?”

“I- uh,” Her tries to come up with a lie, but she remembers she’s horrible at lying. In fact, other than the fact that she is docile and timid, she is also honest and conscientious. It’s how she grew up to be. “I just have some business there to take care of. No worries,” Her tries to avoid Gabrielle’s eyes that should already come as a signal that she is awful in doing anything that requires deceit.

“Ok…it has a sign, you won’t miss it,” she assures her as she takes a peek at Her’s canvas, then hovers over it, “Her! This is so good!”

“Thanks, it’s a little messy right now but I will try to clean up the lines later,”

“What are you talking about??? It looks so real! And it’s not even finished yet! You really have some skills, Her. It’s not fair you being so good at art history too!” Gabrielle shows a pretend jealous pout. “You chose a bunch of glass bottles and lace to paint too? Those must be a pain in the ass!” she exclaims as she gawks at Her’s highlights on the glass bottles of her painting.

“Mmhm! Interesting choice, Ms. Lune. What’s the idea behind this?” Professor Jacques slashes the quiet air with his trademarked posh voice, cutting their conversation as she looks at Her with a proud and debonair charm waiting for a response. The two friends get startled, but thankfully, talking to Gabrielle about her piece prepped her mind for the ready response she’s practiced at breakfast.

“Professor, I want to get better with painting translucency and distinguishing between objects of the same color, in this case, white. The lace is inspired by Mierevelt and how he paints Dutch clothing, particularly the lace collars, and the color palette would be somewhat like Giorgio Morandi’s still lifes.”

Portrait of a Lady of the Van Beijeren van Schagen Family by Mierevelt (Year 1620).

Natura Morta still life by Giorgio Morandi (Year 1956).

He inspects closely on the lines of her work and the contrast of the initial smudges of grey on her canvas. She elaborates on her desired concept, the shades of her color scheme, and her planned final composition.

“As expected Ms. Lune, you’re always ready before making a new piece. And you definitely always try to challenge yourself! That’s what I like!…With this perspective, the color, the items that you chose…they’re hard to paint but I know your skills do not waver!” Her smiles from ear to ear and feels a sense of accomplishment and pride in his compliment.

“However!” Oh no. “This time, I want to challenge you more than you challenge yourself. That’s what I do as a professor! I think your skills to realistically illustrate things are pretty advanced than the rest of the class so I think this time, you should use your items as a guide instead. Rather than a basic still life, use your items as uh- as uh- loose guide for a scene or something. Make them have a story! Yes, a story! That’s the word,” he advises.

“Uh I-I’ll try my best professor,” she timidly accepts his challenge as she is docile and a perfectionist, even though she knows that when it comes to creativity, she lacks in that aspect a thousand fold. The talk between the professor and the student was going so well until he asked for something that she knows she clearly does not have.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll be looking forward to what you come up with,” he says as he walks to the person in front of Her, ready to pounce on another poor soul to interrogate.

“Well, you handled that better than last time,” Gabrielle said. “I know you’re always nervous about these things but it’s just a talk. Your piece is literally just a draft right now. You can always change it later if you don’t like it!” she attempts to comfort Her. Gabrielle is fairly familiar with Her’s perfectionist character and she’s thankful to have her by her side when she goes almost neurotic.

“I know but…you know me. I can’t help it sometimes,” she purses her lips.

“I know, I know. You and your perfectionist butt!” she points and pokes Her’s nose with a smile. “Oh!…but but but! Last night you didn’t act like your typical perfectionist butt, you know! You came home later than usual. It was your turn to cook too! I missed you before I left for Jimin’s last night.”

Her’s eyes widen as she picks up the chalk pastel again and try to avoid her gaze. She bargains with herself if she should attempt giving a lie again for she’s not sure if she should tell anyone about him yet. She feels wary to further meddle with a person with such deviance and she’s afraid that telling anybody about him might misunderstand. However, Her thinks it’s the only way she would know who he is.

Gabrielle has quite the reputation to know everyone. She’s one of those determined new freshmen who wanted to meet anyone and everyone in a sea of new faces. People would even say she thrives on socializing. How she decided to stick to an introvert like Her, nobody would fully understand-- not even Gabrielle nor Her. The saying ‘an introvert makes friends by having an extrovert adopt them’ is true for their friendship, and Her is thankful for having a trusting friend like her. She’s the only one she would trust in asking about a boy.

“I’m sorry, Gabrielle. T-trust me, it wasn’t my fault...this guy-” she sighs. “…Do you know anybody in our year named Taehyung Soleil?”

“OH MY GOD. Is that why you were late?! You hooked up with someone last night?!...Finally! Was he hot?” Gabrielle jokes as she raises her eyebrows, eager for a response.

“No I didn’t! Can you not be so loud here?!” she whispers sharply as she sends daggers her way with her eyes and pushes her dirty fingers against her lips, marking her face with black chalk.

“Pfftttt-” she shakes Her’s hand out of her face and looks at her with pretend disgust. Her instantly bursts out in quiet laughter as she enjoys the view of her expression accessorized with the funny smudge of dirt across her face. Gabrielle looks like she ate a pile of coal and she starts laughing as well as she guesses what her face might look like. Her takes a wet paper towel and wipes her face as she explains.

“No no, missy. You already know I’m never going to have an escapade with you,”

“Why not?! Last time I checked this was college, not a convent,”

“Haha, I know I know. But I don’t think I need to explain once more I don’t do those kinds of things, Gabrielle,” Her says softly but sternly.

“Mmm...ok ok, Ms. Perfect. But who is this Taehyung guy?”

“Well...I was at the Panthéon last night and met this guy named Taehyung. He says he studies here too. Our year is small but I never met him before or even heard of him. If I don’t know him, I figured you would since you’re a big and beautiful social butterfly,” Her pokes her cheeks.

“Taehyung Soleil hmmm...nope, never heard of him! That’s a unique name too. I would’ve remembered if I heard it. What does he look like?”

Right then and there, she recalls Taehyung’s looks and her skepticism along with her curiosity reaches a climax. There is no ounce of doubt in her mind that others would notice his looks in a school that is specifically devoted to studying, glorifying, and creating aesthetics.

Is it just me? That’s impossible. He even said a lot of people ask him to be his model countless of times. His angry attitude then is besides the point but with how he described it, it seems like he would be a very well-known person already?

Her then realizes she should be bound to see him on at least one of the student paintings on the walls or drying racks.

“Ladies! Don’t you have something to work on? Let’s. Get. To. Work.” Professor Jacques booms across the classroom as he claps with his words. Their fellow classmates look in their direction automatically like a flock of pigeons.

“Sorry, Professor,” she apologizes meekly as she looks at Gabrielle, acknowledging her shift of movements towards her seat.

That’s...odd.

Her’s left even more curious about the boy who just became more interesting now that she knows for a fact that he escaped Gabrielle’s acquaintance. She forms more questions in her head at a rate faster than crossing them off her list.

Meet me at the third wing studio...third wing studio...third wing studio....For goodness sakes!

Her turns the volume to its maximum as she tries to shift her attention to the objects before her and then again, pick up her chalk pastel for an infinite time.

In the middle of Her’s classes, she searches the different rooms of the art school where she thinks people would store their paintings. After oil painting class, she searches the first-year drying racks. After drawing class, she searches the practice studios. After art history class, she even searches the second-year, third-year, and fourth-year classrooms just in case an older senior encountered him and asked him to model.

However in the end, Her comes up empty handed. There was not a painting of him on the walls or even the drying racks. In fact, all the paintings were all either of scenes, objects, or of women. None of the strokes of paint hinted of a male, especially not someone who has his features or his stature.

Did he lie to me? If he did, why?

Her wears her backpack and holds her art box with one hand as she walks on the brick steps across the courtyard of the campus to the other building. She enters the building Gabrielle pointed out that morning and skips up the curved staircase that leads to a big hallway.

Third wing studio. Third wing studio? Third wing stu- here!

She sees the sign that leads to another empty but brightly lit hallway. With slow and frugal steps, she walks down the hallway, shifting her head from side to side to peek at the windows of the classrooms.

After a moment of searching, she sees the boy alone in an enormous maroon-walled room, sitting calmly at the edge of a large open window. He rests his body against the frame as one of his arms dangle like a seesaw on his knee, and his hand mindlessly twirls a pencil in between his fingers, unconsciously matching the emphasis of his thoughts. He looks outside at the ants of people passing by with his tiger-like eyes ready to hunt. Suspenders hang from his pants that suggests to Her a long day of school.

She almost didn’t recognize him since his hair looks more golden under the bright rays of the sun and his top is very clean and white unlike last night’s. He wears a loose collared shirt, openly unbuttoned with another layer underneath. He’s also wearing round rectangular spectacles that sit on the bridge of his nose that it almost changes her reckless concept of him completely. Almost.

“So you came,” his deep voice reverberates without shifting his head in her direction. He catches her off guard, thinking that he didn’t notice her at the door, and she’s not sure how to respond.

“Hello…” she greets him quietly. She pushes the door to make way for herself to enter. He shifts his head after a few seconds but only to look at the floor to hop off the window.

He doesn’t look at her but instead purposefully walks across the room, tapping random furniture that he meets along the way with his pencil. As he taps a furniture, Her realizes the furniture is mismatched in the current room, unlike oil painting class. Different styles of furniture are scattered everywhere-- modernized tables, victorian lamps, industrial shelves, and rustic benches to name a few. The walls are also covered with various kinds of decorations, mismatching like the furniture. It reminds her of her family’s furniture shop back home where her parents would introduce to their customers the diverse types of interior styles. However, what catches Her’s attention is an ostentatious but gorgeous golden couch that glows brighter the longer she looks at it. Taehyung continues to pace across the room as he bites a fingernail and continues to be lost in thought as if she’s not in the room.

“Are you ok?” she settles down her things at the nearest seat she can find. Finally, he looks at her and his expression changes to a light smile.

“I prepared those for you,” he nods to her right as he takes a seat near his canvas from across the room. He slouches down arrogantly with legs spread and arms crossed, and he pushes his glasses up his nose as he droops down.

She takes the object sitting on top of a coffee table and stretches it out with her hands. The crumbled garment becomes a graceful blue chiffon dress heavily designed with sparkling beads, feathers, and fringes that line the bottom. It looks like a vintage flapper dress from the twenties. She sees that it includes a silky turban, and on the floor are a pair of Mary Janes.

“Huh? What does this mean?” she asks him confused.

“I need you to wear it,”

“For what?”

“You do remember you have to make it up to me right?” a smile grows mischievously on his face.

This dress seems too lavish for anything informal. Maybe for a party? Ah...Gabrielle never told me there’s an upcoming event lately? Must be for the freshman spring dance? Why would he give me a dress?

“Yes…is this for the spring dance or something?” she said even though she honestly forgot this is the reason why they were meeting. She was more preoccupied to getting more information about him than to worry about the favor she has to do for him.

“Good idea but no, I need a model for my new project!” He claps his hands once.

What?!

“WHAT?! No no no…I can’t be your model,” Her sets down the dress in a frantic panic.

“Oh yes you can!” He giggles as he stands up quickly and walks over to her. He grabs the dress and stretches it in front of her body, checking loosely if it would fit, “Trust me, I’ve already envisioned it and you’re the only one that could help.”

“But-but I’ve never modeled for anyone before,”

“Hah! You’re funny. It’s not rocket science you know!” he laughs and puts the dress in her arms.

He grabs the turban and the shoes, and pushes her to the back of the studio where she sees a folding Japanese dressing screen in front of other miscellaneous items for painting, as well as other garments for modeling. The floor is covered with satin, polyester, linen, measuring tapes, and other sewing tools mindlessly scattered across the floor.

He twists her by the shoulders to turn her towards the full-body mirror behind the dressing screen. He puts his face near the crook of her neck and inspects her face and her body through the mirror.

“You are perfect,” he says. She then sees his eyes become focused and almost prying the more he stares through the mirror to visualize his project in his mind.

So, this is how he feels every time I stare at him.

“Oh no, I forgot you have long hair…this won’t do…” he brushes his hand through her long wavy hair as he thinks of what to do. “I need you to look like a flapper. I guess I’ll go find some hair ties and pins in the makeup room next door. In the meantime, get dressed…my model.”

She cheekily smiles through the mirror and Her gives him a scowl before he dashes to the door.

“Is there really no other way I can make it up to you?” she shouts as he leaves with quick footsteps and she hears a faint ‘no’ in return. She sighs in defeat, trying to play in her head how she could’ve prevented this consequence. She’s still curious to know as to why he feels too sensitive about people staring at him but at the same time, too cautious to ask since it might make him boil again.

She changes into the dress and the mesh cloth feels gentle on her skin. The dress is sleeveless with a boxy cut, typical of dresses in the twenties. Feathers poke out at the sleeves and fringes line its bottom. The low V-cut collar is heavily beaded with sequences and pearls that are form in shapes of flowers and stretches out to the rest of the dress.

Even though beautiful, she could not deny the fact that the dress fits big on her no matter how much twisting and turning she does. Not only that but the Mary Janes feel tight on her that she feels her pinky toes rub against the inside.

In fairness, he couldn’t have known my size without asking me.

As a consolation though, the silky turban stretches well and fits snug on her head. Her recalls she’s asked Gabrielle to model for her a few times for her projects but she’s quite unfamiliar with playing the opposite role. Gabrielle has a wonderful physique and symmetrical features, unlike herself, who has a rounder face and a borderline underdeveloped body for her age. Her looks in the mirror and she can’t help but notice that her bare and pale face does not match the exquisite taste of the dress. She’s seems like a toddler trying to fit into her mother’s dress.

Some of us are luckier than others, I guess...if Gabrielle’s Adele from Gustav Klimt’s portrait, then I’m Margaret Theresa of Las Meninas.

Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I by Gustav Klimt (Year 1903-1907).

Las Meninas by Diego Velásquez (Year 1656).

While eyeballing what she thinks are underdeveloped parts of her body in the mirror, she detects footsteps repeat in the room and stop just by the dressing screen.

“Are you dressed, my model?” Taehyung teases as he waits for a signal.

“Don’t call me that...you can come in,” she retorts as he then takes a step inside.

“Ha! It’s a little big!” he chuckles as he looks up and down at her with fingers on his lips, “I knew you were petite but that’s the only dress of its kind that I could find. Here, I can tailor it temporarily. Turn around.”

She timidly faces the mirror and she feels her hair being pulled aside. She sees him through the mirror gather cloth by her waist and fold it vertically by the zipper to tighten it. She can’t help but feel his hands tickle her skin. Goosebumps shoot up her spine. She gulps and she wishes her nervousness goes with it and dissolve.

H-How did this get intimate so suddenly?

“Does that feel right?” he asks her through the mirror as he presses his hand onto the curve of her back to hold the adjustment in place. Her tries to cover her face as much as she can with her hair to hide her tomato face.

“Yeah- just- pin it down please,” she wants to scold herself multiple times.

I could’ve just skipped coming here.

“All right, Her. Don’t move,” he whispers behind her as he takes dressmaker pins from a small drawer beside him and holds a few of them between his lips.

Her breathing ceases and it’s not because she wants to avoid getting pricked with his pins. He then kneels on one knee to adjust his height to see properly. Her breaks into sweat and become more and more paralyzed as he slowly moves down her back, dangerously near her bottom. His hand heats through the mesh and she arches her back in an attempt to keep some distance. She closes her eyes and becomes gradually nervous as she feels his caterpillar hands go down her body.

“Another pin down…” he muffles through the pins between his lips.

“and another pin,”

“and another,”

Her’s hands clench into rock-hard fists.

If he goes down any further, I swear I’m gonna –

Out of nowhere, she hears his deep voice in very close proximity to her ear, “I’ll stop there.”

She opens her eyes and she sees him standing up instead of kneeling down.

“Y-You look pissed haha. Please don’t hurt me,” he teases as he looks at her hands in tight fists. He laughs and hunches over to hold his abdomen. She sees his face with complete joy from her reaction and again, Her is at lost for words. She now realizes that he knows what goes on in her mind because he always leads her to think a certain way.

“Ughhh, Taehyung!” she intends to give him a slap on the arm but he opens his hand to meet hers and made it seem like they just high-fived.

“Haha! Why are you so red? Did I make you nervous…my model?” he chuckles. She doesn’t reply and she waits for him to get his laughs out of his system.

“Are you done now?” she sarcastically asked.

“Relaaaax, I wasn’t going to touch you,”

She sighs, exhausted by his jokes. “Do you want me to tuck in my hair under the turban?” she says as she shakes the turban in the air.

“Haha, yes, please!” He hands her a small box of hair pins and hair ties he found from the other room. “Come out when you’re ready!”

He walks to the other side of the dressing screen and she hears him drag furniture in different parts of the room. Her looks at herself in the mirror and tries to imitate a bob hairstyle, just like the chic women in Tamara de Lempicka’s works.

Although, I’m not the usual glamorous socialite she always painted.

Self-portrait in the Green Bugatti by Tamara de Lempicka (Year 1925).

Her walks out to the other side awkwardly with the tight Mary Janes on her feet. She sees Taehyung setting up the painting scene he’s visualized. She sees that Taehyung pushed some of the furniture away from an open area and drag the gorgeous golden couch with scallop edges near the big open window. He lifts it on top of a Persian carpet several times to make it perfect. She notices that he took off his long sleeves and is now in a white t-shirt to ease himself of moving furniture around.

“Taehyung, do you need help setting up?”

“No no- ugh- it’s ok, just…hold on a moment,” he drags the couch more against the carpet until he’s pleased with how its placed. “Almost done,”

He then jumps on the window pane fearlessly and takes off the transparent white curtain that hung from its pole. He flings it on the couch and neatly assembles it until he is pleased with how the folds and creases flow. From a box, he grabs and tosses white baby’s-breath on the scene. Then, he carefully lays out various brands of liquor bottles on the floor marked with different brands.

“I hope you don’t mind I borrow this,” From his pocket, he takes out familiar scraps of patterned lace that was leftover from Her’s own project.

“Did you snoop through my things?!” she asks appalled but somehow not surprised.

“It was hanging out from your box and I just opened it slightly to free it. Don’t worry,”

So no concept of personal space and respect for people’s belongings.

He sets down the lace under some of the liquor bottles and throws another on the couch. Finally, he takes out a stuffed cat with fur that’s colored black, white, and orange.

“Here, I want you to hold this. It’s a plushie but I can’t expect a snobby cat to sit in a position for hours,” he observes the cat as he walks over to where Her is standing. He lands his eyes on her and stops in his tracks. A smile grows on his face as he cups her cheeks with his hands.

“Beautiful,” he whispers as he sees the entirety of the outfit for the first time. “Exactly as I imagined!” The way he looks at her and the soft tone of his voice makes her feel a gush of embarrassment even though he just said one word. Her shakes herself out of his grasp.

“Uh…it’s mostly the dress…so you said you want me to hold this?” she tries to distract him from commenting any further on her appearance and she takes the Calico cat in her arms.

“Oh, yes…Sit on the couch over there and slouch on your side on the arm,”

They walk over to the couch and she props herself according to his directions. She tries her best to avoid looking stiff and tense.

“Sorry, like I said, it’s my first time modeling for someone,” she defends herself needlessly.

“Try to relax. Make yourself languid like you’re melting on the couch,” he suggests as he hovers over her to check the placement. All of a sudden, he becomes serious and commanding while he directs the scene and holds his chin over his knuckles. Her tries to do as he says, becoming more self-conscious of her already horrible performance.

“Hold this also,” he puts a half-filled champagne glass in her hand.

“Hmm, I don’t think this will do,” he brushes his hand across her heel, swipes the Mary Janes off her feet, and lifts her legs on the couch, placing them in a specific way.

“Heh, I bet you liked that. Your pinky toe is as red as your face a while ago,” he said, referring to the incident that happened a while ago.

What is with him and physical contact?

Her’s complaints must have been heard by some higher power because now he doesn’t touch her to direct her, but instead, he taps her with the pencil he was spinning a while ago to instruct the finer placement of her body parts.

“Lift this up a little,” he taps her elbow.

“Move that back there,” he taps her shoulder.

“Put your hand there,” he taps her forehead.

“And finally,” Taehyung pushes the underside of Her’s chin and lifts it upwards, “Don’t look anywhere else but me,” he smirks, only inches away from her face.

Taehyung pushed Her past her edge, feeling treated like a toy, that she couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing in her mind after that statement.

“I’m seriously about to hit you,” she says, failing to further hold her thoughts anymore.

“Hey now, what’s with the tone?” he smiles, “You know-- it’s funny. You’re making it up to me for staring, even to the point that I snapped,” he walks away and sits in front of his easel, “But I’m also letting you look at me for a longer period of time, sweet cheeks. It might be the only acceptable time I would not be angry,” he crosses his arms. “Heh, I know you want to paint me too, like the other students out there. Take this opportunity to look at me more, yeah? Maybe by the end of this, you’ve memorized my face so well you see me in your dreams. But, in the meantime, what kind of music do you like?” he smirks at her waiting for a reply.

He solidifies his impression of having a way with words and in a sense that it makes her have mixed feelings towards them. Again, she’s speechless and he chuckles at her expression because he knows he’s right. She know he’s right.

“Put on some soul,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Excellent choice!” he claps.

He plays with the radio next to his easel until he finds the right station. A familiar song fills the air, Yves Montand’s Les Feuilles Mortes. Her hopes that this slow solemn tune will help her be at ease with the rather uncomfortable situation.

Taehyung then starts swiping the surface of his canvas to sketch the outline of the scene. She notices that his hand movements are swift and erratic, contrary to how she usually paints. At intermittent phases, he looks at her directly with an intense gaze and with eyes furrowed, concentrating on the shapes and contours of her face.

“Her, don’t stop looking at me,” he says sternly.

For a few times, she breaks eye contact as she could not take his gaze any longer. She looks at him again with difficult effort and tries to feel comfortable laying on the couch. She starts a conversation, thinking that it might help the awkward air.

“What are you trying to do with your painting?”

“Weell...my professor wants us to study textures so I brought together many different types of textures. Your dress, that silk turban, the transparent curtain, that furry cat, the glass bottles, the lace, the carpet…” The more he lists things, the more impressed she got by how much he’s thought his painting through.

“…But the main concept is…maturity,”

“Maturity? That’s…different”

“Well, thank you. Every artist wants to be different.” Her didn’t mean for that to be a compliment. She meant the concept seemed too mature for his type of personality but she doesn’t feel like correcting him. He continues, “I’m sure you could figure out how I decided to illustrate maturity.”

“Mmm…the liquor bottles, the baby’s-breath, and…me.” It clicks in her head exactly why he wants her in particular to be his model. “So you wanted to use my innocent face and my petite frame, huh?” Her has been told many times of her youthful physical features and she’s come to acknowledge it after too many comments.

“You don’t have to say it that way but it’s interesting how you know yourself well,” he smirks at his canvas. “An innocent girl whose lips touched alcohol for the first time! That’s why I made you look tipsy,” She looks down at her body and she instantly understands his words. “I chose to paint a flapper because…well, you can guess.”

“…mmm, I know women started being rebellious back then,”

“You know, the twenties was a wiiiild time! So wild they called it ‘Roaring’! Don’t you think innocence was easily corrupted at a time when being wild was the trend? Young girls probably felt the urge to mature quickly.”

Her’s mood suddenly shifts to an irritated and uncomfortable one to one that’s stunned. She finds it interesting, but strange, how he’s able to shift his personality from one that’s playful, to one that’s like a scholar. She realizes she’s seen this side of Taehyung outside by the bus stop. She’s reminded that he’s deeper person than he let on.

He’s so...creative.

It surprises her how much symbolism he’s produced for one painting. It reminds her of Renaissance paintings convoluted with symbols like Gustave Moreau’s works– abundant with images of good and evil.

Oedipus and the Sphinx by Gustave Moreau (Year 1864).

“You know…I-I’m honestly very impressed. I think your painting will come out well,” Her said shyly.

“Weeeell, that’s if I can pull it off,” he shifts his gaze from his canvas and looks at her. “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that I have trouble with my realistic techniques, something you said that you were good at,” he says as he points a wet paintbrush at her.

“With time, you can always learn and practice realism…but coming up with things like how you just did, that’s different. No one can really learn how to do that.”

“The professors don’t think soooo,” he says in melody.

“Well, would you like me to give you some tips later?”

“I’m guessing you’re not annoyed by me anymore,” an eye twinkle peeks at the edge of his canvas. Her thinks a remnant of annoyance will forever be at the back of her head for him. “How did you learn how to paint like that anyways?” he asks.

“I was just kinda born with it and I guess I honed it over the years. It’s weird though, I’m the only one in my family who was born with this trait,”

“Is that so?” he raises an eyebrow at me, “What’s your family like then?”

Feeling a little bit more at ease with modeling for Taehyung, she tells him about herself as he paints and listens. She tells him about her childhood in the countryside of Arles and how she’s loved painting ever since she saw her first Van Gogh. Living in his hometown only fed her love for his works. She’s visited almost every site that he has painted-- that’s how much she loves painting. She tells him about the family business and how she’s expected to help design the furniture after graduation. She also discloses how her parents are “perfect people,” always accomplishing something they’ve started, and that it scares her to defy them, not arising to their expectations -- not being able to be perfect like them.

“Oh! So you have a job after graduation! Lucky you! You won’t be the usual starving artist,” Taehyung says.

“That’s not the point...” she sadly chuckles. “I could not fathom to tell them ‘no, it’s not what I want to do.’ It’s more of my passion to major in Fine Arts rather than, eck…Interior Design. I don’t want to be some Ikea hack that mass produces furniture that I know will eventually ruin the little bit of artistry in me. And you know how by the end of this semester we have to declare our concentration and…I don’t know what I should do! I can’t even be creative enough to even think of cool designs! I’m not creative at all! I don’t even know what to do for my own painting project which my professor wants me avoiding doing still lifes!

“How ironic. This is the first time I’ve seen an artist complain about a job offer and not being able to starve,” he teases and she gives him a murderous glare at him. “I’m only kidding! I’m sure you’re going to figure it out somehow…Come to think of it, is this the reason why you always go to the Panthéon? Every time I see you there, you always look so frustrated...and lost,”

“As a matter of fact..yeah. Whenever I feel stressed or trapped about my parents’ plans or school, I go to there...”

“But why there of all places? It’s so boring there!”

“I-I never really told anyone this but since you asked…I feel mmm…most inspired when I go there. You know how you have your own corner to wind down? Well for me that’s the Panthéon. The people buried there lead lives that sought after new things. They… thought for themselves instead of what others wanted them to think and it manifested in good ways – nice artworks, smart discoveries, beautiful literature, new ways of governing-…aaand I don’t have the same courage that they had in pursuing the things they want. Sometimes I wish their courage somehow miraculously transfers to me when I rub their statues. Kind of like how people rub their heads against their books before a test hoping it would just transfer to their brains,”

Taehyung laughs so much he had to stop painting.

“Hahaha, wow. I didn’t know you could be funny,” he looks at her with a big smile as he shakes his head, “You know you got some really high hopes there, wanting to be as big as them,”

Her stops holding the position of her body and lays flat on the couch, giving a threatening expression at the same time. “High hopes BUUUT very reflective and ambitious!” Her goes back to holding her body to how it was.

“Phew! Are you utterly sensitive,” he goes back to painting.

“Well, what about you? You haven’t exactly said anything about yourself since we came here.”

“Me? Oh you don’t want to know my story. I assure you it’s not up to par with your perfect life.”

“Try me.”

“No…no, Her. I don’t really want to say.”

“Come on! You just judged me after saying something somewhat vulnerable and now you’re not going to tell me about yourself? Where’s the justice in that?”

He thinks a moment about submitting as he chews his bottom lip and he furrows his eyebrows at her. Then, he smiles his iconic mischievous smile.

“If you really wanna know, then let’s make this interesting. Let’s play a game,”

Well. I shouldn’t be surprised. His playful self is showing again but this time, I think he just found a way to let it out to its fullest potential.

“Two truths and a lie. I’ll tell you three statements. Two statements are wrong and one is true. Your job is to say which one is true,”

“That’s not fair. I just told you things without a game,”

“I would’ve played your game if you offered,”

“Fine,” Trying to find out more about him the whole day, Her is eager to finally get some answers.

“Mmmmmm…ok…let’s start out easy,” he continues painting as he thinks of some statements.

“One: I have a dishwasher. Two: I like the color blue. Three: I don’t work at the Panthéon.”

“Really…?”

“I did say we’re starting out easy.”

Three is definitely wrong. Everybody on campus has a dishwasher. It’s definitely two.

“Two.”

“Correct! Ultramarine to be precise,” he picks up the French Ultramarine blue, squirts the tube of oil paint on his palette, and molds the paint against it with a palette knife. “That’s why I like your dress,” he says as he puts his forefingers and thumbs up in a shape of a box, putting Her in frame as he shoots one eye at her.

“T-Thanks?” Again, she’s at lost for words.

“Her,”

“What?”

“I said don’t stop looking at me, sweet cheeks,”

“I-I didn’t,” she said as she looks back in his direction, trying to maintain her eye contact through the box he formed with his fingers. Her finds it more and more difficult to stay in eye contact when he keeps toying with her.

“Something a little harder this time…mmmm….ah! One: PCA gave me a scholarship to go here, Two: I lived in the streets since I was 15. Three: I’ve lost 500 grand at a hand of poker.”

He doesn’t seem like he lived in the streets since he was 15. I don’t think anybody our age has that kind of money?

“One?”

“So you really do think I’m smart, huh? You weren’t kidding haha,” he chuckles that his hair gets caught in his eyes and he brushes it out with his arm. A streak of paint washes over his forehead. “Sorry to disappoint, I appreciate it, but no,”

“So which one is right?”

“I’ve lived in the streets since I was 15.”

“You…you did? You don’t look it.” Although, what Her really wants to ask is ‘where are his parents?’ However, she thought it might be too sensitive to ask.

“Of course not. Living in the streets taught you how to blend in,”

“So…is that how you’re so good at hiding and being stealthy? Like when we were at the Panthéon?”

“You noticed that, huh? My world required it of me,”

“How did you manage?”

“I have my ways. Yooouu…just go day to day and never expect that day to be like tomorrow. It’s not as bad as you think. In fact, I’m in debt to the streets. That’s how I found my love for art. It saved me,”

“It saved you?”

“…….One: I’ve left the country with a woman I barely knew, two times. Two: I have a black belt in martial arts. Three: I’ve been scouted to be in some commercials,”

Her detects that it seems like he doesn’t want to go into deeper topics as he ignores her last question and she decides to play along.

What kind of choices are these? One seems like he’s an indecent person. Two seems to good to be true. And three feels like just a scheme to make me acknowledge his good looks.

“So…what’s it gonna be, sweet pea?” his lips curve at one side as he looks over and waits for a response.

“…Um, one?”

“Haha…you’re right.”

“I’m right?!”

He’s really that indecent?!

“I escaped two times from some thugs I know who had a problem with my Van Goghs that it made me leave the country twice, just over the border to Spain. This Spanish girl I know who taught me how to paint helped smuggle me in for a brief time. She’s a street artist here, just over at Sacre Coeur…mi amorrr Isabella,” he says as he rolls his ‘R’s with an unexpected accent.

La Place St. Pierre et le Sacré Coeur de Montmartre by Maurice Utrillo (Year 1938).

“You’ve had a problem with selling imitations before and you’re still doing it?! And you made me help you!”

“I’m not lying when I said I just really want to learn. Plus, I got no other ways to pay tuition. I’m back to the streets if I’m not in school,”

“There must be another way, Taehyung,”

He grunts, “Y-you don’t understand, Her”

“Are you in trouble now? Should I be worried?”

“No…no. I’m not in trouble,”

She looks at him with deep skepticism and disappointment that it makes him throw his hands into the air.

“What? I’m not!”

“I’m not going to help you with your imitations if it gets you in trouble that you even have to get out of the country with some Spanish girl’s help,”

“Hmm, I do like Isabella a lot,” he raises an eyebrow and bites his lips, “she was damn alluring,” he emphasizes as he stares into the ceiling, trying to remember her image.

“Okaayy, that’s it-”

Her stops holding her body into position and sets down the champagne glass, but before she could stand up, Taehyung boxes her in with his arms on the couch. She notices that his white t-shirt is now stained with some colors of blue and yellow.

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down there. I was kiddiiiing,” he says with an assuring tone. Her almost forgot how deep and velvety his voice is until he’s in very close proximity to her again. His eyes smile and he chuckles, “You amuse me. What you taught me will always be used for good, ok?”

“No, Taehyung. It only makes you a scammer. Taking people’s money that’s not rightfully yours and it’s getting you in trouble with some god who knows what,”

“Van Gogh’s been dead for decades, sweetheart! We can copy his works and sell them! And I’ve outrun those guys a year ago!” he gestures and flicks the air.

“Ok, but you should still tell all your customers that you painted them and that they’re not original Van Goghs.”

“Ughhhh…you’re making my life difficult. Not only for this painting but my actual life,”

Her stares at him for a while with an angry expression. Her has always been an upstanding person and she was never comfortable with anything that she sees is meant to exploit others. After some time, she speaks in a stern voice.

“One: Taehyung will tell his customers his Van Gogh’s are NOT original, Two: Taehyung will run out of the country again, Three: Taehyung will go back to the streets. Which one is true?”

He squints his eyes back at her and they look at each other intensely like a gun showdown in Western films. One thing’s for sure though, Her’s not going to be docile this time.

“…ONE! ok? One! One. I’ll tell them. I’ll tell all of them, ok? Ughh, I’m going to lose a lot of money...” he exhales, “Now, can you please actually do what I say and stay still?”

“Seems like I won this game,” Her says with a smirk. She picks up the champagne again and goes back into position. She smiles at him, seemingly pleased with herself that their roles reversed. After all the times Taehyung has toyed with her, she gets her revenge. Or so she thinks.

“I can’t seem to compete with goody-two shoes,”

“You know what they sayyy, the good always conquers the bad,”

“Oh…so I’m the bad man now,”

“Eh…you’re more like a boy to me,”

All of a sudden, Her sees his tiger-like eyes darken once more. The angel in him disappears again and his emanating vibe becomes dangerous. Her realizes she triggered something in him again. She looks at him a little frightened, trying to hide her feelings of intimidation behind her eyes. As Taehyung gets closer, she scoots back to the couch, as far as her back would let her, shifting the flow of the curtain on the couch and squishing the cat under her.

“Bad boy, huh? You do know what else they say, right?”

She finds her throat stuck as he comes closer and closer.

“They say all good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you. We’re not done with this game.”

“W-What do you mean?” she stutters and her head draws a blank.

“Do you really want to know how I survived the streets?” he eyes her down and Her could see his eyes dilate.

“H-H-ow?”

“I didn’t have anything, Her. I was penniless. No family. No place to call home. I used the only thing I had – my looks. Isabella? Yeah, she was an older woman but she found me beautiful. She used to paint me a lot whenever she first saw me in the streets when I was 18. Even though it sickens me that I have to use this face to make a living, I had no other choice. The deal was that she can paint me as long as I can sleep at her place, keep me out of the streets. And you know what happened to her paintings?”

“D-D-Did they sell?”

“She taught me a thing or two in our sessions and eventually I started helping her– giving her some ideas on how to make it better. Her paintings became more and more popular that she was able to open a small shop by Montmartre. Eventually, the street artists in Sacre Coeur were paying me to be their model and I was able to stay off the streets as long as they give me shelter. I also started making some money that’s not from thieving around. Why didn’t I just stay a stupid model, you ask?”

The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning by Camille Pisarro (Year 1897)

“But I-I I didn’t ask…” she mumbles.

“Because I found out I can use my hands, I found out I can also paint. And you’re right! Every street artist I’ve met said I’m the most creative one they’ve encountered. So…” He holds her chin with his thumb and his forefinger, “One: Taehyung is a bad boy. Two: Her will do the exact opposite of what Taehyung says…or three: Her will ask Taehyung for help for her project. Which one is true?” He looks deep into her eyes to the point that he could be reading her thoughts.

Is he serious?!

“I am far more irritated with you and my patience has grown thin,” Her swipes his hand away and pushes his chest. She sets the champagne on the carpet, takes off the turban, and throws it against his chest.

“Don’t think you can just order me around like I’m some kind of toy that you have wrapped around your little finger,” she turns her heels and walks towards the dressing screen, taking her clothes, and then taking her backpack and art box.

On her way of stomping out the door, Her sees his painting at the corner of her eye and it stops her from her tracks. The colors are intensely vibrant, splashes of blue and yellow glimmer against each other-- just like how Van Gogh paints his paintings. His brush strokes are fast and mindless without a trace of hesitance with each swipe. The golden couch flares as if its the sun on a blazing summer day and her dress glows a vibrant blue with the beads glimmering like stars from the midnight sky. The feathers from the dress are exaggerated and stretched out, looking like a cloud separating the sun from the moon at dawn or twilight. It didn’t have a realistic style to it like her paintings, but it had a Post-Impressionistic style– her favorite. She’s astounded he’s covered so much of the canvas in so little time but she notices that she was completely painted in already.

“Y-You were finished painting me this whole time?”

“My eyes…just really gobbles up that blue dress,” he whispers as he slouches down on the couch, propping his head up with his arm.

“Ah! Alors aide-moi dieu!! I’ve had ittttt,” she walks to the door to exit but Taehyung catches her with his words.

“Nuh-uh, sweet cheeks,” Taehyung says. “Take it off,”

“W-What?!”

“Take off the dress. Or did you forget it’s not yours?” he chuckles, finding her rage of fit amusing. “Come on. I had to go through great lengths to find a dress like that, and if you won’t model for me no more, I can at least give it to another girl,”

Out of spite, Her walks over to the couch, takes off the dress right then and there, and slaps it on Taehyung’s face. Taehyung curls his tongue, seemingly irritated by her behavior. Her’s outrage pushed any trace of embarrassment she might have on a normal situation apart from the current one. She then quickly swoops her body into her own casual dress as she picks her things up.

“Hm, I thought people like Isabella are the only ones who could be risqué. Turns out goody-two shoes could be too,” he mischievously smirks. Her could not believe that Taehyung still has the audacity to toy with her. He’s driven her up the wall but he’s still not content, revving the gas pedal past its speed limit.

“Taehyung, please just shut up,”

“Well if anybody asks, you’re the one who stripped,”

“Ugh! Good luck with that damn painting,”

Her continues to stomp out the door as she hears the words ‘she’ll be back’ catch up to her.

Ch. 2 fin.

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