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zafirosreverie · 4 years ago

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can you please write this: agatha have a love/hate relationship with y/n, she put her through what she did to wanda (living difficult moments of her past) and during the scene where yn was with her ex gf she gets a bit jealous watching it and makes comments about it

I loved this ask! Thank you so much for it. I hope you like what i did with it, dear! ^ - ^

The universe between your hands (Agatha x Fem!reader)

You growled as Agatha’s voice came behind you. She had you trapped in her basement and used her magic to keep you from using yours. You were totally gonna kill her.

This has been your relationship with her since the very beginning. You two hated each other, always fighting and trying to be the best witch. That led to nights staying awake together, reading the spellbooks as fast as you could, fights in the forest that usually ended with one of you having to carry the other, just to avoid being scolded by the older witches, and flirting. So much flirting (at what, you had to admit, Agatha was better). It wasn’t anything serious, but the older witches didn’t want to hear the two of you arguing, so you ended covering your arguments with sarcasm and flirting. It was natural for you both at this point.

“Ready to talk, dear?” she asked, walking around you like a lion playing with her prey. You rolled your eyes.

“You haven’t even offered me a cup of tea” you answered. “You’re losing your touch with your guests, Aggie”.

She chuckled at the name and grabbed your face with her right hand while playing with your hair with the other. Her baby blue eyes locked with your e/c ones. You always found her eyes really beautiful.

“My guests usually don’t try to kill me, darling” she whispered “the best you deserve is coffee”

“two spoons of sugar, please” you growled and Agatha smirked.

She caressed your cheek before she let your face and hair and started walking behind you. You blushed when she wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed you against herself.

“Tell me what you learnt and I’ll let you go” she whispered in your ear “You’ll be free to play in the stars, love” she promised.

The stars. That was the reason you were here right now. You always knew you could be better, always knew there was so much more to learn. Just, not here on earth. You found a way to travel across the universe, and you learnt so much from the magic on other planets.

You were on Antares when you felt the chaos magic and it felt like a good time to visit your old home. The plan was simple: go to earth, learn chaos magic, go back to your studies on Antares. But travel across the universe took so much of your power and you always ended tired and almost knocked out when you did it. By the time you arrived at Westview, you could barely stand on your feet. That was the only reason Agatha was able to capture you. She wanted the power you got from the stars.

“I thought you were not interested in it, Aggie” you said and cursed yourself for feeling butterflies on your stomach when she giggled on your ear and used her free hand to play again with your hair.

“You know I’m interested in anything you do, Y/N” she said and you blushed.

That was true. She was always asking for you around the coven, wanting to know whatever you were doing, that was how she managed to be a step ahead of you sometimes.

That’s why she was the one having a trial and not you, a voice in your head said and you felt guilty. You had been the one planning to steal the books, to learn dark magic. It was your idea. You were the one who planned to break the rules. Agatha just did it first because you lost a fight against her and she read your mind.

“I’m a little busy, hon” she whispered in your ear, interrupting your thoughts “so, let me save both of our time”.

You gasped when she released you, allowing you to stand on your feet. Too bad your knees were too weak because of her proximity. You would have hit the floor if it wasn’t because of Agatha’s arm that was still around you.

“Careful, dear. I haven’t even taken you up stairs” she joked and you rolled your eyes, feeling your cheeks a little warm.

“fuck you” you mumbled as you stepped away from her. You just heard her chuckling. You weren’t sutpid, you knew she put some runes around the room to avoid your magic. Smart ass.

You felt her approach you from behind again, and suddenly, everything was black. You blinked before you noticed the new scene. You were in the forest. What the hell? Agatha stood beside you and you two watched your memory. It was that time when you sent a poor girl through a bunch of trees.

She was a younger witch that tried to make fun of Agatha. You remembered being angry at her, because it was your thing. No one else was allowed to talk like that about the brunette, just you. It was common knowledge in the coven. So, you just were defending that privilege, it wasn’t because of Agatha’s eyes being filled with tears.

Then, the real Agatha made a move with her hand and the memory changed. This time it was her who was defending you from hunters. You had made a mistake and the men from the village saw your magic before you could hide it. You ran but you were still young and you couldn’t control your magic like you do now. When they were too close to you, you felt a magic that wasn’t yours and suddenly a wind too strong took the men away from you. You would later learn to identify that magic as Agatha’s.

“You were pretty stupid back then” you heard Agatha whisper and you frowned before you turned to her.

“look who’s talking” you rolled your eyes. She only giggled and changed the memory again, to the one when she saved your ass from the older witches by saying you were with her all the time. You were actually outside the forest, which was not allowed to younger witches, but Agatha lied for you.

“How am I going to beat your ass myself if you’re expelled?” she had said when you asked her why she did it.

The memories kept changing for a while and you felt something strange inside your chest. Some of them were always present in your mind, but some were almost forgotten. What you noticed while watching them, was that you and Agatha acted like an old married couple most of the time. But no, you hated each other and that was the only truth you knew.

You didn’t say anything when Agatha skipped the memory of her trial. It was a silent pact you both made a long time ago. That night...never happened.

The memories changed to ones from a closer time. Both of you were older, you knew more about the world, your goals changed. You took different paths, but would find each other from time to time. Even then, your dynamic remained the same. It was almost comical, now that you had the chance to watch it from the outside. It seemed like you’ve always had complete faith in Agatha surviving, while she seemed to have (well founded) doubts about your ability to stay alive.

“Just take what you want, Aggie” you suddenly said when you recognised the memory that was playing now. Your reaction seemed to be interesting for her, because she giggled and hugged you from behind.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she whispered in your ear. She seemed to like doing that, you noticed.

However, you just wanted to stop the memory right there. “I’ll tell you what i learnt, we don’t need to keep watching this” you said, but she ignored you. She now definitely wanted to see this.

You tensed when another voice came from the memory.

“Y/N? Love, where are you?” a female said. It was your ex girlfriend. Agatha was still behind you, so you didn’t see her frowning.

“oh, there you are, silly. Are you ready?” your ex asked and you watched yourself nodding and taking her hand. She kissed you and you stared at her with love. It made you sick because you knew how this memory was going to end.

“You’ve been busy, Y/N” you heard Agatha saying, but there was something else in her tone. You just couldn’t put your finger on it.

You watched as your past self and your ex went on your date. Agatha’s arms pressed you more against her when the memory showed your ex doing the same while looking at pictures in the museum. It was the same position, but you couldn’t help but notice it felt better with Agatha.

“She took you to see the same boring paintings you’ve known for centuries? how original” Agatha said and there was that tone again. As if she wanted you to notice how bad of a match your ex was. Well, she didn’t need to do it, you knew now.

The older witch couldn’t help herself, but she felt...something. It was strange. She planned to watch your memories just to steal the knowledge you had from the stars (even when a little voice in her head said that she also wanted to see what was going on in your life. She didn’t see you in a long time, after all), but now that plan was quickly being forgotten.

She frowned when she heard someone else calling you “love”, watching this woman taking your hand, playing with your hair and kissing you lips, was too much for her. With the exception of the kissing part, those were the things she usually did with you. It was normal for her to play with your hair, to grab your hand and even hug you (for lord’s sake, she was holding you in her arms right now!), it was her thing, something she always thought that was special for you both, and watching someone else doing it, felt like an insult to her. As if that woman was stealing what was hers by right.

That annoyed her. So she did what she always does when something annoys her. She tried to get rid of it. These were your memories, so she couldn’t actually do anything to the woman, but her brilliant sarcasm should be enough.

“Really? a fancy restaurant? how cliché” she said, trying to get a reaction from you. But you seemed lost in your thoughts.

You watched the scene and the moment your past self walked on that restaurant, you wanted to stop yourself, you wanted to yell, to tell yourself to walk away from there. But what happened, happened, and there was nothing you could do about it. So you just kept hearing as Agatha kept making sarcastic comments about your ex.

When you watched your ex offering you a drink and your past self smiling lovingly at her, you felt Agatha’s hold tightening around your waist and unconsciously leaned against her. For someone who has spent the past 300 years trying to kill you, Agatha surely knew how to make you feel safe.

Agatha felt you leaning more into her embrace and some of her rage faded away. However, she decided to stop the memory when she saw the woman pulling out a small box from her jacket. No, she didn’t want to see that.

You blinked as you two went back to Agatha’s basement. What happened? She didn’t even get the memory she was looking for, the one about your new powers. Instead, she pressed her lips in your temple and remained quiet. Almost as if she wanted to stay this way for as long as she could, not that you were complaining.

You stared at her hands around your waist and took want of them in yours. You watched it carefully, noticing every vein, spot, freckle and wrinkle it had. You watched how your own fingers slowly intertwined with hers. It felt good. But you couldn’t remain silent. Not when your mind wanted an answer.

“Why did you stop?” you asked softly. Agatha didn’t answer right away, too lost on the feeling of your fingers.

“I don’t need to watch the proposal. Nor the wedding” she finally whispered in your hair and you frowned. There was that tone again, the same she kept in her comments all the time she watched your memory of your ex. This time, you knew what it was. Jealously.

The thought made you blush. In another time, it would have been enough for you to start a war and laugh at her. But something felt different this time.

It was strange. There was nothing that was different from your previous encounters. There was nothing different from the way you acted with each other, and still, it didn’t feel the same. This time, it felt more intimate, more dangerous. There was a line you didn’t know you were walking to, and now, it was time to decide whether to cross it or not.

“There was no wedding” you said and slowly turned around in her arms to look at her. She frowned, confused and you couldn’t help but notice how cute it was. You noticed the passage of time on her face. She seemed wiser, but also tired. Stronger but broken.

But she was as beautiful as always.

“She did propose” you continued, sighing “but it was a lie. She worked for HYDRA, and wanted my powers” you said, playing with a stray of her hair “so i killed her”

That made Agatha blink, and she stared at you for a moment before a small smile appeared on her face. “Really? The great and always right Y/N, murdered someone?” she joked and you chuckled. You were as naughty as her, and you both knew it, but there was a time when you would have preferred to let yourself be killed than to kill someone.

“I had to. I think that, if someone who isn’t you, kills me, we’ll both be very disappointed” you said and she giggled. Has her laugh always been this cute?

“Good to know that you still hold me in high esteem, love” she said and it was your turn to laugh.

You stared at each other’s eyes and you knew that the time was over. The line was right there and you had to cross it or walk away from it. The way she brought her face close to yours and the silent question in her eyes was all it took to happily jump the fucking line as you gently kissed her, wrapping your arms aroun her neck.

You came to earth thinking you’d be gone quickly. But suddenly, the stars were not as interesting as this universe between your hands.

#x reader #reader insert #imagine #wandavision imagine #agnes x reader #agnes imagine #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x y/n #mcu imagine #mcu x reader

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coltsbitch · 4 years ago

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replaced ~ colt grice x reader

colt grice x reader; fluff; 1.7k words summary: getting replaced doesn’t feel so great for colt

masterlist ~ replaced pt.2

Falco has stars in his eyes whenever he talks about you and it’s slowly driving Colt insane. Colt has only been gone four months and it’s clear he is no longer the younger boy’s favorite person anymore.

“She even cuts my sandwich into the shape of dinosaurs!”

Colt rolls his eyes, “Oh yeah?” But Falco is too young to pick up on the disinterest and annoyance lacing his voice.

Colt was sure he would have run out of things to talk about over the weekend but it’s Monday morning and Falco is still going on and on about how great you are, and all the fun things the two of you do together in the afternoons.

Leaving Falco to attend a school three hours away had been hard enough when he was looking at his brother’s tear stained face the morning he left. But it was harder for Colt when he returned for winter break and all Falco wanted to do was ramble on and on about his replacement.

Of course he had heard about you from his parents when they said they were going to start having the neighbor’s granddaughter spend the afternoons with Falco until he was a little older to be at home by himself.

But it was Colt who for years picked Falco up from school and spend the afternoons helping him with his homework, fixing him dinner, and keeping him entertained. So, he was surprised to see how taken Falco had become with you. Colt was supposed to be Falco’s hero. The person he looked up to and wanted to spend every minute with, and it was starting to get on Colt’s last nerve.

“Alright!” Colt cuts off Falco during a story about how you helped him get past the level of his game he had been stuck on for a week, “We’re here. Look for me after school, okay?”

Falco pauses from unbuckling his seat belt, a small frown on his face, “Oh, you’re picking me up?”

Colt tightens his grip on the steering wheel, “Yeah, we’re gonna spend the afternoon together. Okay?”

Falco sighs, “Okay.”

Colt feels his heart break a little. Sure, Falco might be obsessed with this new babysitter, but that shouldn’t mean he doesn’t even want to hang out with Colt, right?

“If you want, we can get ice cream when I pick you up?”

That does the trick and Falco perks up immediately, “Even though it’s wintertime?”

“We’re not going to eat it outside, silly.” Colt smiles at his brother who is thinking this over, “Now hurry up, you don’t want to be late.”

“Okay! Bye Colt!”

He watches Falco sprint along the sidewalk, dodging patches of ice. Colt pulls away when he’s sure his brother is in the building, reminding himself to berate Falco for the running in this weather.

Colt spends the day running a few errands and tidying up the house. It’s clear that Falco has been slacking on his chores without Colt around to remind him.

He rolls his eyes as he finds another one of Falco’s toys laying on the ground. Colt picks it up to toss into Falco’s room, but his eye is caught on a giant drawing hanging above his bed as he’s shutting the door. It’s one of those poster boards someone might use for a school project.

But Falco has instead painted a picture. Flowers in the corner and clouds along the top, completed with five stick figures. Colt looks closer and can see Falco has labeled each person. Mom and dad. Colt. One that says ‘me!’ And finally, your name.

Colt feels an irrational anger over come his body. Your stick figure is closet to Falco, even holding hands while Colt’s is on the opposite side of their parents.

Colt knows it’s just a silly drawing, maybe you had even helped him (if the neat handwriting is to go by anything). But it pisses him off to no end to see that his stick figure doesn’t even get to hold Falco’s free hand.

Colt grumbles as he retreats to his room, counting down the hours until he needs to leave to pick up Falco. All the while planning as many things as possible the two of them can do in the four short weeks Colt will be home.

They’ll get ice cream today, and they can have a snowball fight or build a snowman later. And Colt can take Falco to the comic bookstore this weekend, and then the two of them can order a pizza while reading whatever they pick up. Maybe Colt can even host a sleepover for Falco and his friends one night and spoil all of them with too much sugar.

Yeah. These things will get him back at Falco’s number one spot.

Colt decides to leave a little earlier than needed, just to be sure that Falco doesn’t have to wait. When Colt arrives at the school, he decides to park and wait in the courtyard. This time of year, most people are waiting in the warmth of their car for their child. But it reminds Colt of the years before he could drive and would walk Falco to and from school each day.

There are a few other people milling around. Colt fiddles with his phone, having arrived maybe a little too early. But eventually Colt hears the bell signaling the end of the school day.

The doors burst open with too many children to count and Colt tries to pick out his brother from all the other bundled up children. He spots Falco’s friend Gabi first, hard to miss the little girl who looks like she’s marching into battle. And then he sees his brother trailing after her.

“Falco!” Colt calls out, waving his hand a little.

Falco’s head perks up in Colt’s direction, and then he’s running towards him.

Colt laughs a little to himself, enjoying the excitement radiating from Falco’s body. Colt is sure this boy is going to tackle him to the ground at the speed he’s going, but instead Falco barrels right past him.

“Falco!” Colt calls after him, but Falco must not notice as he runs up to who Colt can only assume to be you.

You bend at the knees with your arms wide open as Falco wraps his arms around your neck. You hug the boy tight before pulling away, a smile on your face while Falco talks with his mouth moving so fast Colt is sure there’s no way you’re keeping up.

Colt attributes the feeling in his stomach to be the disappointment of Falco picking you over him and has nothing to do with how pretty your smile is.

“Falco.” Colt is standing in front of the two of you, a small frown on his face.

“Colt!” He turns around excitedly, wrapping his arms around Colt’s waist in a hug.

Colt is taken back by the sudden affection from Falco, patting his head awkwardly as you smile at the scene.

“I thought you were picking me up today, but then I saw ___ and I wasn’t sure if you were still here, but now you’re both here!”

“Hi. Your parents said you would be home this week, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.” You stand, and give a little wave.

“Of course I would pick up Falco.” Colt bites out a little more aggressively than needed.

You smile again and quirk an eyebrow. Colt flushes because it feels like you see right through him and it makes him feel off balance.

“Well, I’m glad I could finally meet you. This one never stops talking about you.” You pinch Falco’s cheek who just swats at your hand.

“Colt used to pick me up every single day!”

“I know.” You tell Falco, though Colt picks up that this probably isn’t the first time you’ve heard this fact, “He’s such a good big brother.”

Colt feels his face flush even further at your compliment.

“Colt?” Falco asks in a whiny voice, “Can ___ come with us to get ice cream?”

Colt stammers for a second and looks at you, “Well I’m sure ___ might have somewhere to be.”

“No she doesn’t!” Falco whips his head to you, “You don’t have anywhere to be right?”

You laugh softly and Colt swears that it sounds like tinkling bells, “I don’t know Falco, it’s kind of cold out for ice cream.” Your eyes meet Colt’s, a silent question, while giving room for you to back off if Colt wants to spend some time with Falco alone.

And if someone had asked Colt an hour ago what he would do, Falco would have already been thrown into the back seat, the two of them driving far away from this girl who was trying to steal his little brother from him.

But now seeing you? Bundled up with a knitted hat pulled down to your eyes and a smile that Colt thinks he never wants to see leave your face. Falco’s stick figure drawing didn’t do you justice.

“We’re not going to eat it outside.” Colt tilts his voice at the end, eyes darting to yours and back to Falco’s nervously.

Colt is rewarded with a giant smile from you that makes his breath catch and heart miss a beat. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess I have to come.”

Falco cheers between the two of you, grabbing each of your hands and throwing them into the air.

You let out another laugh that is definitely going to send him into cardiac arrest one day.

Falco drags both of you to the parking lot already contemplating which flavor to get and how many scoops he wants.

Colt looks over at you, as you’re indulging Falco with his wild talks of a hundred scoop ice cream cone. But you must feel the stare because your eyes meet Colt’s, and you give him a cheeky smile when you see he’s staring.

Yeah. Colt’s starting to understand why Falco has stars in his eyes when he talks about you.

#colt grice x reader #colt grice #snk #aot #snk x reader #aot x reader

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation. pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write!

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.”

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach.

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason.

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs.

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy.

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache.

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud.

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long?

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?”

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly.

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong.

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon.

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook.

You scream.

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—”

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!”

“Well… is he at least cute?”

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!”

“Tasteful nudes.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.”

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates.

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM.

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?”

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.”

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot.

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram.

Of course, he’s stupid hot.

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well.

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more.

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league.

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on.

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen.

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen.

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?”

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot.

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?”

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?”

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.”

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!”

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.”

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?”

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance.

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing.

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.”

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures.

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.”

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something.

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie.

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.”

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.”

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy.

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really.

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing.

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.”

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment.

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film.

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic.

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?”

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.”

“You think right.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair.

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?”

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.”

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier.

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot.

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud.

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes.

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container.

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?”

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display.

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?”

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.”

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation.

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.”

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking.

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.”

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.”

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize.

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.”

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.”

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.”

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.”

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you.

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down.

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks.

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts.

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed.

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ???

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird.

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture.

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today.

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring.

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.”

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.”

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.”

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?”

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.”

You choke on your saliva.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?”

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?”

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!”

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.”

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.”

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.”

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off.

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?”

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?”

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.”

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.”

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens.

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists.

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger.

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine.

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.”

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.”

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?”

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.”

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag.

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin.

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio.

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony.

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him.

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.”

“It was.”

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table.

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.”

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.”

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity.

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die.

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more.

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them.

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.”

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists.

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset.

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself.

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.”

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.”

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink.

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set.

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.”

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.”

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.”

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?”

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?”

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?”

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.”

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself.

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.”

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.”

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.”

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame.

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home.

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead.

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade.

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?”

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?”

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this.

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.”

#jungkook fic #btsghostiebingo #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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neovisioned · 4 years ago

Text

♡ꜜ 0 miles away﹫jeno lee

pairing : jeno x reader (f)

genre : smut with some plot, fluff if you squint, established relationship.

warnings : mainly smut, dom!jeno gets tied, uses of a sex toy, edging, oral (f receiving), choking, manhandling.

word count : +4k

synopsis : where you finally see your boyfriend after months away due to quarantine and things get heated. you quickly find Jeno got a little toy to take care of himself and forgot to inform you beforehand.

a/n : here's to 1 000 followers ! thank you so so much to my og followers for sticking around even when i was inactive and thank you to every new follower and welcome ♡

There’s a slight touch on your naked arm, one you know very well by now, even in your highly concentrated state. Lukewarm fingertip drawing random shapes on your skin, you hum as your boyfriend takes his eyes away from the screen, though you suspect he never really payed that much attention.

“Are you really watching ?”, the black-haired asks, nose dipping into your hair and oh, you know him too well. You know this very pattern too well, the one where you’re doing something, focused and yet, Jeno thinks you can not feel his hard on against your backside. This very behavior where he tried his best to stay calm and yet, the slight alteration in his breathing doesn’t go unnoticed, the way he shifts while cuddling you doesn’t either.

You have to say, you’re quite surprised it didn’t happen earlier. See, after months away from each other, only having your phones to communicate, you finally, finally reunited with your boyfriend.

You remember joking about being shy around him now that you spend weeks without his presence beside you but you almost think he got shy after so long, it’s funny.

A simple date was set up in his apartment, a movie and some things to eat and Jeno didn’t make a move until now, a third into the second movie.

“Yeah. Are you not ?”, you ask, voice slightly teasing.

“I don't even know what the fuck this movie is about.”, and there it is, the deep in his voice. It sends shivers down your spine, almost inaudible sigh escaping your lips when his ghost over the skin of your nape.

Your boyfriend peppers kisses on your skin and oh, how you missed it. You missed his mouth exploring every parcel of your body, you missed his firm grip, the same he uses to turn your body around.

“I was watching.”, you whine and yet, your body follows his hand, chest to chest, movie long forgotten behind you.

Jeno can not be fooled, small smile tugs at his lips, right hand cupping your jaw.

“You were ?”, he asks but barely lets you answer before his lips crash against yours, thumb lovingly stroking your cheek.

It's not like your boyfriend did not kiss you the moment you stepped into his apartment, but you still melt against his mouth like you want to get back all the months away from him.

When the first kiss he gave you when you entered his place was soft, this one is a lot more eager. Slow, sensual, bruising, no matter how long went by without seeing each other, Jeno still knows your body like the back of his hand.

Fingers lay behind your head, tilting it like he pleases, fingernails lightly scratching your skin.

A grown gets muffled against your mouth when you lightly bite down on his bottom lip, slightly tugging at it.

“I missed you.”, your boyfriend breathes, and you can only breathlessly return the sentence when his strong arms sneak around your waist to push you under him.

The golden necklace you gave him for your anniversary slips out of the black shirt he's wearing, dangling between your bodies. Such a simple thing but it has the power to grow butterflies in your stomach, flapping their wings when it moves left and right. Fingers wrap around the small charm and you use the light grip to tug him closer, closer, closer.

Lips crash for a second time. Sloppy, wet, hungry. Jeno cages you between his arms, using his forearms on each side of your head for leverage while you cling onto him, legs wrapping around his hips.

“Missed you so fucking much—. Ah, fuck.”, you're about to tell him your fingers weren't enough for the long time period, right after painting an innocent kiss on his cheek but your boyfriend decides this very moment is the best to roll his hips against your core, hard and slow, lips diving into your neck.

The moan that tumbles from your lips seems to do it for Jeno, poor boy is already hard as a rock against his jeans and you wonder how long he's been like that. Desperate, cold ring-clapped hands grip at your waist under your shirt and you get the hint, legs tightening around him, arms wrapping behind his neck.

“I can't believe we managed to go so long without seeing each other.”, the tallest giggles against your throat, hands shamelessly gripping at the flesh of your ass as he lifts you up, away from the sofa.

“Yeah ? We made it work, though.”

“Phone sex is great once in a while.”, in another situation, you'd laugh at how desperate he's being. Can you really make fun of him when you're in the exact same situation ? Fingers slide between his dark locks, you notice how long they've grew these past mouths but, you don't complain at all.

Jeno is quick to walk to his bedroom. His back pushed the door open before he kicks it close with the back of his heel, as if anyone could walk in. But after all, Jeno is a possessive boyfriend, you’re his and he’s yours.

It happened countless times, the walls and pictures hanging in your boyfriend’s room a blur as he easily moves you around, mind and body hyper-focusing on the black haired. It’s something Jeno seems to love, the way you still gasp when he throws you on his bed, back hitting the soft mattress.

“Fuck, missed having you like this.”, he has always been a passionate man, but it seems tonight, he is even more. The tallest crawls on his bed right after taking his shirt off and, you have to say, the hunger in his eyes makes a wave of heat crash against your body. You really missed it, the anticipation, not knowing his next move, slowly going putty in his hands, melting under his touch.

Pearly teeth bite down on your lower lip, you unconsciously crawl back until your hands touch his soft pillows. Nowhere to run and yet, you smile back at Jeno’s carnal smile when he gets closer and closer until he follows your head slowly resting on his pillow. Or rather, the one he bought for the nights you stay at his place.

You’re about to rest your head on the soft-.

“What’s-.”, when you think the back of your head is going to hit the fluffy pillow, the top hits something hard, a shape you can’t make on the spot but the object hits the bed’s headboard and it doesn’t sound shallow.

Oh, to be Jeno in this very moment. Confusion takes over his pretty features and vanish away in a millisecond, it’s funny how the mechanism in his brain seems to work full speed when he understands.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK. He thinks at this very moment, he’s an idiot.

“Y/N-”, he starts but, it’s too late. Your curious hand taps away on his mattress, quickly lifting his pillow up to see what exactly knocked the back of your head.

It’s not like nothing ever came between you and Jeno, you expect to see his laptop, even if the shape doesn’t correspond, his PlayStation’s controller maybe, even. But this, this you did not expect.

The same confusion twist your features, it’s funny how easily you take other people’s habits when you stay with them for so long. But, your confusion turns into shock in a few seconds. Finger wrap around the black, circular object. You even think it’s a flashlight at first, silly you. Lo and behold, you’re wrong by a letter.

Slightly wider to a side, skin like color on a rubber material and instead of dropping the thing you quickly understand is a fleshlight and not, a flashlight, you tighten your grip on it.

Your grip tightens as Jeno’s hand flies to grab the object, body slightly dropping against yours. He desperately tried to put his hand on the toy he now see as shameful, even if he used it without a second thought for some time now.

“Y/N, I-.”, he tries to grab it a second time, but your boyfriend has to lean back when you sit up on his bed. Are you angry ? Disappointed ? Disgusted even, maybe ?

After dating for a year and a half, Jeno can read your eyes, but not right now.

“What it this ?”, you ask him, even if you know. There’s a need to hear him say it. See, toys were never a no in your relationship with the black haired but, you thought it was a silent agreement to inform each other maybe. Jeno knows you have some, most he uses on you, but the thought of your boyfriend having to use one when you’re not around lightens something in the deepest of your core.

Jeno’s lips part for a second, a single syllable coming out.

“A- Ahm…A fleshlight ?”, he says, tone unsure. Pearly teeth bite down on his bottom lip, bruising until iron coats his tongue.

“You never told me you had one.”, you say, curious eyes detailing the object and fuck, maybe if your mind wouldn’t picture the men on top of you using the very toy you’re holding, you wouldn’t be so turned on.

“I-, I just got it a month into quarantine. Let’s just-.”, forget about it, put it aside, there’s so much Jeno could’ve said at this very moment but it seems you’re a lot faster than he is.

See, Jeno losing his words is something you rarely see. Your boyfriend’s a confident men, he knew what to say when he asked you out, he never hesitated to whisper the dirtiest things in your ear. Seeing him almost shy, breaking eye contact every now and then, almost submissive makes something else grow in your eyes.

“Does it feel better than me ?”, you ask, voice sultry. It drops, it’s quieter and visibly, it takes Jeno back. You didn’t seem upset and…he knows this long in your eyes, the one you have when you tease him in public, the one you have when he just discovered the new lingerie you bought.

It’s comical, how his eyes grow wide for a second, right before letting out a sigh as he understands.

“No, no she doe- It doesn’t mean anything !”, your boyfriend starts, voice slightly panicked but, your hand mimicking his previous move and cups his cheek.

“Oh, shit.”, the touch turn teasing in second when you drop your hand to his crotch, the fabric of his jeans tense around his hard on.

“Yeah ? Sure ?”, you continue, setting the object to the side. If Jeno lets his guard down for a moment, you sure will take advantage of it. Plus, the idea of using a toy on your boyfriend is way too appealing to let go.

“Baby, yes. So much better, I swear.”, finally, the black haired seems to find his words again. Your hands find his belt, leather fabric and you tug at until it is out of his belt loops, “Lets find out, yeah ?”

Jeno decides he loves this side of you when you crash your lips against his, it’s heated, rushed, his hand grip your hips before you stop him.

“Give me your hands.”, you breathe out against his lips. He obliges before even understanding the meaning.

“Oh…Oh, tying your man up, hm ?”, the slight pride in his chest makes you smile up at him when you use his own belt to tie his hands together, leather fabric tightening around his wrists.

“Hm hm, lay back for him.”

Four words he gets hypnotized by, laying back on his bed when you use your leg against his hip.

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot.”, your boyfriend moans out the moment you sit on his lap to work on the buttons of his jeans. Quickly, you get rid of the piece of clothing until it stops mid-way around his thighs. Grey boxers you know very well, the dark, wet spot on the fabric adds to the outline of his hard cock.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”, you hum, a hand teasingly caressing his member before sliding your fingers under the thin fabric.

“I didn’t know how to. Bab- shit.”, Jeno’s sensitive, so fucking sensitive. Your thumb runs over his head – you don’t even need to see it to know how red it is – and your boyfriend moans. A broken moan ringing in your ears, you free his shaft from the last piece of clothing.

“Maybe just, hey babe, I bought something today !”, you let out sarcastically, right hand grabbing onto the object in the center of it all. The black haired sighed, or maybe he groans but he doesn’t answer, you don’t let him either.

Curious eyes detail the fleshlight a second time, a small smile creeping on your lips.

“Come on, let me see how use it.”

Jeno thinks he might come right then and there. His lips part, heavy eyes traveling from yours to the said toy. The very toy you bring to his wet, angry tip.

Your boyfriend felt this too many times during the quarantine and yet, it feels different when you do it.

“Y/N, oh, fuck.”, it's hypnotising, how sensitive he is. You twist your wrist just the right way so his head enters the toy and, his hips raise from his bed.

“Feels good ?”, you hum and, you don't let him answer. In a swift motion, you bring the fleshlight to his base and the moan has rips from his mouth sounds oh so beautiful.

The black haired's hands tighten around the leather fabric of his belt and it is at this very moment that he understands how you feel when he ties you up.

“Not as good as you.”, he rasps out, fucking up into his toy before you even need to say it. You move it, slowly, up and down regardless.

Your boyfriend looks breath-taking at this very moment, chest red, irregularly raising up and down. A thin sheet of sweat under his hairline, knuckles white. You ask him to tell you more, you want to hear him, hear his voice crack under your touch.

A hand pressed on his hip, enough for him to understand not to move but he does it anyways, your hand isn't that strong.

“It's not as tight.”, a snap of his hips.

“Not as wet.”, another. His voice cracks, he struggles around his restraints.

“Not as hot.”, it's your turn to start moving the toy faster, find the right angle.

The sigh is herotic, he gets lost in pleasure, his hips lose rhythm. You probably will have to excuse yourself to his neighbors, his moans get louder, louder, louder. He doesn't even try to hide his sounds, and you think you never heard so many moans coming from your boyfriend.

“God, I'm gonna come.”, he warns and, when you abruptly stop, you think you might cum at the long groan he lets out.

Your panties are ruined, you're sure of it, any mouvement makes the the fabric stick to your body and you decide there's no way you're staying any longer like this.

“Fuck, baby, why did you ?”, poor boy struggles around his ties again, and thankfully for you, it isn't moving a bit for now. The look he gives you when you set the toy aside almost makes you laugh. His cock rests hard and angry against his stomach, you don't doubt your poor boyfriend may now more than ever understand the struggle he puts you through whenever he edges you.

You don't answer, you'd rather show him. You quickly get rid of your jeans and you're thankful that they aren't as tight as your boyfriend, letting your shirt fall somewhere alongside.

“Fuck, you're so fucking wet. Can see it from here.”

Just like you thought, you soaked your panties. A hand dips into the piece of clothing, index and pointer gathering your wetness.

“Open up.”

Ah, if your boyfriend was like this everyday. Such a good boy, he opens his mouth on cue, lips wrapping around your digits. He hums, so gratefully like someone finally giving him his meal. His tongue swirls around your fingers, getting every last drop of your wetness.

“Sit on my face.”, he growls, teeth playfully biting down on your fingers.

The proposition takes a moan out of you, and you don't hesitate. God, you sure love your boyfriend's fingers, you also fucking love his tongue.

Your panties are thrown beside his bed, and it's not long before you plant your knees on each side of his head.

“Untie me.”, your boyfriend might be good at sweet talking, he doesn't get through your head this time.

“Nu-uh.”, big puppy eyes look up at you when you shake your head left to right, lowering yourself.

Your hear him mumble something about getting back at you before his tongue laps at your core, eagerly gathering any wetness pooling on his tongue. He's sloppy, noisy, eating you out line a starved men.

He makes up for the lack of fingers by moving his face, left to right. You have to support yourself on his headboard, forehead against the cold wood.

Your moans flow freely, there's no need to hide them, you don't even think about doing so when his lips wrap around your bud of nerves and he sucks.

He does again, again and again, groans sending vibrations up your spine until you have to stop him, shaky hand planting itself in his locks when you feel your stomach tightening.

“Wanna come around you.”

“Fuck, please.”, and he whines, a whine you'll probably keep in head for a while. Lips, wet and red shine when you crawl backgrounds, seating on his lap again.

It is torture at this point, for the both of you, when you roll your hips against his, bare core against his cock.

A whispered “please”, tumbles from his lips and you oblige, how can you say no when he looks like the most the most sinful angel, pretty face wet by your essence. Or maybe he looks like the most angelic demon, hungry stare in his puppy eyes.

Finally, after months, you sink down on Jeno's member, ever so slowly. The stretch is familiar and yet, you need some time to get used to it again. How good it feels to be complete again, feel every ridge and every vein, every pulse and every snap.

Hands plant itself on his lower torso when you reach the base, head lolling forward as you breath in. It's overwhelming, how the craving finally gets filled.

Your ears buzz, it's hot, too much and not enough at the same time. In the background, you hear Jeno breathing deeply, the slight noise of metal hitting metal.

And, before you understand, cold ring clapped hands grip your hips.

Your eyes snap open, head looking up and as you do so, your boyfriend flips you over, hovering over you in seconds.

Your mouth falls open like a fish out of water, you need seconds to understand what just happened. Somehow, he got out of his ties, and didn't hesitate to reverse roles.

Apparently, the black haired finds it very funny, smirk tugging one side of his lips as his dark locks fall in front of his eyes, anything puppy like long gone for the wolf like stars you know so well.

Abruptly, his right hand wraps around your throat, your head lolling back against a cushion.

“Told you I'd make you pay.”, you can only moan at that, Jeno quickly finds the right position between your legs and his hips start snapping against yours.

Barely any time to adjust to the rhythm he imposes, you twist under his body, a sigh your boyfriend loves.

He love how your body reacts, how it turns and archs but, with a hand, he can stop it all. Just like you did, his right hand falls to your hips to push them down.

“Definitely. So much better.”, the growl again, his lips find your neck again but long gone are the sweet kisses, he bites down on the skin just to mark you, leave purple bruises for everyone to see.

There's a snap, harsh, deep, punishing, one that rips a moan of his name and Jeno breathlessly laughs at that, sadisticly copying the same mouvement.

“Look at you. Weren't you all fierce moments ago ? Where did my girl go ?”, he asks, hand grabs your jaw to force you to look at him, his thumb sneaks between your lips when you try and muffle your moans.

“There she is, my good little girl.”

Somewhere, in the middle of his mumbled words, you breath out how close you are and, thankfully, it seems your boyfriend isn't taking full revenge on you tonight.

The golden necklace drags against your skin and your grab onto it a second time when your walls tighten, knot grows so he can kiss you again.

It's all tongue and teeth, messy and broken, but you moan out against his lips when he hits this one spot just like you love and he makes you see stars under your eyelids.

That's also all the black haired needs, left hand leaves croissant shapes on the skin of your hip when his shutter and come to a stop, long stained groan coming out of his lips. Jeno come inside of you in drawn out pauses until his hips slow down, gently fucking you through your orgasm.

“Holy fuck.”, the black haired concludes once he pulls out, wrapping his sheet around the both of you. It's crazy how his features change so easily, you notice again in your slightly distant state.

An arm wraps around while the other massaged the skin of your hip he knows he bruised, a single kiss is placed on your head.

“If I knew you'd react like this.”, he giggles out and your only response at the moment is to hit his shoulder has you curl up against his chest, meaning to enjoy the silence and dusk falling outside.

But apparently, Jeno doesn't have the same in mind. Blue light of his phone annoyingly flashes on your face and you have to whine. The screen's hidden, but your boyfriend's checking the uber eats order you two placed and completely forgot about, order that has been left in front of his door for so long now the food is probably ice cold.

“What are you doing ?”, you groan out, desperately trying to take his phone but, Jeno quickly stretches his arm away.

“Ordering new toys I can buy and hide for you to find, duh ?”

#NCT-WRITERS #neovisioned #nct smut #nct dream smut #jeno smut #jeno #nct #nct dream

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worldwidemochiguy · 5 years ago

Text

Date (Soft! Yandere Taehyung)

➵ Taehyung is well aware that you are trying to ask him out after crushing on him for weeks. But, you are easily flustered, and Taehyung loves nothing more than to fluster you...

➵ Warnings: This is a pretty light one tbh, Soft-ish Yandere, Smug Taehyung, embarrassed reader (lol im sorry), slightly voyeuristic grinding? idk but its not really sexual

➵ Word Count: 1.5K

➵ Masterlist

Taehyung hadn’t known you would be in the library to study today — despite his encyclopaedic knowledge of your daily schedule — so it was a pleasant surprise when you strode in, a folder and a stuffed pencil case tucked under your arm.

Of course, he didn’t show the surprise on his face, masking it with a smirk and a wink when your eyes happened to drift over to him. You blushed prettily, head tilting down again and Taehyung smothered the adoring coo building in his throat, if only because the library was so quiet he would certainly be heard. You were so fucking cute.

It seemed you were full of surprises today because, instead of sitting at one of the many empty tables like Taehyung expected you to do, you walked right up to Taehyung’s desk and cleared your throat delicately to get his attention, as if he hadn’t been solely focused on you and not his Chemistry notes since the minute you walked in.

Taehyung swallowed his excitement carefully, raising his head and allowing his eyes to give you a deliberate once over before settling on your face. Your cheeks were deliciously flushed. Temptingly kissable. Not yet, not yet, Taehyung chided himself.

“Um, can I… sit h-here?” You stuttered, your fingers curling around your folder and bringing it to your chest as if to shield yourself from rejection. Taehyung scoffed internally. It wasn’t physically possible for him to reject you.

“A beautiful girl asking to sit across from me?” He drawled, relishing the way your pretty lips parted in shock, “I’m worried I won’t get any studying done at all.”

“Um, I-I can move if I’m distracting you,” You said, already retreating in the direction of an empty table, your momentary courage having abandoned you.

“Nonsense,” Taehyung declared, already sweeping his material off the desk to make room for you, “I’ll go crazy if I don’t have something pretty to look at to break the monotony of covalent bonding.”

“O-oh, um, shall I-“

Taehyung stood up, rounding the table in a few quick strides and pausing behind you, just close enough to see the goosebumps surface on the back of your neck as his breath softly brushed against it.

He reached his arm around your waist, curling it just enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin through his sleeves. For a second, he entertained the thought of taking you into his arms right then and there, but he resisted, convincing himself to be patient.

Your shoulders slumped — in relief or disappointment, he couldn’t tell — as he pulled your chair out for you.

“There you go,” He murmured, his mouth close enough that his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear. “Sit.”

You obeyed him, your posture tense as you watched him cross back over to his seat again, sitting across for you. Immediately, he rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his palms, surveying you intently.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“T-talk to you?” You asked, internally cursing your decision that today would be the day you finally screwed up the courage to ask out that cute boy in your Calculus class.

“Well, yes. I assume that’s why you sat across from me, instead of on one of the unoccupied tables,” Taehyung smirked fiendishly, “unless you simply desired the pleasure of my company, which is completely understandable.”

“No!” You denied quickly, and he let out a gasp of mock-offence.

“Are you saying you don’t like me?”

“No!” You panicked, this was not going how you planned, “of course I like you! I’ve liked you for ages!”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up, the only betrayal of his otherwise cool exterior.

“Oh, really?” He purred.

“Uhm, that’s actually… um, that’s what I wanted to talk you about... today. Now.”

“Right now?” Taehyung teased, “But I thought you wanted to study?”

“Taehyunggg~” You whined, lips jutting out into an adorable pout. It took all of Taehyung’s restraint to not lurch over the table and kiss you silly.

He smiled instead, laughing a little as your entire face burned bright red.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He apologised, using the nickname that was sure to make you even more preciously flustered, “What did you want to ask me?”

“Um… I-I… uh…” Your eyes were fixed on your fingers as they worried the edge of your folder, picking on the fraying fibres as the scraps you had already ripped off formed a small pile on the desk. With one hand, Taehyung intertwined your fingers with his, stopping you from fiddling.

His other hand came under your chin, tilting your face up with a curved index finger. Your breath hitched, your eyes wide and fixed on him, finally. He loved when you gave him your full attention.

“Speak up, baby.” He murmured, and your eyes drifted inexorably to his lips. He ran his tongue over them deliberately, and your doe eyes widened even further, before flying up to his eyes guiltily.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, before blurting out,

“Wouldyougoonadatewithmeplease?”

Taehyung stifled a laugh, watching with amusement as instant regret painted itself across your features.

“What was that, baby?” He said, reaching his thumb up to tug one of your soft lips slightly. The small whine you let out made all his blood run south abruptly, and he fought to keep himself unaffected. “Could you say it a little slower? I don’t think I understood.”

You moaned in frustration, eyes slipping shut as your brow wrinkled cutely.

“I… you… date?” You managed to stutter out, looking downright miserable, and Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from laughing this time.

“Oh, baby, surely you know the answer to that already.”

To Taehyung’s confusion and dismay, your face crumpled, flashing through the five stages of grief in quick succession before settling on intense shame.

“Of course, I-“ You said rapidly, gathering up your folder as you stood up, ripping your hand away from his before Taehyung had the sense of mind to clutch it, “I’m so sorry, I should never have-“ You hesitated, seeing you had forgotten your pen on the table and Taehyung watched as you decided that it wasn’t worth it, continuing your abrupt retreat, “I won’t mention it again-“

“Wait!” Taehyung stopped you with a hand closed around your wrist. You looked down at his hand, and then up at his surprisingly earnest face, and then down at his hand again.

Taehyung tugged you back around the table, and you were too shocked to resist as he pulled you down onto his lap so that you were facing him, straddling his thighs. Taehyung desperately hoped his erection caused by your previous moans had gone down, otherwise he would scare you even more than he already had.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung said, almost choking on the unfamiliar words, which he would only ever stomach for your sake. “I wasn’t mocking you, I… ” I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you, “What I meant was... Surely, I’ve made my attraction to you obvious.”

“Your… attraction?” You squeaked, your cute lips hanging open almost comically.

“Yes,” Taehyung chucked, “Why do you think I call you baby all the time? Why do you think I sit next to you in every lecture we have? Why do you think I never look at another person when you’re around?”

“I…” You flushed, head tilting forwards demurely, “I thought I was imagining it.”

“No, baby,” Taehyung said, leaning forwards until his forehead rested against yours, “You weren’t imagining anything. I like you. A lot.”

He loved you, but he had already realised he should reveal that at a later date as to not scare you off too soon. But, it seemed like you had plenty of courage. At his confession, your eyebrows furrowed in determination, and before he knew it, you had lurched forwards, crashing your lips against his.

Heaven.

Taehyung was in heaven, with your sweet lips against his, soft and eager and willingly parting for him as he ran his tongue against your bottom lip. You surrendered yourself to him, melting on his lap as he slid his arms around your waist and tugged you closer, letting out choked little moans as he pulled your lip between his teeth, just enough to-

“No kissing in the library!”

The raspy voice of the head librarian yelled, and you pulled away from him with an embarrassed gasp. Taehyung chased your lips shamelessly, pulling you back in even as you tried in vain to lean away.

You relented, smiling as he continued to press kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, the librarian’s screeching fading into the background.

“I think we should probably go,” You giggled, and Taehyung grinned, nuzzling his nose against yours affectionately as he rejoiced inwardly at your use of ‘we’. Damn right, the two of you were a package deal now.

“So… um, date?” You proposed, biting your kiss-swollen lips, and Taehyung hummed in contentment, stealing another kiss from you even as you batted his shoulder in half-hearted admonishment.

“Yes,” He agreed, “Date.”

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ciggylungz · 4 years ago

Text

Show me yours

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(Request: Maybe more catholic school H but there bestfriend and there both v innocent and its their first time trying _______ (whatever you want) just a thought? (For the possible blurb night.)

“Did you hear what Lily was saying about Connor?”

y/n looked up when she heard Harry’s voice, the two of them in his room trying to finish their shared art project. They had to do a joint painting of the schools logo for the competition being held to pick a new art piece for the Catholic school. Y/n was currently trying to fix her minor mishap of mixing the purple too dark on the lower corner of the canvas.

“No? what happened?” her attention was divided between the art and Harry’s bite of gossip he was finding the correct verbiage for. “Lily said her and Connor did it!” his tone was slightly lower, whispering the last word so no one would hear a slight blush creeping onto his face. The revelation made the girl snap her head towards her best friend, eye’s widened a bit. The two of them were rather sheltered, they had attended the same private Catholic schools from the time they were in kindergarten up to the present as they were both in their second year of secondary school. The most rebellious thing they’ve ever really done was taking a second sip of the communion wine during mass, so hearing that their classmates may have had sex was very shocking to the pair.

“No way!” the project now took a backseat, y/n now fully invested in the drama Harry was relaying to her. “I swear! She said they did it in the bathroom!” , “Oh my gosh!...did she say anything like detailed?” the girl was just as nosy as her best friend. She wanted every drop of information she could squeeze from him. Harry smiled awkwardly, nervous repeating the words he’d heard from the two teens in question. “Uh…well she said they had s-sex in the bathroom, and Connor said she uh…’went down’ on him at his house..” while y/n knew the basics of sex, she didn’t exactly know much beyond ‘sex is between two married people and makes babies’ , so she questioned his revelation. “what does that mean?” , Harry wasn’t sexually experienced by any means, he was a kiss-less virgin but he would be lying if he said he didn’t know what certain sexual acts involved…he may be a good boy but he’s also a teenage boy with internet access.

His blush grew a few shades darker, opting to clear his throat and make sure the door was closed while he tried to find his voice again. “Uh..well-“ a uncomfortable chuckle escaped him while he tried to choke out the dirty words. “It’s when a girl puts their mouth on a boys private parts…” Y/n gawked at Harry, totally shellshocked at the fact that was a thing! She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to do that, “Wait what?! Isn’t that dirty? Don’t you pee from there?!” the girl was now standing on her feet her innocent mind trying to comprehend this new information. “Well…yea but I don’t think it’s dirty? If you don’t shower maybe, and the boy doesn’t pee in their mouth…” a nervous hand reached up to scratch the back of Harry’s flushed neck.

“that’s so…weird….h-have you ever done that?” Y/n asked him with a slight bow of her head locking eyes with him, “No! I’ve never done it! I’ve just s-seen it before tha’s all…” the boy shifted uncomfortably, “You’ve seen it? Where?”

“in…porn”

Once again, a comically dramatic gasp ripped through the air from Y/n. she knew of porn, her brother had gotten caught watching it once and that’s the first time she found out people have sex on camera. That was another huge shock to her, yet this one seemed bigger.

“You watch porn?!”

“shush! you’re going to get me in trouble y/n” Harry shot her a glare, yanking her forward to sit on his bed with him, his palm moving to cover her mouth. “Don’t yell that! It’s a secret” Harry cast a nervous glance towards his shut bedroom door before removing his hand from her face. Y/n giving his chest a nice swat with furrowed brows. “Don’t do that again, jerk” Harry simply rolled his eyes. “Then stop being so loud!”

Y/n pouted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “Or what?” she challenged “Or ill glue your mouth shut.” His fingers moved to flick her forehead, which was a mistake since Y/n then chose to start yelling “MISS AN-“ yet she was silenced by his hand once more. “I’m serious Y/n stop it!”

Y/n suddenly got an idea, decided she’d bargain her way out of this one.

Harry knew that look, his eyes widened realizing she was about to suggest something that he may not want to hear. Y/n was a sweet girl, but she had a bit of a bossy side too.

“If you show me the video, I won’t tell.”

Well, Harry expected something, but definitely not that one. “W-wait what?” he couldn’t believe Y/n had just asked him to show her porn! What was he supposed to say? He knew if he showed her he’d have to take a cold shower, but he didn’t want his mom knowing he watched the videos either. “If you show me the video I won’t tell.” Her statement was very level, the angelic doe eyes coming back to persuade him, and well Harry was a sucker for that look.

Soon enough the pair were sat against his headboard, Harry’s laptop open to a private tab with Pornhub opened on it. He chose on of his favorites, a simple pretty tame blowjob video.

“are you sure you want to see it?” his palms were sweating, knees twitching every few minutes trying to control himself and keep his pants from tightening. “Play it, Harry.” Y/n took control, tapping the space bar to start the video.

The logo played before it got to the video, a man sitting on his couch filming his girlfriend kneeling in front of him slowly moving to undress the man in front of her. Y/n watched the screen intently while the woman went to work, tugging the mans cock free and stroking it but Y/n being Y/n the video didn’t suddenly change the atmosphere like it does in a romcom, instead she was full of questions and comments.

“Wow, I didn’t know boys privates looked like that. It looks kind of like a snake.” Harry was happy Y/n wasn’t making the situation too serious, laughing a little breaking the tense atmosphere listening to her talk. He tried to focus his gaze more on the wall in front of him then the porn playing on his computer so he didn’t pop a stiffy in front of her. “Uh…kinda? I guess…” , “Does your penis look like that too?”

Harry choked on air a bit, suppressing a cough. He sweats he can feel himself burning alive from the blush on his face. “I don’t think my penis looks like a snake y/n, no. I think it looks like a penis.” His response got him a ‘hmph’ from his friend which he of course, laughed at. Yet he wasn’t entirely prepared for her next sentence.

“Show me yours?”

This time Harry’s eyes were the ones wide as saucers, his jaw slightly slack and body gone tense. “What?!” Y/n giggled, finding his reaction a bit silly since they were already watching two people engage in oral, how is this any more shocking? “What? Show me yours” she shrugged slightly, Harry was trying to keep his head from exploding but an idea popped into his brain right before the urge to combust took over.

“I show you mine, you show me yours?”

“Harry I don’t have a penis.” Y/n replied with a ‘duh’ eye roll, causing an annoyed groan to come from her friend. “I am aware of that, smarty pants. I mean…if I show you my penis, you show me your boobs.”

He expected to get a smack or a immediate refusal from her, but surprisingly Y/n nodded, “That’s fair, I’m not putting your penis in my mouth just for the record.” She gave him a pointed look as her hands traveled up to loosen her uniform tie and start fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

The boy felt frozen in place watching his best friend start to undress in front of him. His teenage boy mind was going crazy, this was the first time he was going to get to see boobs in person, he was a bit scared he might keel over and die from a hormone overdose.

“What are you waiting for? You’re supposed to show me yours. I’m not taking my boobs out if you’re not holding your end of the bargain up ,Harry.” Y/n’s hands stilled, giving him a pointed look that broke his trance quickly fumbling with his pants to shove them off his hips the outline of his plumping cock showing against the white and grey checker print of his boxers.

“Who’s gonna go first?”, his throat felt painfully dry while he talked swallowing hard after he finished. “You duh!” the girl pushed his shoulder lightly and pointed to his crotch waiting for him to reveal himself.

The boy took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he tugged his cock through the flap in the front of his underwear. He grunted quietly, the cold air hitting his swollen tip. For a few moments nothing was said, Y/n quietly observed his organ taking in the details and pondering her thoughts before speaking, “Yours looks better than his, it’s prettier. Still kind of looks like a snake though.”

Harry sighed, he was glad she didn’t make a comment on his size or anything negative but the snake comment wasn’t exactly the erotic language he needed to get himself off, and then he remembered the deal. “Your turn.”

Y/n nodded, giggling a little bit as she unhooked the clasps of her bra and let them slip down her arms. Her breasts finally came into Harry’s view and god his balls were already constricting. He feared he’d really be the guy who cums in 2 seconds just looking at a girl, but this would be the right situation for it. Y/n didn’t have any clue how long boys lasted so if he was to bust then she probably wouldn’t tease him she’d just have more questions.

“God…they’re pretty Y/n.” The girl smiled shaking her chest a little so they bounced in front of his eyes. “Thanks, I grew them myself. I’m a b cup” she was adorable, so blissfully unaware of what she was doing for him. A smile and playful giggles still radiating from her while he was trying to keep himself from passing out.

“Can I touch-“

His request was soon cut off, not by Y/n but by the door swinging open and his shocked mother standing behind it.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry style drabble #blurb night #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles request

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suoyou · 3 years ago

Text

[wip] 凤凰涅槃; phoenix rising

incomplete wip. 9034 words, rated t.

wangxian court intrigue + wuxia + wingfic au, in which wwx is the lost phoenix and lwj is royal scholar. this is actually a collection of scattered scenes through the first act of the fic!

dwell too long in the fire and even the phoenix will burn.

Wei Wuxian holds a rotting mango in his hand.

Pungent, slippery as an oiled wok and twice as dangerous, it’s just a few days too old for optimal flavor—but he does not plan to eat it. No, he’s going to throw it.

A well-aimed piece of fruit and the right audience and a stomach just empty enough that the metallic edge of hunger has begun to bite makes for a good show. Wei Wuxian teeters like a gargoyle on the upturn of a roof, all his weight balanced in a crouch, waiting for the fishmonger to pass by beneath him. The market teems with citizens who have come early to buy the freshest kills and produce that the morning has to offer, the smell of frying jianbing wafts in thick curls up to Wei Wuxian’s perch. His belly rumbles. His last meal had been during sunrise the day before.

“Fresh fish!” shouts the fishmonger. His mule’s head bobs dark and feisty as it tugs his cart along. Behind them, their wagon is crammed with quivering tubs full of water and writhing fish. “Fresh from the docks this morning! Fresh caught! Carp and eel and shrimp! Killed and scaled and gutted if you ask! Fresh fish!”

Wei Wuxian rocks up onto the knobs of his knees. The tiled roof digs into his skin--what are you doing here, flightless bird? His weapon of choice bleeds a thin, honeyed line of juice from his wrist to his elbow. He takes aim.

A little commotion in a crowded market goes a long way. One spooked mule, one fishmonger, and a wagon full of uncovered tubs of live catches? What could go wrong? The sun hammers on his back, asking him what he’s waiting for. The mule’s flanks are exposed around its saddle and harness. Wei Wuxian screws one eye shut and sticks the tip of his tongue between his lips as he raises his mango, and--

“I’ll bet my daughter!”

A disturbance rises above the cheerful twang of the market below. It comes from the gambler’s stall, tucked away by the liquor stand. What a smart, slimy placement.

“Is this man crazy?”

“What kind of father are you?”

“How disgusting, to gamble with your daughter’s life!”

Wei Wuxian frowns. Below him, the fishmonger passes, and the crowd molds around his wagon like ants around a snail. A pustule of a man hunches over the gambler’s stall with a girl of no more than nine or ten in his grip as he snarls in the proprietor’s face. His clothes are stained and dirty, and his eyes are yellow with jaundice. Anger flares hot as a kicked hornet’s nest in Wei Wuxian’s belly, muting the hunger, when the drunkard yanks on his daughter so hard that she trips into the table.

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian shouts, “Hey, you, ugly dog at the gambler’s table!”

Dozens of heads turn to stare.

Wei Wuxian lobs the mango with all his might.

It whistles over the street like a lumpy, bulbous pigeon, dripping as it goes. The man is too drunk, or too hungover to move out of the way--he simply watches, jaw slack, not seeming to realize that he’s in the way until it splatters him square in the face and explodes in a shower of golden muck. He howls, clawing at his skin, and in the process lets his daughter go. She falls because she’d been unbalanced, hard into the street on her elbows. Some of the mango carnage had splattered onto her. Orange-brown bits drip off her chin like fat, gummy tears.

The drunkard points a trembling, furious finger at Wei Wuxian. “You--!”

“Me? What about me? Worry about yourself first. Worry about your daughter!”

A small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle--this man, covered in sticky mango goo and attracting flies, and this vagrant shaking with laughter on the roof. He is so close to the edge, yet balances in place without any unsteadiness, with the surety of someone who is always in high places.

“You are a coward, staying on the roof! Get down here and fight me with your fists, like a man!” shouts the drunk. His daughter tugs on his sleeve behind him as the crowd thickens.

“A-die, A-die, let’s go--”

“Let go of me, you useless girl.” He shakes her off. “Good for nothing, waste of space. Not even good enough for gambling money.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. A hushed gasp races through the bodies below as he stands and tips from his perch on the roof, tumbling once before alighting in the street. His shoes stick to the pavement from the tack of juice. The man barely makes it up to his chin, and his skin is splotchy from alcoholism; his clothes are patches which means he had family members whose kindness he did not deserve at home.

“What,” says Wei Wuxian, tucking his hands behind his back. He’s not above mango-throwing, but he’s not going to fight a man in front of his young daughter. Now that’s just bad manners. “You really want to fight me? Just take my advice, sir. Go home. Take your daughter and your money and buy some food, and go home. Don’t make me throw another mango at you. That was going to be my lunch.”

“I’m not scared of men like you. Arrogant and scornful, just looking for a fight! I ought to break your--”

Wei Wuxian intercepts the man’s fist before it can connect with his face.

He fights like a commoner would, crude and unpolished, with his thumb tucked inside his fingers. Rookie mistake. His eyes bulge like a frog stepped on as he tries to force his way through Wei Wuxian’s grip, face turning the color of puce as he fails comically. Wei Wuxian digs his nails into the back of the man’s hand, trembling with the effort of holding him in place, and then he shoves him back.

The man goes sprawling in the street, and the crowd shuffles back, as if to avoid a particularly filthy swine.

“A-die,” says his daughter, trying to help him up, but he swats at her. “A-die.”

“Go.”

Not without spitting at Wei Wuxian’s feet. He simply laughs, because it’s such a silly, juvenile thing, and then, like an infection clearing, the citizens around him scatter back into the day.

Wei Wuxian claps his hands together, then wipes his palms on the seat of his robes. “You really ought not to entertain patrons who have clearly started to lose their control,” he says to the proprietor of the gambling stall. They wipe down the edges of their table with a dusty rag where the carnage of fruit clings. “Soon he will trade his whole family away for nothing but a nugget of gold.”

The proprietor scoffs. “And who are you?”

“Someone nice enough to clean his mess up. Sorry for this, by the way,” says Wei Wuxian. He starts straightening sacks full of supplies--coin bags, a set of rings, vases clinking fluted and musical against each other. They must run a games stall elsewhere in the city; Wei Wuxian has seen these prizes before.

“Who asked you to be a vigilante, anyway.” The proprietor shakes his head. “You look for trouble, boy.”

“The only thing sweeter than trouble is justice,” says Wei Wuxian, laughing at the distaste the proprietor levels at him. He chases a few escaped scrolls that have tumbled from their sack. “Ah, don’t be like that. I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere with business, okay? I just don’t like to see--”

One of the scrolls has unfurled enough for Wei Wuxian to catch a glimpse of the ink painting. Beneath the glimmer of midday sun the paper is so buttery that Wei Wuxian expects for his fingers to come away slick when he picks it up, letting the scroll’s weight pull the painting the rest of the way open.

The brushwork is unfamiliar. Mountains studded with frosted clouds, a lake, a tiny figure of a man at the silver waterline. A spray of peonies cradles the scene in its petals, done with a brush so fine that the artist could have drawn it with a single human hair. Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize it--not the art. He hadn’t opened it for the art.

A red seal dots the corner of the painting like a button of blood. Wei Wuxian would recognize it anywhere--anyone should recognize it anywhere. Being in possession of something with a seal like this, without explanation, could earn an axe to the neck.

“Sir,” he asks, staring at the painting, “how did you come across a painting done by the imperial family?”

The proprietor’s eyes widen, and they make a wild lunge for it. Wei Wuxian is taller, though, and jerks it out of reach, rolling the scroll back up so the paper won’t tear. “Give it back!”

“Aha! What is it? Tell me. How did you come across a treasure like this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. So if I simply walk away with it, you will also simply shrug, and let me be on my way?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows when the proprietor glowers. “Ah, so it mustn’t be nothing. Not with a look like that. Do tell.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip, smiles. His stomach rumbles, already two cartwheels ahead, but he needs to slow down and think. “Can I pawn it from you?”

“I’d like to see you try, boy. Give it here!”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I would not try. I would give it back to you, if you asked nicely, but oh--oh, the danger of another person knowing that you have a painting with an imperial stamp on it, with no way to explain how. Unless you’d like to tell me. But you’ve made it clear as day that you’re not interested in letting me know, so you’ll just have to let a stranger go, knowing he carries this secret, not knowing who he is, not knowing what he’ll do.” He holds the scroll out now. “But of course, I cannot take what’s mine. Shame. Here you are.”

The proprietor had listened to him speak with a vague, mounting fear in his eyes, and when Wei Wuxian shakes the scroll at them, they shrink back as if he’s shaking a dismembered arm at them.

“What, don’t want it now? Didn’t you want me to hand it over?”

“What are you playing at,” the proprietor asks. “Are you a palace spy? What do you want?”

Laughter leaps from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Me, a palace spy? Oh, no, no, no. I’m afraid not. Palace spies have much more important things to do than to sniff out thieving proprietors. Tell you what. I take this off your hands and you don’t have to worry about your neck, or your family’s necks, and in return, I won’t tell them where I found it. Hm?”

“You plan to give it back to the imperial family?”

“Of course,” says Wei Wuxian. “All things return to where they belong in the end.”

So as it goes, Wei Wuxian is one mango poorer, but one imperial painting richer, and he cannot tell if he is better off for it. He tucks the scroll into his knapsack and the key that hangs around his neck back into his collars and scans the market for weak spots, opportunities to win more food than he has money for. The rotten mango had been stupid luck, and luck is a finite resource which Wei Wuxian does not have much of to begin with, so he’s going to have to work for the rest of his food today.

A surreptitious scrap of pink peeks out from behind the liquor stall and Wei Wuxian only catches a glimpse of the girl before she tucks herself behind the wooden beams again. Oh--the drunk’s daughter. She’s alone now. Irritation bubbles in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s stomach when he pictures the man shaking her off, lumbering towards another gambling stall that will entertain his time, and he has half a mind to--

“Fresh meat buns! Made this morning. Pork and chicken and mushroom!”

Wei Wuxian catches up to the bun cart, falling into step with the vendor. “Shifu, how much for one?”

“One bronze piece for three.”

“Can I get five for one bronze piece?”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? No. Get lost.”

“Please, shifu,” Wei Wuxian says, he gestures behind himself in the direction he’d seen the little girl, “my daughter, she hasn’t eaten in days, and we’re here to see the doctor and he turned her away on account of the fact that we have no money, and she’ll only get sicker if she doesn’t have any food in her system, our family is still waiting at home, please have mercy--”

“Heavens! Good heavens, fine, here! Take these misshapen ones, they’re an eyesore, anyway.”

“Thank you!” Wei Wuxian fishes the bronze piece out of his money pouch, fingertips poking through the holes in the bottom like eyes, and collects his spoils. “Thank you, Shifu!”

“Get outta my sight.”

Wei Wuxian holds his armful of buns to his chest, and their heat warms him through his clothes down to his bones. It’s a relatively cool day, even for autumn. When he turns around again, the girl scrunches herself back into the safety of the shadows, and he chuckles to himself. The liquorist eyes Wei Wuxin warily when he approaches, but he simply seats himself on the other end of the stall and opens his carrying cloth full of lopsided buns. Ugly, unwhole, but still good for hunger. Still good.

“Could I interest you in a bottle of rice wine?”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Wei Wuxian flaps his hand. “I am not wont for liquor, but perhaps some company to share these buns with. I have far too many to finish on my own. But I don’t know who’d want these ugly buns. Certainly not you, Shifu, I’m sure?”

The girl peeks out from behind the stall, and Wei Wuxian smiles. “Want one?”

She scampers to sit down in front of him, reaching out with sooty hands for a bun at the top of the bile. The skin of it is pearly in the noon sun, giving under touch, the way only fresh steamed buns are. Then she hesitates, looking into Wei Wuxian’s face as if expecting to be struck.

“Go ahead,” he says, holds the bun out. “Eat.”

She snatches it and crams half of it into her mouth, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again. He knows hunger like this, and takes his own portion to tear into. The sweet smell of pork and mushroom and oil floats up into his eyes, and for a moment the meat sears on his tongue before it settles into a taste.

“Is it good?” he asks.

She nods.

So it’s good.

“Where have you been? Wei Wuxian, I ought to cut you off at the kneecaps! A-Jie’s been worried sick, you were supposed to be back over a shichen ago.”

“I ran into a friend, Jiang Cheng. Lighten up, will you? Here, I got buns.”

“Keep your stupid buns. Where’s the fish you were going to get?”

Wei Wuxian scratches at the back of his neck. “Ha. Well, about that.”

“Seriously? I can’t believe you. If it weren’t your birthday, I really would cut you off at the legs.”

“But it is, so instead, you need to be nice!” Wei Wuxian crows triumphantly.

Jiang Cheng sighs, a gust of hot summer wind that picks up stinging sands. A wisp of his hair flits with his breath. He’s wearing his nice clothes, no doubt because A-Jie made him, with a polished belt tucked around his waist like the coil of a sleeping snake. It’s a formality that they hardly ever bother with anymore, not in such a provincial town as this, leading a life as threadbare as theirs. The shine of the buckle comes off of him in bright flashes.

“Whatever. Come on, A-jie made noodles. Where’d you get buns?”

“Oh, so you do want one. Here, I know you like chicken.”

“Don’t tell me you managed to snatch all of these,” Jiang Cheng asks, but he takes the one Wei Wuxian offers anyway. “Who likes chicken,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“I just harnessed a talent that you have never quite mastered, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “Charm.”

“I ought to smack you.”

“There was a hungry kid. I didn’t want her to go hungry.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet. “We all are, why go help a stranger?”

“Wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us back then?”

At this, a grunt. Which, coming from Jiang Cheng, is as enthusiastic a yes he’ll give, so Wei Wuxian smiles to himself and slings his sack of food over his shoulder. He’s down to two now, and he figures he’ll just give both of them to A-Jie who deserves much more than two pork buns, but it’s the best he has. One day he’ll get her expensive candied mangoes and hawthorn berries that the baker makes in the market in the next city over--the one that glitters.

“A-Cheng, A-Xian! You’re back!”

“Found him scaling the wall back into the hutong,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “Punk.”

Jiang Yanli, too, is wearing her nicest set of robes today, with a hair ornament that Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen her with since the new year. Her face clears of worry when she sees them, and she reaches up, straightens a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair where it’s caught over his ear. “A-Xian, you’re not--you know that you shouldn’t--”

“Scale walls, climb to great heights, jump off roofs, I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian says, vividly recalling that he has done all of the above and then some today. “Sorry to make you worry, A-Jie, I’m fine! I got you buns. You can have them both.”

“But what about the fish? A-xian, we were going to make one for dinner for you.”

“Ah, fish or no fish, it’s no matter. Noodles are good enough. As long as I can live a long life, luck will always come back around.”

“What if your whole life is plagued with bad luck?” asks Jiang Cheng as they duck back into their hut of clay and brick. The curtains are open, a rare moment of Jiang Yanli letting daylight peek inside, and it lights up their matchbox home in a wash of sunset. Bowls of steaming noodles are set out on the rickety slice of table, with the biggest in front of the seat where Wei Wuxian always sits. His heart swells. He’ll be forcing mouthfuls of noodles into his siblings’ bowls when they sit down, he’s sure, but for now his heart is the pulse of afternoon sun in the window.

“Then my next life,” says Wei Wuxian. “My next one won’t be nearly as bad.”

The Lost Phoenix is lost. I think that’s the point. No one will ever find them. You will die looking for them.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things.

He sees rubble and thinks, that is a home. He sees blood and thinks, that is a heart. He sees himself reflected in the slow meanders of swamp-green lakes lazy with dragonflies and skeeters and tries to remember, that is a human, that is a human, that is a human.

“You may not be human, but that is what makes you worth loving,” is what A-Jie says.

“You? A human? With an appetite like that? It’s like trying to feed a void with you,” is what Jiang Cheng says, which is basically the same thing.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things, but the uglier, eyesore-pork-bun truth is that he is born from destruction. He is born from the fire of things, and the ashes of himself; his body waits for the wither.

The Lost Phoenix is dead. His ashes were scattered in mountain, sea, and sky.

The Lost Phoenix is alive! Everyone knows that leaving behind but a single ember can spark a wildfire. Fire has wings.

No human, ghost, or demon has ever seen the Lost Phoenix. If they had, wouldn’t we have heard by now? They are only a legend.

There are scars on his back to prove what he once was and never will be again, and Jiang Yanli tells him, The world was not ready for you. The world, perhaps, will not be ready for the Lost Phoenix to return for as long as we still walk upon it, A-Xian, but maybe when one day when everyone is gone, when A-Cheng and I are gone, you’ll--

He always cuts her off there. Usually he can’t see her face, because she’ll be sitting behind him and rubbing oil into the muscles that can never seem to loosen around his shoulder blades, the ones that line the edges of the scars like mottled mountain peaks. Just two of them, in straight lines as long as a hand, glaring at each other over the expanse of his back, the winding groove of his spine. Phantom pains. Human or not, the body will miss limbs when they are gone.

Tonight, Jiang Yanli does not tell him the world isn’t ready for him. It hurts to listen to her say it, because it’s not a pain that Wei Wuxian can beat away with his fists or even his words. There’s a quiet noise of the bottle being unstoppered, then the cloying scent of liniment oil wreathing around him as he sits with his back bared to her, hair swept over his shoulder.

“A-jie,” he says.

“Hmm?” Her hands are small and warm against his back, and he hisses in pain when her finger catches on a tight knot immediately. “Sorry, Xianxian.”

“It’s okay. Uhm, I have a stupid question.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Ask.”

“Which birthday did we celebrate tonight?” he asks quietly.

The inside of their hut is a dark, uneven indigo now, the fires of the village filtering in through their window. Jiang Cheng has gone to bathe, so the only answering noise above the sound of a city settling in evening is Jiang Yanli’s soft laughter.

“Your thirty-first, A-xian.”

“How many years have passed in this life?”

Her hands disappear as she dabs more liniment oil onto her fingers. “Since your reincarnation?”

“Yeah.”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” Wei Wuxian repeats. “Thirteen.” He rolls it over his tongue, trying to figure out how it tastes. Bitter, a little. like medicine. Maybe it’s the liniment. Jiang Yanli runs her thumb down the edge of one of the scars, massaging out a few particularly gnarly knots there.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

“Not wrong, exactly.” Wei Wuxian pushes his fingers into his folded robes in his lap, pretends the fabric is sand and silt at the bottom of a lake. He almost expects handfuls of snails when he pulls them back out. “It’s just that, with every passing year, I think maybe this is it--this is the year I’ll remember. This is the year I’ll remember the things about my life before this one. Remember when I tried to teach you and Jiang Cheng how to catch fish with your hands, in the river, A-Jie? You said you could see them beneath the surface, but when you’d reach in to grab it, it was like the fish were never even there.”

“I remember,” says Jiang Yanli. She is quiet, waits for him to go on.

“Trying to recall my first life is like that. I know it happened. I can see it right there, flickering under the water, but. But each year comes and goes, and not only do I not remember anything, it feels like more and more of what I thought I could remember slips away,” says Wei Wuxian. “I was excited in the eighth year of this life. Then I was excited in the twelfth. Thirteen is no good, is it, A-Jie? I’ve run out of lucky numbers to count on.”

“Would it make you happy to remember, Xianxian?”

“I think so. When I think about it--it’s funny, you know. Maybe you know. I can’t recall memories from it, exactly, but when I think about my first life, I think I remember being happy. Like when you roll over and the sun is already up. You can feel the warmth on you even if you don’t see the light.” Then Wei Wuxian snorts. “That doesn’t make any sense. Sorry, ignore me, A-jie.”

“It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. Is that all you remember, a feeling?”

They’ve been over this before. A hazy, murky image of something from Before, dredged up from packed soil. Jiang Cheng will always say, “Who knows? Why do you think I would remember?” waspish, and Jiang Yanli would always give him a soft, “Perhaps it was, A-xian.”

“I remember,” he says, “that we were in a noble family, once.”

This is an easy one. She always says yes to this one. “We were.”

“I remember that the palace walls were lined with bronze, not gold like a lot of the common folk think.”

“Yes, they are.”

“The accident.” The one that has turned him into this.

“I wish you did not,” says Jiang Yanli.

“I don’t--not really. I just remember the pain. My body does, anyway.”

“Muscle has memory,” she says. “But because you are who you are, so does your blood and bones.”

Wei Wuxian fiddles with the gap-toothed key that swings from his neck. It thunks hollowly against his bare chest without the robes to hold it in place, and he tugs the deerskin rope that loops around his neck so that the knot tying it together comes down, down, down, through the hole in the key, up, up, back up again, a miniature comet’s orbit.

“You were a princess,” he says, quiet again.

“Princess is a strong word.”

“But you were.”

“In my own way.”

And then, the most solid memory he has—a figure in white, with hair that fell to their waist, holding a smudge of pink in their hand. Solid, but blurred, like Wei Wuxian is trying to see them through a sheeting waterfall. The lines of their body were straight and crisp, except for the pink. The pink was always soft, parting the mud of his memory.

He doesn’t mention this one, usually. Wei Wuxian holds it close to his heart where it has roots. Year after year, no matter the rains, nothing has flowered. Seasons have passed.

“A person,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.

Jiang Yanli’s hands slow. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” says Wei Wuxian. “Just a person. Their back is to me, so I can’t see their face, but it’s too blurry for me to see them, even if they’d been right in front of me. And they were just standing there--just standing. Nothing else. I don’t even really know if they’re real, but it’s the best memory I have.” He digs his nail into an indent in the key’s teeth. “Do you think they were real, A-Jie?”

“As real as the Lost Phoenix is.”

Wei Wuxian laughs weakly. “The Lost Phoenix is as good as myth.”

A myth meant to scare people.

A cautionary tale.

“The Lost Phoenix needs to stop squirming, or I will poke the sensitive parts of his scar, and I know he hates it when I do,” Jiang Yanli says.

A story about a monster.

“Maybe it’s better to forget some things, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I only want you to be happy, Xianxian. Whatever that means to you. Whether that means remembering or forgetting.”

“I want to remember, because your happiness is my happiness,” Wei Wuxian insists, turning around. Jiang Yanli lifts her hand away as he rearranges his legs in a half-lotus, one foot stretched out onto the floor. “I want to remember because I know this life isn’t one you and Jiang Cheng would have chosen if you both had a choice. You can’t say I’m wrong about that. No noble family member would choose to live in a rundown hutong if they had a choice.”

“A-Xian--”

“I know you won’t tell me what happened before my reincarnation,” says Wei Wuxian. “I know you want to forget. But if anything ever happens that means we can go back to it--you have to say so, okay? You both are the only family I have left. Let me do something for the people who have somehow kept me alive for thirty-one years. I can’t remember eighteen of them. As if I started reading in the middle of the story. There are things I know without knowing how I know them.”

Whether it be a story, a tale, legend, or myth, one thing was certain: the Lost Phoenix is the last known survivor of the Phoenix Rising, once the most revered noble family of the imperial city, the warrior family that protected the throne.

Forged from the Sacred Fires of Scarlet Mountain, the Phoenix Rising once was so formidable that simply meeting one of them in their true form was a sign of luck and good fortune. They were, as their family name suggested, bewinged humans who lived and died and rose again from their own ashes. They were skilled in combat, nimble in war, with the ability of flight. They harnessed Taoist magic that was only spoken of in books.

A secular world did not have room for magic.

“Our A-xian,” says Jiang Yanli, shaking her head, “always hurts himself trying to make us happy before he remembers he has a heart, too.”

“Ah, what good is a heart if I can’t deal it out in pieces for my didi and my jie?” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s not like anyone else has any use for it.”

“That’s not true,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Nothing, Xianxian.”

“You have my promise, A-Jie,” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s us three until the end. Never apart. If I can bring you and Jiang Cheng back to the glory days before this life, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She’s quiet, then dabs a light gauze over his skin to absorb the excess liniment oil. Both of them know it won’t be possible--even if they were a lower noble family, there wasn’t a ticket back into the royal city unless you saved the emperor from death or something equally as momentous. Save the empire, or something. Wei Wuxian dreams big, but he’s realistic.

“Thank you, Xianxian,” she says, finally.

“It smells like old people in here,” Jiang Cheng announces, as absurdly loud as new year firecrackers when he comes back inside. He smells of freshwater and sand, and he tracks an inky line of water where his wet shoes stamp footprints into the floors. “I know you’re another year older now, but you’re really getting started early.”

“If I’m so old, then you better talk to me with respect, punk,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng may be loud, may be messy, but he chases away the strange, yearning sadness that tugs like a deep saltwater current on Wei Wuxian every time his birthday comes and goes. He loves his stupid, loud brother for it. “Hey! Where’s my kowtow? Where’s my ‘ge,’ then? Where’s my ‘Wei qianbei,’ huh? I’m so old, Jiang Cheng, pay your respects!”

“Screw you, Wei Wuxian. I’d sooner call you Old Man Wei. You’d have to rip out my tongue first.”

“Okay, come here then, my hands are free.”

“Gross! What’s wrong with you?”

And so night falls on another day, another year, and Wei Wuxian feels a little empty and a lot full, like a planet is breathing inside him. Jiang Yanli tugs on Jiang Cheng’s hair, makes him sit down so she can wrestle the tangles out of his drying frizz, and Wei Wuxian holds the lantern for light.

It’s enough.

So what happened to them, the Phoenix Rising? Why have they disappeared?

Because they had power. Because they were loved, feared, and respected, all things an emperor should be.

In the beginning, it was an honor to be the emperor that controlled the Phoenix Rising, for it took an equally distinguished ruler to command such a family, and for generations, the Phoenix Rising served the throne with grace. For generations, the empire was a glowing, golden city upon which the sun glittered, and the common folk called it the City of Gods.

But at the end of a weak dynasty, the throne was seized by a bloodthirsty family that feared the Phoenix Rising and the power they held. People, monsters, kings, or gods? Did the citizens respect the throne? Or did the loyalty of their hearts lie with the strange, winged family that had for centuries been revered as the beacon of luck and fortune?

Humans fear what they do not understand. Humans seek to destroy what they fear.

And so the Phoenix Rising paid the steepest price.

“Did he mention it to you at all yesterday?”

“No! He never brought it up. That punk. I’m gonna wring his sorry little neck.”

“A-Cheng.” A rustle of wind through paper. Then, “We need to ask him where he found this. He could’ve been caught. He could’ve been killed.”

Wei Wuxian wakes to his siblings whispering. Whispers always come through dreams like shouts, and he’s having a very strange dream about walking through wire, except instead of coals at his feet, there is ash, and in the ash there are hundreds and hundreds of keys glinting red as squirting cherries. His feet are burnt and blistering, but he can’t run, can’t turn back, can only walk forward.

There are no secrets in a single-room shack. No matter how quietly Jiang Yanli whispers, Jiang Cheng speaks loud enough to wake the whole town.

“Nicked it, probably,” says Jiang Cheng now. A grudging respect colors his voice. “That’s probably why he took so long to get back yesterday.”

The bamboo sleep mat crackles beneath him as Wei Wuxian rolls over, then sits up. For a moment the world is a spinning top. Jiang Yanli turns, lowering something, and smiles when she sees him awake. Jiang Cheng, of course, is already swinging.

“You dumbass! Where did you get this? If someone comes looking for it and finds it with us, do you know how dead we are?”

Then Wei Wuxian sees it--the painting that he’d charmed out of the hands of the gambling proprietor at lunch yesterday. Jiang Yanli holds it like a broken bird in her lap, and Wei Wuxian ducks when Jiang Cheng aims another swat at him. Mostly half-hearted, but he leaps to his feet and skips out of reach.

“I was going to surprise you!” he says. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you what I was planning. You don’t know how much money this could bring in the black market, Jiang Cheng, an imperial painting? Just think about it. I can just disguise myself, go at night--cover my face, you know--and we could stop living here. We could live in a real house, and we wouldn’t have to all share one sleeping mat.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli gets to her feet, too. Always graceful in a stark contrast to her two brothers, the lantern from which two wild tassels would dance in the wind. She lifts the painting up high so that she can point to the red seal in the corner. “Do you recognize this?”

“The imperial seal, right? Sure. Everyone does.”

“I’m going to puke blood,” says Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli ignores him. ��You’re not wrong, A-Xian. But this is an imperial seal of a concubine.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Of the emperor?”

“Yes. Judging from the seal design, not just any concubine--she must be a consort, at least.” Jiang Yanli holds the paper closer to her face, trying to discern the characters. “Mo,” she mutters, unsure.

“So we could sell it for even more money,” Wei Wuxian concludes.

“No, we are not going to sell it for money,” says Jiang Cheng. His face has darkened.

“Are you crazy?” Wei Wuxian asks. “You said it yourself, if someone finds us in possession, it’ll be our heads. The faster we get rid of it, the less likely anyone is to know it ever passed through our hands at all.”

“Yeah, well, you probably should have considered that before you nicked it, genius,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “It doesn’t matter. Now that we have it, we’re going to use it.”

“Use it how, if not for money, then?” Wei Wuxian struggles to keep his voice low. Jiang Cheng is not making any gods damned sense--isn’t he the one who constantly talks about leaving this hutong under the guise of hating how cramped it is, when really, he and Wei Wuxian agree that they should move closer to the imperial city where there would be better houses and perhaps a respectable man for their sister to marry if she so wanted?

“We’re going to use this to return to the imperial city.”

A silence falls like a tree toppled in storm between them.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli begins.

“We are?” asks Wei Wuxian. “How would that even work?”

“You’re the best at telling lies.”

“Well, yes, I’m glad you have seen the light.”

“Think about it,” says Jiang Cheng. “An emperor's consort. It means she must have been in favor with the sitting emperor, Jin Huangshang. A painting with her seal on it. How would a painting by a favored concubine of the emperor end up out here?”

“Wound up in a gambling stall, no less,” Wei Wuxian says. Now that Jiang Cheng puts it that way--it’s more than a little strange. “Fine, say that we could use it as our golden ticket back into the imperial city. We’ll be lucky if the consort is dead. She won’t be around to ask any questions if there are holes in our story. What if she’s alive? What if she’s not a consort? What if she was hated, what then?”

“A-Xian,” says Jiang Yanli, setting her hand on his shoulder, and the touch is firmer than he’s used to. “Stop. You too, A-Cheng. Returning would be dangerous for us.”

“Dangerous how?” asks Wei Wuxian. There it is--that gap of the first eighteen years of his life rearing its mangled head. Sometimes it’s like trying to read a page of text with half the words blacked out, the ones left behind still beautiful, but without meaning. “A-Jie, I thought we were…”

“We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian. But it does not mean that the court is a safe place for any of us.”

“Jie!” says Jiang Cheng.

“No, A-Cheng. We’re not going back. It’s not just for A-Xian’s safety, it’s for all of us.”

“Would we really be in that much danger?” asks Wei Wuxian. “If no one knows I’m the Lost Phoenix but the three of us, nothing would happen.”

Right?

“Jiejie,” says Jiang Cheng, his voice quieter than Wei Wuxian has ever heard it, “the Crown Prince has never married.”

Jiang Yanli’s face, for a dizzying heartbeat, is stricken. Something like pain and longing flashes through her eyes quick as the swing of an axe in cloudy morning, but then it’s gone, and she sighs.

“What does the Crown Prince have anything to do with A-Jie?” asks Wei Wuxian.

“That isn’t any of our business. Not even yours, A-Cheng,” she says. Wei Wuxian has never seen his sister like this, drawn up tall with her chin held high, and for a moment he sees the princess that she must once have been. Jiang Cheng, who is easily a head taller than her and twice as broad, crumples under the weight of her gaze. “We left because we wanted to. We’ve lived by this choice and we will continue to live by it. Now, both of you listen--A-Xian will do as he planned, sell this painting for whatever sum that traders will offer, and we won’t speak of it again. Understand?”

The tension swells like a fever between them.

Wei Wuxian should be happy that his sister is on his side for this--when is it that she ever picks sides whenever he and Jiang Cheng argue? Any other time, he’d be hooting with laughter, rubbing it in Jiang Cheng’s face, but there is a deeply strange, melancholy expression on his brother’s face that does not suit him at all.

“Fine,” says Jiang Cheng. He takes the scroll from Jiang Yanli, rolling it up with care, then shoves it into Wei Wuxian’s chest with considerably less care. “Get this shit out of my sight. I’m going out.”

Wei Wuxian watches helplessly as Jiang Cheng moves around their hut with jerky movements, jaw set with the pulse of anger. He gathers his knapsack and what meager rations of buns left over from the day before, no doubt stale and hard by now, and loops it around his shoulder.

Then he’s gone, without another word.

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the soft inside of his cheek. “A-Jie--”

“Don’t think too much about what A-Cheng said, Xianxian,” says Jiang Yanli. “He won’t show it, but he worries. You needn’t take what he said to heart.”

Jiang Yanli will say no more, no matter how hard he presses. He’ll press anyone until they give, but not her. She ducks her head when Wei Wuxian turns to her with his confused, hurt silence, as if she is waiting for his anger. He’d never be angry with her.

“I don’t understand, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I simply have different ideas of what it means to keep our family safe. He thinks it means returning. I think it means to stay.”

“But why would we be in danger?” he asks. “Does this have something to do with the Crown Prince? Did he know who I was? I guess so, or else why would Jiang Cheng bring him up? Did you know him? Could he help us?”

“No, he couldn’t.”

Wei Wuxian sets his mouth in a line. “Well, I should be off too,” he says. The sun has already started to burn back the clouds; he needs to find tonight’s dinner for the three of them. Maybe he should go after Jiang Cheng, press him for more details. Their sister, despite what anyone might think, gives far less easily than either of them.

“Be careful, Xianxian,” she says. “Oh, are you taking the painting with you?”

“There’s no way I’m going to leave it here in case anyone finds it and you’re here by yourself. Worst case scenario, I throw it away, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” He takes Jiang Yanli’s hands in his, squeezes them ruefully. “I’m sorry, A-Jie. I just thought it would help. I didn’t want you to argue with Jiang Cheng.”

“It’s okay.” She tucks his stray hairs over his ear. “Go. Come back safe, A-xian.”

He waves at her once when he steps out, and once more when he makes it to the end of the hutong and she becomes little more than a quilted patch of terrycloth in the distance, as he does every morning when he leaves. Jiang Cheng can’t have gone far in the time that he’s gone, unless he took off at a sprint, so Wei Wuxian lets the scented chill of autumn fill his lungs.

The Crown Prince. What a strange person to bring up. Wei Wuxian rifles through what he remembers hearing in taverns and pubs, filtered through the thick veil of alcohol. The Jin family sits upon the throne now, after staging a coup against the Wens and seizing power just over a decade ago. The Crown Prince would have to be a Jin prince. The Jin Emperor was said to be quite the philanderer and had more than enough sons from too many concubines to choose from. The Crown Prince must be quite a favorite, for an emperor with so many sons would not pay any mind to choosing the Empress’s sons if he so liked one from his concubine better.

And this Crown Prince, according to Jiang Cheng, has never married.

The look on Jiang Yanli’s face--frozen, bruised, a bird shot from the sky before it begins to plummet--was not one Wei Wuxian expected to see when she heard this news. If they’d known this prince, then he must have been around even before Wei Wuxian’s reincarnation. Jiang Yanli must have spoken of him.

But all his memories can offer him are vague smudges of color and a person with pink like a fire in their hands.

It’s too early for the fishmongers just yet, but the market brims with life as it always does. Wei Wuxian narrowly dodges a cart full of fresh flowers, a toothless grandfather with a bamboo hat pulling it along weakly. One of the wheels is crooked, wood squeaking against the stone pavement.

“Shifu, your wheel,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking the canteen of oil tucked low against the cart. It dribbles out in a black splash. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, young man,” says the grandfather, and Wei Wuxian waits for him to turn his back to the street before plucking a lotus from the back of his cart and tucking it into his knapsack. For A-Jie, as penance for upsetting her so early in the morning.

Jiang Cheng is not hard to find. He is poor at concealing himself, both in body and in voice, and he really is very bad at haggling. Wei Wuxian sidles up to him at a fruit stall, arguing with the vendor over a particularly ugly dragonfruit that looks more like a leathery handful of meat left too long in the sun than any respectable fruit.

“Now I think,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking it out of Jiang Cheng’s hand and ignoring his indignant scoff, “shifu, if you let this fruit sit out in your display, it would ruin the look of all the rest of your fruits. ‘Ah, look at this lovely display of dragonfruit. But what do we have here? A misfit! A miscreant! A monstrosity, really!’ And then you lose business. So really, we’re doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” says the vendor with disbelief. “What gall.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, then tosses the fruit back and forth between his hands and gives a quick jerk of his chin. “What do you say? Half off?”

“I can’t believe you weaseled him into giving it to us for less than half off,” says Jiang Cheng five minutes later. “You could talk your way out of your own--”

Wei Wuxian tosses his dragonfruit from hand to hand. “My own what?” Jiang Cheng’s knapsack hangs flat and sad against his back, crumpled like a dead leaf, so Wei Wuxian holds it open and drops the fruit inside.

“Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing out here with that--thing?”

“Do you think I was going to leave it with A-Jie? No way. Imagine if she were alone and someone found her with it.”

Jiang purses his lips, nods. He tucks his thumb into the strap of his knapsack, a deadknot slung over his shoulder. “Have you thought about any stories?”

“What stories?”

“About what we’d say, if we brought it back to the imperial city.”

Jiang Cheng resolutely does not meet Wei Wuxian’s stare.

“You want to go?”

“I just think that if we have a plan, A-Jie might be more willing to go. To be honest with you, if it were just to the two of us, it wouldn’t matter as much. We could sell the stupid painting, use the money. We could eke out an existence. It would fucking suck, but we could, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

“Ah, Jiang Cheng. You’re finally talking sense!” Wei Wuxian claps him on the back. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t shake his hand off, his smile falters. He must actually be worried. “Okay. We have to consider multiple scenarios, then, if we want this to be foolproof. We don’t want to make up a story where the concubine is alive when she’s dead. Or vice versa. So the first order of business is to figure that out.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “And what kind of favor she’s in with the emperor. The better, the easier for us.”

So, like peddlers, they spin their stories.

The night blooms blue and foggy, the moon dropping light in handfuls of glass through the forest, and Wei Wuxian straightens to see that he is not alone.

Someone else is in the mist with him. It’s thick enough that he cannot see their feet, so they could be floating. A man--just a bit taller than Wei Wuxian himself. His sword is drawn, lowered, as if he’d been pointing it before Wei Wuxian sensed him and stopped. The folded steel blade flashes.

Blood sheets heavily down Wei Wuxian’s leg where the muscle has torn around the arrowhead, and haze sloshes in his skull. His brain is an upended bowl of goldfish. He grasps for words, for his thoughts, but they slip through his fingers. The stranger stares at him a bit in shock, a bit in horror, mostly in surprise. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He is wearing so much white he could be glowing, a star abandoned by its galaxy, and Wei Wuxian is the only one to find him.

They stare at each other in the gloom.

Wei Wuxian’s scattered goldfish thoughts say, Pink.

“Are you here to kill me?” asks Wei Wuxian. His words come out slurred even to his own ears. He needs to find Jiang Cheng. They need to get back to A-Jie. He needs to get out of here.

“No.” The stranger steps towards him. “We mistook you for a prey animal. Are you badly hurt?”

“This? No, no. I’m fine. I need to go.”

“Your leg is injured.”

“It’s fine. I need to get back to--my wards,” Wei Wuxian says, catching himself before he says anything too revealing, pats himself on the back for staying in line even as his thoughts unravel. He picks his favorite story and sticks with it, hopes to any god that is listening it won’t get any of them killed. “My wards. They were with me. I was looking for Jin Bixia.”

The stranger has come so close that Wei Wuxian can make out every stitch of his robe. “What business do you have with the emperor?”

“I have a painting,” he mumbles around the haze. It’s a dark one, now. “My mother’s painting.”

Then darkness kisses his eyelids, and the night pulls him under.

The scroll unfurls with the quiet hush of paper that has gone undisturbed too long. Even mounted on fine silk, the edges of the hemp and mulberry fibers have begun to wither, time nibbling as cruel and hungry as moths. The paper stretches on forever, nearly as tall as him fully unfurled. The cherrywood stick clacks upon the floor.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth goes dry. He stares with seeing, then without comprehending, then without believing.

The ink color has faded, like the paper, with age. Once the red might have leapt off the page, the greens so bright that spring grew from the painting itself, but all of it has flattened. It’s a simple composition. Where Mo Fu Ren had let her human subject be lost among the trees and sweeping landscapes, this painting is only one person, draped in textured golds and silk brocade embroidered with dragons.

Simple, perhaps, but done by the hand of someone who held them beloved.

His fingers shake when he reaches out. They hang back, and he pulls away, afraid that touching it might make the entire painting dissolve in his hands.

Smiling serenely back at him is his own face, thirteen years younger, thirteen years less hungry—but it is him. His eyes are downcast, with a rabbit cradled in the crook of his elbow and a bird perched upon his shoulder. Without a doubt it is him. Even if he could not recognize his own face, the characters that march in little terracotta soldiers down the paper leave no room for guessing.

The black ink is fresh, as if someone has run a brush through the strokes every year so that they can never fade.

Wei Wuxian, they say.

This can’t be right. He must be misreading. He blinks hard.

His thoughts trip over each other’s ankles. They come in a clamoring flood, each wanting to be heard first, pored over first. Wei Wuxian. Had there been another before him? It is not a common name. It is not a name that would show up twice in the royal city if every noble family had the names of their descendants planned out for generations, no matter if the Phoenix Rising had been slaughtered by order of the emperor. Why is there a painting of him rolled up and locked away in the private study of Hanguang Gexia, second head of the scholar house to Emperor Jin?

Did they once know each other?

How could it be that a key that Jiang Yanli gave him would unlock this desk?

There are corpses sleeping under their feet. This earth has been burnt and salted.

An old ache starts in his spine.

We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian.

Fire without coals.

There was a person. Just a person.

Do not exhume these bodies.

We left because we wanted to.

Something terrible must have happened to him.

#fic wip #incomplete #wx

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bonegender · 3 years ago

Text

Nighthawks

This is for the @countdowntotwinpeaks WONDERFULXSTRANGE Secret Exchange! This fic specifically was made for @cerealninjakat who asked for Dale Cooper and Laura Palmer having coffee together. They have a feeling they met before, or maybe they haven't. If you would like to see the original fic in its original color block formatting, there is a link to the doc HERE

CONTENT WARNINGS: CSA mention, Underage Sex mention, Main Character Death Implied, Timeline Divergence, Body Horror, Psychological Horror

The smell of coffee was pungent, and stinging. That acidic aroma which rose from an industrial maker practically took over the entire diner. As he stood in the breezeway, Cooper relished in the scent so familiar, so calming and inviting. He allowed himself to get lost in the way it mingled with the undercurrent of a greasy spoon breakfast. The rich, sharp scent of roasted beans mellowed out with the introduction of butter, eggs, toast and bacon. Beyond that was the wispy trails of cigarettes gone by that clung to the nostrils. It was utterly invigorating. This was the thing he looked forward to the most when waking up; a nice hot meal and hopefully, a good cup of coffee.

Dale Cooper returned to himself after his momentary journey on the Smell Express, and realized that he had been standing in the entrance of the diner for a little bit longer than he anticipated. He excused himself, pressing further on into the establishment, eager to find a seat. His stomach whined, just as eager to be filled with the sensory journey he had gotten lost in just moments ago. He knew how good it would feel to have a stomach full of America’s Finest, especially after a long night of work. He deserved it, he told himself. All he had to do was just find himself a seat.

Judging by the morning rush, that was a job easier said than done. All of the booths had been taken up, understandably, by families and couples. There were a few like himself that simply wanted some time alone; to distance themselves from the rest of the patrons. There were times, however, that he couldn’t help but feel guilty for taking a whole booth as a single occupant, but Cooper always had an excuse at the ready. No one could say he wasn’t waiting for someone. No one could say whether or not that someone never arrived, and therefore left him to enjoy his meal all alone. Regardless, there would be no reason for such excuses that morning, it seemed. He would just have to see if there was a seat at the bar.

Miraculously, there was. Sitting all by her lonesome was a girl - no, a young woman - of at most eight-teen years of age. She sat, cross-legged, painted nails tapping the surface of the diner bar-top as she mulled over the colorful menu full of delicious pictures of food. Her golden blonde hair curled around her face and shoulders, almost creating a makeshift halo around her head. Lost in her thoughts, she twirled her index finger in her locks only to tuck some of her strands of hair behind her right ear. She knew she wanted a cup of coffee since it was in the morning just before school, but she was having a hard time deciding what, and if, she actually wanted something to eat. The buzz from last night still clung to her insides, and the burn in her nose could be felt all the way to the back of her throat.

It was then that she noticed someone approaching her. Laura turned her head, bringing her torso with it as she looked at the oncoming presence. The motion caused her hair to sway, knocking it loose from the ear she had just pinned it back with. Her blue eyes locked onto the man and in an instant what hackles she was about to raise softened. This man wasn’t too bad to look at, and his smile could beat the sun out in a competition for the brightest thing that morning. She adjusted her posture, leaning back a little and offering her own smile in return.

“Good morning.” She said, voice slightly raspy from just having woken up not too long ago.

“Good morning to you, miss.” He said in return, voice smooth and dark like a hot cup of coffee.

“Laura.” She insisted, tucking her hair back behind her ear from where it had fallen out, “My name is Laura.”

“Dale Cooper.” He said, placing his hand on the empty bar stool beside her, “Laura, is it alright if I sit next to you?”

“Sure thing Mr. Cooper.” And with that, Dale Cooper sat next to Laura Palmer at the diner bar. Something about it felt strange, yet familiar. It was almost dreamlike the way their exchange had went. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but there was something disquieting about their meeting. Perhaps it was the shift in her body language, or the way she fidgeted with the hemline of her tweed skirt.

“It’s Agent Cooper, actually.” He spoke up, pulling his eyes away from her kneecaps. He reached inside of his comically large trenchcoat to pull out his official badge, “Special Agent Dale Cooper, at your service.”

It took everything in Laura’s body to keep her from letting out a laugh. Special Agent? Was this guy really part of the FBI? A very real look of ‘oh shit’ graced her eyebrows as he actually produced a badge and identification. He offered it to her, and as she took it in her hands to feel it over and look at the picture, Dale took the opportunity to sit down and make himself comfortable. Laura studied the photo and sure enough the overgrown boy scout was set right there next to her. Despite her best efforts, she did let out something of a breath of laughter as she handed back his badge.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Special Agent.” Cooper laughed. What a nice laugh it was, thought Laura. A laugh that made you want to put your walls down. A laugh that felt like a childhood friend.

The two patrons settled in together at the diner bartop. Cooper took off his oversized overcoat and folded it gently so he could tuck it onto his lap for safe keeping. He looked far more professional with that silly thing off, Laura mused to herself. The way his suit was tailored perfectly to his shape almost made him look like a cartoon depiction of an FBI agent. A true Man In Black, with slicked back hair and serious brows. Well, mostly serious. Agent Cooper’s brow was a bit furrowed as he stared at the menu, but otherwise this man didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

That, or a very vulnerable teenage girl.

“What makes you so special, Special Agent?” Laura probed, placing her manicured hands flat on her menu.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Laura.” Cooper said rather matter-of-factly. He then flagged down a member of the waitstaff, ordering a coffee to buy himself more time with the menu, “But what I can tell you is that it’s very special.” A mischievous grin smoothed along his lips, and that alone was good enough for Laura. At least for now.

Beyond his smile however, the special agent felt that persistent air of uncertainty. Did he know her from somewhere? Was she a missing persons case? He tried to get a better look at her without pointedly staring, but that was a rather difficult feat when you were mere inches from another person. His dark brown eyes watched as Laura brought her gentle, delicate, and soft hands around the slightly yellowed ceramic coffee mug. He followed the movement from the bartop, watching almost in slow motion as the white touched the healthy pink of her lips, which was topped with a thin veneer of lip gloss.

The air is heavy with the must of ancient, blood-red curtains. It almost suffocates. Were it not for the grand expanse of zig-zag, black and white flooring, the room would for sure be practically inhabitable. He swallows. He grips the arms of a black velvet arm chair. He squints from the harsh, unyielding light that surrounds him. There is music in the air. A saxophone breaks out against the stifling aura in an attempt to rouse him. Where is he?

A woman sits across from him. Blonde. Beautiful. Bewildering. He knows her. She knows him. Like a ghost, she crosses the floor to embrace him. Her lips: red. Her touch: gentle and familiar. An old friend. She smells of a perfume older than her. He closes his eyes as their lips meet.

The two of them stared at each other, confused. Something had just happened that they had no control over. What was that just now? They asked each other the question with only their eyes. Was it real?

Whatever it was, Laura kind of liked it. Maybe they were just thinking the same thing? Maybe he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Her cheeks flushed with color as she remembered the touch from just moments ago. This wouldn’t be the first time she had made a bad decision with an older man, and at least this one seemed much nicer than the others.

Cooper on the other hand turned away. He closed his eyes as he focused on the smell of coffee and the din of restaurant chatter. He gripped the fabric of his trousers, trying to remember the heavy air from that place so strange. Was it a vision? Why had Laura been there? What made them act that way? At this point he knew she was much too young for him to be sharing such intimate touches with her. He knew that she was thinking about this all in an inappropriate light. He had been there, in her shoes, when he was younger. Hot, young, eager to make stupid decisions just to feel something. Eager to mess with others' lives to take back some sense of control.

They were never really in control, were they?

“Hey, it’s okay.” Laura spoke, thus breaking the tension between them ever so slightly. Her smile took the spot of the brightest thing in the room, her eyes soft and understanding, “I get stared at by tons of guys. I’m kind of used to it by now.” It was true. Laura knew she was beautiful. She got compliments all the time on her looks, her hair, her smile. It was not a wonder how she became prom queen. Everyone in the town seemed to love her, or at the very least envy her. She wasn’t quite sure why anyone would envy her, but then again no one really knew who she was. No one in the town, save for those she dealt with, really knew what kind of girl she was.

Please, she thought, please like me. You’re one of the few people I want to like me.

Cooper dared to look at her once again, the shame of images from moments past still lingering on his mind and on his lips. His dark brows furrowed, mouth drawing to a stern line as he gingerly shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” He started, looking her square in the eye. “I don’t know what came over me. My behavior was inappropriate for someone your age, and someone my age should know better.” The agent looked around the diner, hoping that maybe there was another place he could move to. He knew what just happened between them was a faux pas, and perhaps the only way to make up for that was to put some distance between them. It wasn’t her fault, none of this was, but there was something awfully wrong about this whole interaction. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of the lingering premonition. Was it a premonition?

Laura’s stomach practically lurched. Had she done something wrong? There was no shame in looking at someone beautiful, right? Whatever happened moments ago was okay so long as she liked it, right? So long as she actually wanted it? As Cooper looked away, she bit her bottom lip with anxiety. He was going to leave her. She desperately wanted him to stay. For whatever reason, her heart ached at the very thought of having to sit by herself again. Fueled by the sinking feeling of rejection, the young woman reached out to the Special Agent. Her slender hand wrapped neatly around the wrist of his left hand and in an instant the diner disappeared.

The roles are reversed. His hand is around her wrist. Beneath her fingernail lies an important clue. She’s lying down on a table, naked and cold. The light above them flickers and Sheriff Harry Truman sits to her right. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she breathe? She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

Suddenly, it’s very dark. She’s walking through the woods by herself, late at night. She’s crying, and alone. Was she crying from her vision before? Or was it something yet to come? All she knows is that she wants to go home. She wants to be in her bed, safe from the situation she found herself in. How was she supposed to know where anything was, let alone her home?

“We’re going home.” He says, his face full of determination. She doesn’t understand, but he must know. Cooper’s hand is outstretched, begging for her to take it. The tips of his fingers touch the inside of her palm.

Just as she is about to give up, she sees him. Special Agent Dale Cooper. What was he doing here? Why did he look so old? Why did she trust him?

She screams.

It took a few seconds for them to realize that they were both standing. Tears were streaming down Laura’s face as she finally came to her senses. Her hands instinctively flexed, curling and unfurling before taking her palms to wipe away the remaining tears from her cheeks. Her cheeks were now flushed with embarrassment as she knew they were making complete fools of themselves in front of so many people. What had gotten into her? Why was she acting like this? What were those visions? Tentatively, Laura dared to look around at the other people that shared the restaurant with them.

No one seemed to notice. Not a single other patron stopped to look, make a snide comment or step in to intervene. These people were a soulless audience, looking everywhere but at them. For a moment, she was awestruck. Surely they had heard her scream. Surely they were concerned for a pretty girl crying. Surely…

It was then that Laura began to understand.

Cooper had a sneaking suspicion that something was awry, but this for sure solidified it. He tried to remember some of the things Gordon and Jefferies had told him about situations like this. Shared visions weren’t unheard of, and perhaps that was what he had felt from her. Maybe she was a special case like he was? Did she dream like he did? The diner around him became nothing more than a backdrop as all of his attention shifted to making sure Laura stayed grounded.

“It’s okay Laura.” He spoke with certainty, “You’re not there anymore. You’re here, in this diner with me.” Cooper offered a reaffirming smile, but he was met with a look of soft incredulity. There were more tears budding in the corners of her uncertain blue eyes, and her brows furrowed in a way he couldn’t quite discern. He reached out for her, hoping to give her something solid to hold onto. Just as his hands made contact, a look of realization and acceptance flashed on Laura’s young face.

Once again they are in that room with the red curtains. Laura Palmer sits in the black velvet chair with Dale Cooper at her side. She understands. Everything has become illuminated as they stare into each other's eyes. Above them is an angel, dressed in white. Her face is serene.

Laughter fills the room. Tears fall onto a black dress.

“I have to go now.”

The words hit Dale like a bullet to the gut. He felt sadness, guilt, uncertainty, but most of all he felt panic. Something was ending. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was a bitter end to something far beyond just their brief meeting here. He tried to say something, anything, but before any of the words could come out he felt the warm caress of her arms around him. Laura tucked her head against his shoulder, squeezing him with love and fear. He could feel her arms shaking, trying to hold on to him. He folded, blanketing her in the smell of aftershave and dry cleaning.

They wept.

“Please,” Cooper begged, his voice fragile and afraid, “Please, don’t go.” He tried to hold on to her but despite his best effort she slipped from his grasp. Laura, once such a young looking girl pretending to be grown, was now someone with knowledge beyond her years, beyond comprehension. Once again, she smiled at Cooper and he could feel his heart shatter like a mug against the floor.

“I’m going to be late.” She told him.

The sounds of the diner started to fade away. The clinking of plates, subtle conversations and echoing songs from the jukebox became nothing more than faint memories as Dale could do nothing but watch her go. Her golden blonde hair flowed behind her almost as if she were floating instead of walking. It was as if raindrops were falling onto sidewalk chalk, washing away the bright colors and erasing what they had created. Dale realized far too late that he was at the end of a dream. What questions he had now were given answers. A dream. The faceless patrons of the diner smiled at him as they continued to melt into his subconscious.

Dale took a final look back at where he and Laura had been seated. As expected, he saw both of their mugs sitting abandoned. Just as Cooper felt himself slip completely from the dream, a featureless waitress set down a plate of food he never ordered. Viscous, yellow, pallid and abhorrent, the image mocked him as he fell from the scene.

Special Agent Dale Cooper woke, staring at his dark ceiling. He stayed that way for several minutes, holding onto the slurry of emotions stirring in his gut. Laura. He repeated her name in his mind, eager not to forget it. She had to be important.

Instinctively, he reached over to his bedside table, fishing around for something he knew was there. The plastic felt comfortable in his hand. With a heavy sigh, he brought the tape recorder close to his face so that he could drearily recall his journey through the realm of sleep. With a simple click of a button, the mechanical whir of the tape touched his ears in the early morning silence.

“Diane," He croaked, voice peeling open the door to his tired mind, "It's early in the morning, February the 24th. I just had the strangest dream.”

#wonderfulxstrange #cerealninjakat #twin peaks #dale cooper #laura palmer #i wanted to do fancy color blocking but #apparently interacting between mobile and PC obliterates my formatting and moves shit around #SO #you get this instead.#the original google doc has color blocking for certain parts but whatever aslkdjlkfj

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tatertotthethot · 5 years ago

Text

The Doms Next Door 2.0

THIS IS A TEMPORARY REUPLOAD FOR THIS CHAPTER CUZ TUMBLR IS RAN BY A BUNCH OF BOTS. 2.1 HERE

Warnings/AN: frequent, casually cursing; comical, gay Jimin; insecure reader; steamy flirting; tattoo/sexualized Tae 🙃. Enjoy~ (TAEKOOK EDIT ABOVE IS ARTKOOK DONE BY NONCONMAN ON INSTAGRAM)

_________________________________

Your tires came to a stop outside of the tattoo shop you've seen online— a brick building, covered in spray paint and street-style art. A sign buzzed over the awning of the entrance doors, with the built-in UV lights and graffiti-styled font displaying the name of the place in neon-red letters. Kink For Ink! The name alone was what first caught your attention last week, when you Googled "Tattoo shops near me" and it pulled up a list, with "Kink For Ink" being the first option. It just seemed so uncanny and fitting at the time, considering the previous run-in you just had with the sex-crazed neighbors a couple nights before. You couldn't help but to click the link to their Instagram.

A profile came up with 53.4k followers, which immediately blew your mind... but you quickly saw why. Every tattoo and piercing, no matter the body-placement, skin-type, or quirky design, was vividly appealing— certainly done by the articulate hands of certified experts. Even in the comments of the piercings that were posted, people were praising them for the "minimal" amount of pain they experienced, despite the fact that some of piercings were done in places you couldn't even fathom the thought of having a needle jammed through.

It said in the bio that the shop is owned by the two artists that work there— Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. You couldn't find out much about them, all their pictures showed was their work. You even went back to search for a personal account of their own, but nothing came up. You then went back to the bio and clicked a link to the official website, hoping to find out something, but you were met with a disclaimer rule at the top that automatically deemed your chances of even getting your piece done by them, slim-to-none.

• No walk-ins allowed.

• Every request/idea must be sent in through the DMs of our Instagram page. You will only be accepted only if it spikes our personal interests.

Yikes; You were instantly discouraged by this. The piece you wanted was something so common and cliché, that you actually got the image out of a child's coloring book.... It was the cartoon layout of the glass vase and enchanted rose, from the Beauty and the Beast movie. Cheesy, yes. But it was something of personal, nostalgic value. You remember when you were little— roughly around 3 or 4 years of age— when your parents started fighting and would spend all day screaming and throwing things at each other, putting you in a constant state of anxiety. But then you'd go to bed at night and pop the VHS tape, and the movie never failed to put you in a peaceful state of mind— a hopeful one. It's remained as your all-time favorite love story throughout the years. Which, is ironic, considering that the relationship itself was different, but almost as dysfunctional as your parent's. However, the fact that even the Beast was capable of change, and everything wound up so perfect and happy in the end, makes your heart happy. And even now, at age 19, it still puts you in your feelings. The previous remake of a movie is what actually inspired you to get the enchanted rose as a tattoo, after seeing it in 3D not too long ago. But you're only willing to shell out up to $200 for it, at most. You've just started college, and even though Jimin's parents own the house and let the two of you live there, rent free, you're still responsible for half the utility bills from month to month. Blowing every bit of money you have saved up, right at the start of the semester, would just be irresponsible. But $200 was manageable, and you're looking for anything that'll give you a little extra "oomph" to break you out of this introverted shell you've always known. Pushing it off would just delay it, and you were ready for change. The nose piercing you want is just a small little thing that'll hopefully add a bit of flare to the features of your face. These two guys could probably do the piercing/tattoo with a blindfold on and a hand tied behind their back. So, if it meant that you'd be able to get these things done in confidence, without having to worry about the outcome, you figured it wouldn't hurt for you to at least ask, even if they straight-up ignore you. So, after spending an unnecessary amount of time overthinking the wording of your text, you finally constructed a message in your notes and DM'd it to business page, after sending them a small, simple outline of the cartoony rose, and pressed send.

• You: Hello! I've been wanting to get this tattoo done for a very while now, and was hoping one of you will be willing to do it for me... along with piercing my nose? I know it's a very mediocre and cliché piece, and a nose piercing can be done anywhere. But I'm new to the area and I've never gotten a tattoo/piercing done before and I haven't really checked out any other places either because I found this page first. And from what I can see, you guys are pretty efficient and CRAZY talented. So, I trust it'll get done right.... only if you want to! I'm willing to pay $200 for this, but if it costs that much for just the outline I've sent then that's fine as well. But I understand if neither of you want to do it cuz that is really cheap compared to the ones I've seen lol. But either way, thx for ur time 😁

A few minutes went by and you had just unlocked your phone to check the message again, when the word "seen" popped below the message. You held your breath for a second— but seconds turned to minutes, and time went by with no reply, what-so-ever. You figured maybe you sounded a little too immature to take seriously; kind of like a prepubescent 12-year-old asking someone out for a dance... and you blew it. Which was disappointing, but predictable. So fuck it. Maybe it's a sign; you shouldn't get it after all.

11pm rolled around, many hours later. You were now hiding beneath your covers, beginning your "amateur threesome" exploration on PornHub. You were ready to see what this whole "2 guys, 1 girl" thing was all about. But just when you were about to type it into the search bar, you were interrupted by an Instagram notification dropping down from the top of your screen.

"KinkForInk sent you a message."

You audibly gasped, eyes turning to saucers as you clicked on the notif and switched over to the Instagram app.

• KinkForInk: Hi (Y/N). This is Tae, one of the artists of the shop. The tattoo you sent in is worth roughly $100... but I want to run an offer by you in hopes that you'll be interested.

— Your brows scrunched in oddity, stomach fluttering. An offer? For you?

• You: Okay, sure. What's that?

• KinkForInk: I've been looking for someone willing to showcase the custom design I've come up with, specifically for a much more... exclusive version of the Beauty and the Beast tattoo you sent. And if you'd be down for letting me and my partner put it on you, it'll be free. No charge. BUT you'll also have to sign a contract saying that you'll do a little bit of modeling for us once it's done. You think you'd be in to doing something like that, even if you get it?

— Your head spun for a second, reading the message over and over again until you could fully wrap your mind around what he was saying.

• You: Hold on... YOU wanna put a tattoo on ME so that I model for you? And it's FREE? Are you sure about this? I'm not even model material lol.

• KinkForInk: Yes, yes, and yes, you are. You'd be perfect for this.

• You: How do know that? Is it a face tattoo? Cuz I only have 6 selfies on here and you can't see anything past my shoulders.

—"Seen" came up as soon as you hit send, but a couple of minutes rolled by with no reply to the message, nor was he even typing. Maybe you came off a little rude. But it was already sketchy and it was a logical question.

— An image suddenly popped up: a screenshot of your Facebook profile. Then another— and much to your horror, it was the photo Jimin tagged you in last week, when the two of you were swimming at a local community pool. You were wearing a simple two piece, sitting at the foot of the lawn chair Jimin was also sitting in, as his legs were visible on either side of you and his lap was practically framing your ass. The photo was at an upward angle and looked so scandalous— but really, you had just asked Jimin to put sun screen on your back and he didn't want to stand up because the pavement was too hot against his bare feet. But you actually liked the picture at the time; it was just a silly joke and your ass actually looked quite nice from that angle. Plus, everyone knows nothing sexual actually goes on between the two of you, for obvious reasons. But Taehyung doesn't, so you couldn't help but dreadfully cringe when you saw the caption of the screen shot.

"Babymama 💦🍆"

• KinkForInk: Is this you??

• You: Yes, that's me. The caption is a joke tho... pay no mind to that. But this is like, really happening? You really think it'd look good on me?

— Why that picture though? You couldn't help but wonder.

• KinkForInk: Yes. Like I said, you're perfect for this piece. Are you down to at least see what the tattoo will look like? We don't expect you to be experienced with modeling or anything, but if you listen to us and cooperate, you'll do just fine.

• You: Yes I wanna see, and I'll do the best I can if I decide to get it... I'm just a bit shy, is all.

• KinkForInk: You'll be in good hands. I promise.

• You: Okay... are you going to show me??

• KinkForInk: Can't send it over a message, I don't want it plagiarized or the concept stolen. But the piece itself isn't necessarily crazy or anything, just more creative. I'd be more than happy to show you at my shop some day this week, if you'd be willing to swing by.

• You: Yeah, I can do that. When should I come?

• KinkForInk: Are you available after 5 tomorrow?

• You: I am, I get off at 4:30.

• KinkForInk: Great. Be here by 5:30, and make sure you've eaten in case you like the piece and wanna get started. It's pretty big for a first timer and gonna take a lot of time and patience. It'll have to be done in sessions but I hope you have a fair enough pain tolerance to at least get the outline of it done first.

— It can't be any worse than a bikini wax, you thought, shivering at the memory. That a story for another time. You decided on an alternative scenario.

• You: I give blood from time to time... but that's easy and doesn't really hurt that much. I think I can handle it though... maybe. I honestly don't know lol, I'm sorry 😣. But I can try my best. Can I ask where it's supposed to go?

• KinkForInk: That's okay, I'll work with you. It's supposed to go down the middle of your back. Starts between the center of your shoulder blades, and trails down the length of your spine to your lower lumbar. You'll see how it looks once we transfer a template on your back. But if you don't like it, there will be no hard feelings from my end. I can still do the tattoo you want if that's the case, free of charge just for your time.

• You: Oh no, you don't have to do that! I'd still pay!

• KinkForInk: Not if I don't accept your money. Trust me, I'm not worried about it. The nose piercing is gonna be $30 regardless, though. JK isn't so lenient.

• You: Of course. Will I have to take my shirt and bra off for the tattoo?

• KinkForInk: Yes, and for the pictures once it's done.

— Your mind blanked at that; thumbs froze over the keypad. He was typing again.

• KinkForInk: Don't let that discourage you. Again, you're in good hands. You can bring something to cover your chest. And the pics will be if your back as well.

• You: Okay, I can handle that. So 5:30 tomorrow?

• KinkForInk: Yes, please don't flake on us!

• You: Lol, I won't. I'll be there.

"They're gonna knock us the fuck out and sell our organs to the black market," Jimin declared. He had parked next to you outside of the shop, and was now sitting in the driver seat of his car with his door locked and windows all the way up, refusing to get out. You were standing right outside his door, still having to talk on the phone. "And is this Tae-guy an AllState representative or something?"

Jimin is petty. You wanted him here for moral support— which he's usually reliable for— but this time, he's just plain salty right and doing everything he can to remind you of that. Reason is, he's been begging you to get a matching tattoo with him ever since your 18th birthday, and you've always refused because of what he wanted to get.

Cupcakes. Jimin wanted to get matching cupcake tattoos... in honor of Cupcakke the legend. Sorry, but H E L L no.

You rolled your eyes, growing frustrated. He only has enough time to pop in and confirm that these two aren't gonna kill you, and then he's gotta head home to get ready for work. You were already supposed to be in there. It was 5:33pm, 3 minutes past the time.

"Jimin, you're the one that insisted on coming along! And now you're making me late!" you ranted. "I'm going in without you."

"Hold your horses, hoe! I'm finishing my blueberry slushie," He retorted, sassily bringing the straw to his mouth and loudly slurping it into the phone. He then abruptly flinched away from the straw with a disgusted expression, nostrils flared, body locking up; lips drawing into an air-tight knot that was so extreme and unnatural, it caused an ugly snort to break out of your nose.

He smacked his lips in exaggeration to the taste, face falling back into stone as an eyebrow arched over the top of his aviators; unamused and saltier than before... Like you were at fault for that, too.

"Or... Blueberry-ass, I should say."

That forced another giggle out of you as Jimin stiffly rolled his window down, phone still pressed to his ear and eyes still scowling at you behind the inspector shades. He bit down on the straw and withdrew it with his teeth before dumping the dark-blue contents of the drink out of the window, making it a point to shake the styrofoam cup empty of every drop before tossing it over his shoulder and into back seat. He then spat the straw out of his mouth with an audible "PLUUUUH!" of a French accent, and waited until the window rolled all the way up again, just so he could hang up the phone. You scoffed at this as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, scornfully watching Jimin exit the car and slam the door behind him. He snatched his glasses off his face as his cotton-candy hair swayed in the breeze, revealing his scornful eyes right back at you as he gestured for you to lead the way in exasperated manner— as if you were the one wasting his time now.

"Go on, lead us to the grave," He shooed, a snippy little shit. You sauntered away, walking up the side of the shop, then paused just before reaching the glass entrance door, when you remembered how much of a coward you are. You've never even stepped into a parlor before, and supposedly, this was a famous one. Which makes it more and more surreal when you think about it.

"Are we doing the mannequin challenge now? Is that what we're doing?" Jimin sardonically inquired.

"You go first, I'm nervous!" You whisper-hissed.

"You don't want me to go in there first— I'll show out," he reasoned, simply stating a fact.

"Please don't," you whined.

"Then, again, I'll show out?" He reiterated, as if to say duh. "How else am I supposed to break the ice? I look like Timmy Turner's Fairy-Gay- Parent."

You gave him a wary look... he's right. You sighed, slightly kicking your foot in distracted defeat. Fuck, you hated making an entrance to new places—

"Hold up— is that Drake?" Jimin suddenly blurted, holding his hand up to silence you. You honed in on the muffled track playing from behind the glass door, and Jimin's face soon light up like a Christmas tree before he spun around you, unstoppable.

"Jimin, NO—!"

"KIKI, DO YOU LOVE ME—?!"

It was already too late. The door was flying back behind him as he Milly-Rocked his way into the shop, leaving you no choice but the chase in behind him.

"—ARE YOU RIDING? SAY YOU'LL NEVA-EVA LEAVE FROM BESIDE ME— hello there."

You were panting, coming to a stop right behind Jimin, where you instantly latched on to the back of his shirt as you met the face of the man behind the studio counter. And, as corny as this is gonna sound: the world actually stilled for a solid beat... or maybe you were in the verge of cardiac arrest.

A pair of glossy-Black eyes looked up at the two of you; A series of silver-studded earrings trailed along the outer cartilages, peaking out beneath a head of soft, layer-swept hair. It was a Carmel-tinted blonde in color— thick and shaggy, and neatly spilling in waves around a headband that proudly sported a high-dollar brand-name you've never seen anyone wear in person before. G U C C I, it read— Meaning that the headband alone was probably worth more than some of your college text books, put together. It sat just a few inches above a pair of dark brows, that oddly brought out the shape of his cat-like eyes— irises like polished marbles. His ample lips had a sharp, well-defined Cupid's-bow, and a natural shade of pink that fit the porcelain appearance of his melanin-kissed complexion, to the finest degree.

And here you are, looking like an actual bum. You had just enough time to clock out of work and head straight over here to make it in time. You didn't even have any makeup on, and the only thing hiding your raggedy hair from those captivating eyes is your old baseball cap from high school. It took a second for him to take the bold presence that was Park Jimin— who was also frozen to the spot as he openly checked the guy out. He was hunched over the counter, a v-neck hoodie covering the rest of him with a thin, loose-fitting material. It was Black and allowed a full visual of his tan neck, and prominent collar bones. And it certainly didn't hide the fact that he had a pair of wide-set shoulders, either. A pencil sat in his hand— one that was laced with masculine veins, and lot of decorative ink. There was a silver ring on his thumb.. and a very heavy-looking Rolex watch.

The man cracked a grin at Jimin— a boxy one that dimpled in at the corners.

"Love the hair," he humorously began, twisting a quirky eyebrow at Jimin. You subconsciously snagged the bill of your hat as your eyes went a little wide at how mature the man's voice was.

"Love the watch," Jimin retorted, then reached around and gripped you by the wrist before pulling you into full view beside him. "You wouldn't happen to be Taehyung...?"

"Mhm," the man hummed, absentmindedly moving his wrist at the mention of his watch. His eyes cut over to you, and you swore you could see a minuscule reflection of yourself in his eyes, before they flashed back at Jimin and blinked. "You must be the babydaddy?"

Blood rushes to your ears. It's really him... a guy who looks like a high-dollar model himself, asking you to be his canvas model. Your own conscious didn't even know what to say right now. So you stayed quiet and still as Jimin took charge... which was a mistake.

"She wishes, but no. I'm the best-friend— and a gay one, at that," Jimin replied, and you knew he did that for his benefit. Thot. "I'm just here to make sure you're not gonna sacrifice her to Satan, or anything of that nature. I need her around in case I ever forget the Netflix password."

Taehyung chuckled at that, mouth opening to reveal a row of teeth shinier than Chip Skylark's. But then, you caught something behind his teeth that caused your gut to leap. A silver ball... a tongue ring. Your thoughts clouded over for a second.

"Well, I can assure you, she's safe with me," he said, looking over at you again. You blinked, nothing more. His brow arched at your lack of response, but this time, it was done more handsomely as he was still smirking at you. "Still, you don't look too thrilled to be here... You sure you wanna do this?"

"She's just nervous because you're really fucking hot," Jimin announced, unyielding. "You should feel how sweaty her hand is."

"Don't listen to him— I'm gay too," You lied in panic, trying to defend yourself from the absolute truth Jimin spoke just then. You snatched your hand away from him and jutted a finger at the door, eyes beading and lid twitching as your nerves ran amuck. "Goodbye, Jimin."

"She's a lonesome hetero," Jimin told Taehyung, assuring him with a face that showed no bluff. "One look at her camera roll, and you'd see for yourself—" You were yanking him away by the arm now, in a tug-of-war game that Jimin obviously could've won if he really wanted to. But he figured you suffered enough and eventually let you drag him out of the shop, waving bye to Taehyung before turning to look at you with beading eyes.

"I think he wants to fuck you— text me as soon as you can," Jimin uttered with unmoving lips as before he walked to his car. You stopped for a second, noticing he was actually being serious. How could he possibly think that he wants to fuck you, just from that small encounter? And what is the odd sensation currently coiling in your stomach? Things grew awkward again when you re-entered the shop, coming to a stand at the same spot... only alone now. He was still amused, it seemed. And so calm and cool despite this odd, intense look in his eyes. It gave him a Casanova effect, where all he had to do was give you that look and it'd instantly make you blush.

"He seems like a fun person to be around," he noted, somewhat honestly, but more so making fun of the red-hot appearance of your face.

"He's a pain in the ass," you muttered, trying to conjure up a smirk but hardly even able to speak properly from how dry your mouth was. It felt like there was a white-hot iron expanding in your throat. "I'm really sorry about him."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're here— thought you'd chicken out." You nervously wiped your clammy palms over the back pockets of your jeans as Taehyung got up from the barstool behind the counter and approached you on the other side of it, a whole head-and-a-half taller than you. He was wearing black cardigan jeans and matching combat boots.. his headband and jewelry the only thing not black on him. And oddly enough, he made it look fucking fantastic.

"Mh-mm," You hummed, not trusting your voice. You've never needed a sip of water so bad in your life— he even smelled expensive.

"Well, It's very nice to meet you," he formerly began, and you mustered up the normality of placing your (dried) hand into his much larger one, as he held his out to you in greeting. And boy, was he close. So close that the heels of your spine itches to lean back from the proximity.

"It's nice to meet you, too. I'm really sorry if I'm acting weird. I'm just nervous." — Your mind struggled to stay focused on your words, arm tensing at the skin-to-skin contact. You were extra-effected by the firmness in his grip. You really wanted to look down at all the bold ink you saw dashing across the veiny surface of his tanned hand, or see if those were images or scripted letters on the knuckles of lengthy fingers... But you were held captive by those God-blessed eyes... And that fucking tongue ring. It was infecting your head in ways that weren't necessarily healthy for your current state of mind, as you saw it peering in and out at certain words.

"And physically shaking," Taehyung pointed out, brows twitching down at your trembling hand in his as if he was concerned for it. But his smirk gave off an odd sense of fascination to the involuntary symptom, like it was cute or something? Hm. He glanced back up at you, causing your dehydrated throat to bob as his other hand came to clasp over the rest of yours, swallowing it completely from the wrist down. "Intimidated?"

"V-Very," you spluttered, a small slither of saliva copulating down your throat as you looked back up at him. He absentmindedly rolled his tongue ring over the button row of his teeth as he watched you with tainted eyes— undoubtably getting cocky with that damn grin of his and proudly teasing you about your reaction to him. It gratified the effortless sex-appeal he had. You were even beginning to imagine that tongue ring elsewhere, and you literally just met him. Then, as you felt the band of a ring move along with the pad of his thumb as gently ran it across your trembly knuckles, chills shot up all the way to your shoulder. Oh... oh wow. You glanced down at his knuckles on reflex this time, and saw a four-letter word scripted in black ink across the bottom row of his knuckles, and another word scripted on the middle section of his fingers. A silver band on his naked thumb. STAY TRUE, it said.

"And why's that?"

"I.. feel like you're a celebrity," you sheepishly admitted, your other hand wedging into your back pocket as you had to stop yourself from reaching for the bill of your hat again. Is he flirting? The words seem too innocent for the way he was making you feel. It was getting so hot in the oven of his massive palms, and he wasn't even squeezing you hard enough to cut off any circulation, but yet your fingers were beginning to tingle.

"Mm, no. Just a little popular, really," he granted, teetering his head a little as he pondered the thought. You could see his vocal chords contract in his sleek neck as they project his smooth, pungent voice. "You still trust me?"

"Mhm," was all you could muster. He'd gotten even closer, to where his hand had gone into a prayer stance around yours. You were aware of how wide your eyes had gone from the awe you... you knew this was just the beginning. He was going to be very handsy throughout this whole process. But in a very twisted way, you were more than okay with that. Even if it meant you were at risk of fainting from actual dehydration. Maybe you were in over your head. But you couldn't will yourself away from this now. And then, just as a wide, heart-stopping smile edged out on that mind-numbingly handsome face, the door at that back of the room swung open, and heavy-metal rock blasted through the quiet vibe of the scenery and caused you to jump a little at the disturbance. Taehyung shot a wicked smile over his shoulder, and his next words nearly knocked you out right then and there as you beheld yet another, breathtaking sight.

"Oh, there you are," Tae eagerly acknowledged, one hand still holding yours as he walked around to grab your with the other, presenting you to the.. hulking presence in the room. "This is (Y/N), our next little experiment."

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toxoiddiamond · 3 years ago

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T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Rafael Caleb Isserlis Nicknames: His family all call him Ray, but most people just call him Rafael. Age: 30 Birthday: June 6th Zodiac Sign: Gemini Birthplace: Sunnyvale, California Current Location: Barcelona, Spain Speaks: English, Spanish, some Castilian, a bit of Hebrew but not much. Dominant Hand: Right Education: He graduated from UC Berkeley with a Bachelor of Arts degree. His original focus was Computer Software Engineering, but he switched his focus to Drawing and Painting in his sophomore year. Occupation: Bouncer at a strip club, and he has been working on a comic book with a friend (Rafael is working on the art, and his friend is the writer/story creator) for about a year. They hope to publish and sell it at some point soon. Vehicle: 2003 Opel Zafira in silver. Not the most attractive car, but he got it for cheap and it has been very reliable for him. Worldly Possessions: Lots of art supplies, a bunch of comic books, tons of dog toys, a photo album full of family pictures (put together for him by his mother before he moved to Spain), and tons of blankets and pillows because he loves to be comfy~ Pet(s): A black and white Mucuchi named Oreo. Rafael loves taking Oreo pretty much anywhere that dogs are allowed, and Oreo is always very happy to go on adventures.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: Just under 6’ Hair: He generally keeps it trimmed short just because it is easier to take care of, though he occasionally grows it out a little longer so the curls really show. He’s never dyed it before, so it is his natural dark brown color. Facial Hair: He always has at least a little bit of facial hair, even if it’s just some light scruffiness. He does like to let it grow out more sometimes. Eye Colour: Brown with some flecks of hazel Skin Tone: Dark, though the tone varies depending on the time of year. He is quite a bit darker in the warmer months thanks to his love of the outdoors. Clothing: He dresses casually for the most part, lots of jeans and t-shirts (especially band tees). If he’s working, he might wear a nice jacket as well. He almost always wears combat boots, unless he’s going running or hiking, then he’ll wear comfy sneakers. He loves wearing beanies, especially in colder weather, and he has them in a bunch of different colors. Although he doesn’t have much reason to dress up, he does look great in a suit and has some nice clothes on hand just in case. Distinguishing Marks: He has a couple of large tattoos on his chest, and a half sleeve on his left arm. He plans on getting more tattoos at some point, but he hasn’t decided what he wants or where. Face Claim: Jordan Calloway

H E A L T H Physical Health: Rafael is in excellent health– he loves doing any sort of physical activity, especially if it involves being outdoors, so he's very fit. He works out on a regular basis and eats quite healthy (though he's not opposed to a little junk food now and then). He gets sick now and then, just minor things like a cold or a mild case of the flu, but he's never been seriously sick or anything. Basically, Rafael takes great care of himself. Physical Abilities/Limitations: He can lift very heavy things thanks to his weight training at the gym. He's got good endurance/stamina– he can hike or run for quite a long time before needing a break. He's a good artist with a very distinctive style; he is constantly drawing, doodling on napkins, just keeping his hands busy whenever he can. Addictions: No addictions to speak of. Allergies: Citrus in general makes his mouth hurt, but sometimes he eats it anyway because he just can't resist. Mental Health: Generally good. He had a very stable upbringing with lots of supportive friends and family around. He is lucky enough to never have experienced any sort of mental illness or any really traumatic events in his life.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Rafael was born in Sunnyvale, California to wealthy parents (his mother is an OB/GYN, and his father is a very successful software engineer). He was the fourth of five children. He grew up surrounded by a very loving family, including much of his extended family, and had a near idyllic childhood. Growing up, Rafael always showed an aptitude for art– he was quite a skilled artist from a young age, but he also had a deep interest in his father’s work and loved all things to do with technology. He taught himself to code when he was about twelve years old and even made a couple of very basic games just to practice. Rafael was always a great student, not exactly straight A’s since he had a bit of a hard time in his literature classes and some of the more complicated math classes, but he never got any grades lower than a B, and he always tried his hardest and studied a lot, did extra credit whenever he could, etc. He also always had a lot of friends and was a bit girl crazy in high school, so he was always dating a new girl. He was on his high school’s soccer team as well– the PE coach always wanted him to go out for the football team, but Rafael hated football and still does, so he never bothered, preferring to use the time to do various volunteer projects or just hang out with his friends. Thanks to his excellent GPA and a wealth of extracurriculars and volunteer experience, Rafael had an easy time getting accepted into UC Berkeley. He initially majored in Computer Software Engineering, as he’d always planned– but after a trip across Europe with some of his friends just before his Sophomore year of college, he had a shift in perspective and realized that he really wanted to focus on his art after all. He changed his major to focus on Drawing and Painting, which was a bit of a surprise to his family, but they were, as always, very supportive of his decision, especially since it turned out he wouldn’t lose any progress toward his degree. After graduating, Rafael decided to do what he’d always wanted to do and live abroad. He decided on living in Spain, since he had taken nearly eight years of Spanish between high school and college and was almost fluent at that point. He spent a few years just travelling around Spain, exploring, working odd jobs, meeting people, just having a good time. Eventually he ended up settling in Barcelona after meeting a particularly good group of people, finding himself a quaint little house in the heart of the city, and getting a job as a bouncer in a local strip club. He has been there ever since. Job History: He didn't have his first job until college– he worked as a barista at a Starbucks on campus for his entire college career, which he actually really enjoyed. Once he moved to Spain and started traveling around, he did tons of odd jobs helping out with manual labor, working in restaurants, helping out around people's houses, doing yard work, just anything he could find that didn't require a lot of commitment. Once he settled in Barcelona, he took a job as a bouncer in a strip club because it paid decently well and fit into his schedule very nicely– that is where he's been ever since. Fondest Memories: Lots of happy childhood memories, too many to list actually. One of his fondest memories is his trip across Europe with his college friends. Plus all his adventures across Spain and the various times his sister Eliana has come to visit him. Worst Experiences: His paternal grandparents both died in a car accident when Rafael was fourteen, and that was probably the single worst experience of his life. A couple of his breakups were particularly rough on him as well.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Definitely not a smooth talker, but not super awkward either (unless he’s trying to flirt). He’s laid back when he speaks, not overly formal, always seems pretty relaxed (again, unless he is attempting to flirt). He doesn’t talk excessively, but he’s not quiet or shy either, always loves to jump into a conversation, especially if it’s about a subject he’s interested in. If someone gets him started on a subject he’s passionate about, he gets very animated and excited about it. Accent: American accent, which sometimes comes through in his Spanish– though his Spanish accent, for the most part, is pretty good. Favorite Phrases or Words: He says “oh snap!” a lot when speaking English, something that rubbed off on him thanks to his younger sister. Usual Curse Words: He doesn’t curse a whole lot– it’s not that he’s offended by cursing or anything, he just kind of doesn’t think to curse unless he’s angry or really passionate about something.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ENFP-A Sense of Humor: Rafael loves to laugh and has a pretty open sense of humor. The only type of humor he doesn’t vibe with is super offensive or raunchy/sexual humor, that’s just not his thing. But anything silly, clever, wordplay or puns, non-sequitur/weird humor, all of that is totally his cup of tea. Habits: Rafael is a bit fidgety and always has to be doing something with his hands. He can be still if he actively focuses on not fidgeting, but it's a little difficult for him. He's constantly drawing on napkins or little pieces of paper, on himself, and on others if they'll let him. If he doesn't have a pen handy then he'll crack his knuckles or he'll kinda rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. He just really cannot hold still unless his mind is fully occupied with something. Fears/Phobias: The whole idea of ghosts or demons really freaks him out. He also sometimes has a touch of existential dread and wonders if he’s going to be alone forever, but that usually doesn’t last long, just a sleepless night or two and then he gets past it. Strengths: Rafael is a very caring, sweet person who is genuinely interested in other people and loves to help whenever he can. He is attentive to people’s needs and tends to anticipate those needs in advance, so he is quite a thoughtful person. In general, he’s an optimist who likes to look on the bright side of things no matter how bad the situation may get and tries not to let the little things get him down. He is also very protective of those he loves, and though he is friendly to people almost all of the time, if anyone is rude to or tries to hurt someone he cares about, he won’t hesitate to speak up on behalf of or physically protect his loved one. Flaws: While his optimism is often a positive trait, Rafael sometimes takes it too far and doesn’t allow himself to just be sad or angry now and then, even when it would be good for him. He tends to suppress any emotion he perceives as negative instead of actually processing his feelings. In relationships, he can be a bit possessive and jealous at times, but he knows that’s his own problem and he really tries not to take it out on his partners. Hopes/Desires: He really hopes to get his comics published at some point– he just really wants to get them out there, even if they don’t get super popular or anything, he’s just really proud of their work and wants people to see it. He also really wants to find someone he can settle down with (or go on adventures with), someone he can spoil with tons of love and affection. He would love to get married and maybe have kids someday, but if his partner didn’t want children he would be okay with that also. Self-Esteem: Super good, honestly. He has his moments of insecurity just like anyone else, but overall he is comfortable with himself and believes himself to be a good person. Religion: Kinda Jewish, kinda atheist. It’s complicated.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Curled up on his right side, usually. Boxers or Briefs?: Boxers Day or Night?: Night for sure, he is naturally a night owl. Top or Bottom?: Probably top more than anything, but if he was with a partner that wanted to switch it up, he would happily give it a try~ Partying or Relaxing?: This would be a really hard choice for him, but he would probably have to go with partying. He loves the atmosphere of a good party.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Besides his younger sister, Rafael's best friend is Isabel Maduro, a woman he met when he moved to Barcelona. They have been working together on a comic book series for a while now; she is a very talented writer who comes up with stories that blow Rafael's mind. They see each other fairly often not just to work on the comics, but to go on walks or out to lunch, or on the occasional hike. Relationship History: Rafael had a ton of relationships in high school, many of which lasted two weeks or less and obviously those relationships didn't get serious at all– Rafael was just kind of playing the field at that point. He didn't actually have sex, or a serious relationship, until his first year of college. He then dated his first serious girlfriend, and they lasted about six months before she broke things off because she felt he was more attached than she was and she didn't want to waste his time. That is actually how all of Rafael's relationships have gone since then– he always gets broken up with before a year has passed (often much sooner than that) because they're not as into him as he is into them, or he's just too much, being too intense, etc. As a result, he's now reluctant to express his feelings at all because he doesn't want to put pressure on anyone. Sexual Partners: Rafael doesn't exactly get around or anything, but he has had about a dozen sexual partners in his life, all of them women. Thoughts About Sex: Rafael loves sex within the confines of a relationship but doesn't have much interest in it other than that. One night stands, flings, anything like that is not for him. So far, Rafael has only been with women. He's been attracted to men before and he knows he's definitely not straight, but he's always been way too nervous to try and flirt with men. He has never come out to anyone but if he were to end up in a relationship with a man, he wouldn't hesitate to come out– his sister Eliana is a lesbian and currently engaged to another woman, and was readily accepted by their family, so he knows they would all support him if he ever told them.

P A R E N T S Name(s): Shira and Booker Isserlis Age(s): Both 64 years old. Social Standing: White collar for sure, and they are in very good social standing. Occupation(s): She is an OB/GYN who is set to retire in a couple of years, and he is a computer software engineer who doesn’t plan to retire anytime soon. Religion: She is Jewish and he is agnostic, but does observe/celebrate Jewish holidays and events. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: They love and support all of their children unconditionally. They do worry about Rafael sometimes just because he’s more of a wanderer than their other children, he’s a bit more aimless, but they know he can take care of himself. Living/Deceased: Both alive and in excellent health.

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): Daniel Isserlis, Itai Isserlis, Tamar Huang, and Eliana Isserlis (soon to be Eliana Florakis). Age(s): 34, 32, 31, 29. Yes, their parents basically had all of their children back to back. Social Standing: They have all done very well for themselves, and are all in good social standing. Occupation(s): Daniel is a software engineer and works with their father. Itai is a forensic accountant and he has helped to arrest many white collar criminals. Tamar runs a non-profit organization that helps underprivileged children by providing housing, food, education/tutors, and after school activities. And Eliana is an event planner who specializes in weddings. Religion: Daniel and Tamar are still devoutly Jewish. Itai and Eliana are more like Rafael– they appreciate and enjoy aspects of Judaism but they don’t really believe in it. Quality of Relationship with Character: Rafael loves all of his siblings and would do just about anything for them, but he is definitely the closest with Eliana out of all of them. He really only sees/talks to his other siblings a few times a year, but he talks to Eliana all the time. Living/Deceased: All alive.

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: He lives in a cute little one bedroom house right in the heart of the city, on a very busy street. He loves being right in the middle of everything, so it’s ideal for him. The place was a bit rundown when he first bought it, but he has fixed it up quite a bit and although no one would say it’s luxurious or anything, it’s definitely nice and comfortable. He loves having guests over and has lots of seating and a large TV, plus a pull-out couch in the living room just in case anyone stays the night, not to mention a spacious king sized bed in his room.

#character: rafael isserlis #ship: razio #character sheet

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