#the other two are ink drawings we did

[jellophoid]

FIRST YEAR OF COLLEGE IS FINISBEDD— some of my favourite pieces from my drawing 2 class ^^)) what a fun year

[blue-eli]

Ink October day twenty-six: Share

To accord a share in (something) to another or others.

To divide and parcel out in shares; apportion.

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing his way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[marypaol]

Skin To Skin

Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of Draco knowing who his soulmate is, yet he can’t bear to face her.

Warnings: Teasing, Boggarts, mention of fears, mention of the Hospital Wing, the Weasley twins being themselves, etc.

Note: This is Part 2 of “Copy Of A Copy”, so check it out before you read this! (And I’m sorry if this one is bad)

Copy Of A Copy

Masterlist

Request Reauirements

This person believed in me so here you go! : @theomalfoy

Draco wasn’t the want-everything-to-go-back-to-the-way-it-was-after-complaining-about-it-type.

Well, that’s what he kept telling himself.

But he knew deep down that he did want everything to go back to the way they were, because every time he looked at his hand, that deep red spot of irritated skin was slowly fading away and he wanted to find a reason to create it again.

She’d stopped drawing. And normally Draco would find that a good thing; now he didn’t have to harshly wipe them off and be left an embarrassing red spot on his hand. But he found himself thinking back on how the drawings actually looked good, despite him being annoyed at the fact they repeatedly showed up on his skin, and he wanted them back. Which, of course, sounds ridiculous if you were to look back on how he acted towards the other drawings that previously showed up on his hand.

But he missed it. Missed watching the lines form one by one, letting him know she existed. He even couldn’t get the image of her face out of his mind, ever since he saw her in Care of Magical Creatures. He couldn’t help but think she was decently pretty.

Draco’s hand has unwanted sweat on it so he harshly wiped it on his robes, a disgusted expression lying on his lips. He knew the reason for the sweat though, his quill once again hovering over his skin, the same skin he used to aggressively rub almost everyday as his soulmate drew mindless doodles on her hand.

He dipped the quill tip in the ink, the noises of everyone scattering about being the last thing on his mind, in fact the occasional “SHH!” from Madam Irma Prince was quite helpful to encourage him to focus once the students followed her orders.

He sighed softly, taking a deep breath while staring stupidly at his pale skin he was about to ruin.

He leaned down, the quill tip making contact with his hand two times, forming two dots. Those were eyes, he decided, and drew a straight line below them, making a face that represented him at the moment. His eyes were full yet his lips held uncertainty, hesitant to do this.

Once it was over it didn’t seem so bad anymore, as long as he could manage to hide it from Crabbe and Goyle. The thought of them teasing him about it, teasing him about actually writing back on his skin was unbearable. He could only hope that they don’t stare at his hand.

“Don’t be scared now, it’s just a Boggart.” Professor Lupin explained, his wand held with two hands, a grip on each end.

“Now, Boggarts like tight dark places, and I found this one in the wardrobe yesterday. I asked Dumbledore if we could use it for the lesson and thankfully he said yes. Now, does anyone know what a Boggart looks like?”

The usual hand of Hermione Granger was shot up at the speed of lightning, and once she was called on, she answered not only the right answer but was awarded points for her House.

“No one knows, sir. It takes form of the deepest fear of whomever it faces.”

“Correct, Ms. Granger.” Lupin said, smiling while Granger went slightly pink.

Draco rolled his eyes, irritation seeming to be boiling within them.

“But, everyone, we have an advantage against this creature. And that is?”

“There’s so many of us, it doesn’t know what to turn into?” Potter answered, and Lupin replied with a smile, and awarded more points to Gryiffindor.

“Exactly!” Lupin exclaimed. “Now, though, there is a way to get past a Boggart. And that spell is Riddikulus!” Lupin said, doing the hand movement with the one that possessed his wand. “Say it with me now…”

“Riddikulus!” The class said together.

“This class is ridiculous.” Draco mutters under his breath, Crabbe nodding in agreement beside him while he heard a snuffled laugh somewhere near. His head swerved and he spotted the same girl he saw in Hagrid’s class, trying not to smirk at his joke. He found a smirk coming to his own lips, proud of himself.

“They feed on fear, so think of what you fear the most, and turn it into something funny.” Lupin once again explained, and brought up Neville as a demonstration. “Now, Neville, tell me, what do you fear the most?”

“P-professor Snape.” the boy mumbled, having to repeat the same thing again but a little louder since the Professor didn’t hear him.

“Ahh.” Lupin said amusingly once the name was repeated. “I suppose he does intimidate us all in some way.”

There was a pause before Lupin continued to project to the class, for he was having a quiet conversation with the student before him. “Now Neville, I want you to think of your Grandmother’s clothes very clearly in your mind, can you do that?”

Neville nodded, shaking in his shoes. The door opened and Snape stepped out, looking normal as ever like you’d see him everyday but Neville was scared.

“Wand at the ready!” Lupin reminded, Neville held his wand up and squeaked, “Riddikulus!”

Snape seemed to spin around and he soon found himself in Neville Longbottom’s Grandmother’s clothes, a red handbag on his right arm.

The class laughed, Neville’s face slowly turned into an expression of relief.

Draco scoffed basically the whole time, not ending up actually facing the Boggart but watching as his peers did.

Weasley was practically having a seizure as he faced the spider, helplessly whimpering the spell causing the spider to have roller skates, legs swinging everywhere.

Draco couldn’t help but be curious on what the girl’s fear was, but she didn’t end up facing it just like him.

There was an exited buzz in the air as the students left class, each of them wanting recognition for how brave they were while facing their biggest fears.

“-did you see how I faced that snake-”

“-just said the spell and it went, pop!-”

“-the spider was huge!-”

“-never seen that kind of creature before-”

Draco grumbled angrily, grabbing Crabbe and Goyle’s arms and leading them out to the courtyard in front of the Black Lake.

“That was stupid. Why did he let us do that anyway, and for Dumbledore to give permission…wait til by father hears of this.” He mumbled, looking down and adjusting his arm bandages, thinking back when he insulted the Hippogriff. (He still didn’t regret it, the creature did look kinda ugly to him.)

“Right. We should owl him right away.” Crabbe suggested.

Draco looked up from his arm, eyes flaring. “‘We?!’ I’ll do it. It’s my father after all.”

His friends nodded, Crabbe going pink in the ears.

Goyle’s eyes then shot to Draco’s hand. “Ha! What’s that, Malfoy?”

Draco acted confused, and looking down, acted like he’d seen it for the first time. He pretended to look disgusted. “Gross I tell you, I’ll wash it off later.” He said, looking back at them. Both pair of eyes were still on him.

“Well? What are you looking at?” He snarled, and that seemed to do the trick, both heads bending down as they suddenly found interest in the grass.

“Do this Potion before you leave class, and then a portion of it on my desk with your name on it.”

Snake’s sharp voice echoed through the dark classroom, his gaze seeming to meet all of their eyes before he turned around, adding one last part of his instructions in the black board and heading to his desk, long nose lurking over the surface covered in parchment.

The girl sighed, opening the book to the page instructed and starting to chop the first ingredient. She liked to think of herself good at Potions, but sometimes little things like the reactants would mix up in her mind. But nonetheless if she focused hard enough and followed each step carefully, than she was proud to say that she could do it almost perfectly.

It was only then that she noticed the black markings on the back of her hand, and, looking more closely by bringing up her hand to her face, saw it was a smiley face. It looked smeared a little and the lines were wobbly, but she liked it since she wasn’t the one to draw it.

Scurrying through her bag pretending she was looking for something important, grabbed a quill and dipped it in another student’s ink when they weren’t looking. Then, turning back to her hand and covering it behind her cauldron so the nosy Professor wouldn’t see, drew two eyes next to his, a soft smile beneath it to show her gratitude. He didn’t do much, just too dots and a line, but the reason was all that mattered to her.

She just knew that he missed her somewhat forms of affection, so he acted upon himself to continue it.

“Ridiculous, I tell you, why’d he look at me like that? The audacity of some peop-”

“Sorry.”

Draco didn’t realize he ran into someone else, too busy rambling to himself about an annoying First Year who glared at him out of nowhere to notice his body ran into another. It ended up being a Third Year Hufflepuff, quickly scurrying around the corner to avoid the Slytherin.

Draco rolled his eyes, turning back to the direction he was going and continuing to walk to the Common Room. He muttered the password, climbing into the space full of couches and chairs, all in front of a burning fire, flames high and bright, full of color.

He sat down on one of the chairs, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to get back from the Hospital Wing; the Weasley twins caught them in the hallway, convinced them to eat some candy, and now their faces were covered in red dots that got bigger by the second. Malfoy simply rolled his eyes at the news when Madame told him before making his way to the room.

He currently sat with a Potions book in his hands, long fingers running across the pages that helped his eyes read it better.

He turned the page, but the page he turned got caught on his robes, and, using his left hand, went to fix it before he froze. On his left wrist, he had another smile face beside the one he drew, this one with an actual smile this time not a straight line like his.

He fought a grin that was threatening to pull the corners of his lips, reaching over to pull his robe sleeve over it so no one could see.

-Like, reblog, and comment to make me happy!

Person I think would like this: @dunningz :)

[sixosix]

summary your attention is elsewhere and scara gets sad. not that he would admit it, though.

or, scara shows his true colors when he’s missing you.

warning 1k words, profanity, calling wanderer ‘kunikuzushi’, you and him are in mondstadt!! clingy and pathetic scara… fluff!

what else could i talk about? you gaze at the empty sheet while your thoughts are running miles and miles ahead. you’ve been clutching your head pitifully for far too long that lisa is starting to send worried glances.

this one is no good either. you crumple and toss it to the growing pile on the edge of the table.

maybe another metaphor. about the sky and the wind? he would love that. maybe something else that would rhyme with love. would venti appeal to your poem even more if you talk about wine? he would.

the slender shape of the wine glass, the alluring shade of dandelion wine, its sweet aroma—it would be your worst work out of all the ones venti discarded, but perhaps he wouldn’t be able to refuse this one. kaeya would applaud if he were to hear this right now.

ink stains the sides of your palms. you heave a sigh, fingers getting to work on the dreaded worship poem about venti’s favorite wine. what else could you make out of this? you’re getting desperate. you just need to finish this last poem, and you will be freed from venti’s insistent clutches and your own stubbornness to see this to the end.

“boo.”

a hand slaps over your mouth before you can disturb anyone else in the library.

your first instinct is to tear this person’s limb off; however, the gloves, along with the unnaturally smooth and fair skin is distinctively familiar. you bat the arm away and face him; wanderer’s hand lowers to your hips instead.

“asshole!” you hiss with a frightening scowl. wanderer’s grin widens as if you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. “i told you to fuck off elsewhere while i finish this—why are you back so early?”

“it’s boring,” he says.

“weren’t you the one to suggest we explore mondstadt?” your jolt earlier caused a huge streak of ink to run across the page, entirely ruining your wine-revering poem.

“i said ‘we’, didn’t i? you, me, together. you kicked me out and left me to explore by myself.”

“you’re the wanderer. isn’t that your whole thing?” sighing helplessly at his unimpressed stare, you crumple the poem and throw it to his face. he doesn’t flinch nor blink, letting it slide off his face and land on the floor. “besides, it’s only been, like, five minutes.”

“just leave his stupid class,” wanderer hisses, glaring with disdain at your small pile of other failed poems.

“no, venti is so nice to me. unlike you.”

he rolls his eyes, plucking the quill pen from your grasp. you frown, reaching out to take it back, but he continues to pull it away, drawing your faces closer together. “ditch it and come with me,” he says.

“no. i said i’m joining and i will finish it.”

“stubborn shit,” wanderer groans, ignoring your quick ‘learned from the best’. “why are you even so persistent with learning poetry? since when did this happen? you trying to impress that kaedehara guy?”

“what if i said i was?” you flutter your eyelashes to piss him off.

it works: he bristles like an aggravated cat, irritation flashing on his face. “don’t even joke about that.”

you burst into laughter and playfully reach out to pinch his cheek. it’s a testament to how far you’ve come in building his trust when he doesn't swat your hand away from his flawless face. “you’re the one who brought it up,” you coo.

“hey, you two.” you pair stiffen at lisa’s deceivingly sweet voice from behind. “do you mind flirting loudly elsewhere?”

both of you find yourselves outside the building, shoulders slouched, resembling kicked puppies. he has his arms full of your discarded poems, a few of them slipping away as he strides ahead. you struggle to trail behind as you try to stick your quill in your pocket with your hands occupied with a stack of blank papers.

“we weren’t even flirting,” you huff.

wanderer pauses before the trash bin, dumping all of them ceremoniously.

you’re about to comment on how nice he is when he suddenly gets all up in your face, his eyes narrowed and his hand on the small of your back.

“she couldn’t tell with the bedroom eyes you were giving me, clearly,” he says, wordlessly taking the stack of paper from you and tucking it under his arm.

he is being awfully kind today, which, of course, happens nearly never. you want to comment about that, too, but you find yourself silent as you follow after him and watch his side profile. the smoothness of his skin, unblemished, untouched; the length of his lashes, rivaling the shogun herself; then his unrelenting need to have his hands on you no matter what.

thinking about all this makes your heart flutter, picking up pace in a way you haven’t felt the entire day.

then comes the brilliant idea. “kunikuzushi, what if i just write about you instead? will that satiate your ego enough to keep you from bothering me?” it’s not like it would be too difficult to write about the person you’re harboring feelings for.

he doesn’t look appalled by the idea, yet still, he isn’t pleased. “i’m not bothering you for the sake of it. i don’t like how this is the first you’ve talked to me all day.”

“so you are bothering me for the sake of it.”

“idiot.” he flicks his hand, and a gust of wind pushes you against his chest. “look at me.” you obey, and only then do you notice the way tension seems to have left his shoulders the moment you do.

a sly smirk tugs on your lips. “were you feeling lonely without me?”

“no shit,” he says, which was far from the response you were expecting.

startled, you turn to him, only to find that he’s pulled his hat down to cover his face. “kuni,” you say slowly; when he doesn’t reply, you try again, “kuni, kunikuzushi.” he is completely still, so you take it upon yourself to sneak beneath his hat to steal a glimpse of his face.

he lets out an undignified noise, looking away immediately. it was a fruitless attempt—you already saw how red his entire face was, spread from his ears to what you can see from his neck.

“stop,” he breathes, too embarrassed to push you away.

you laugh softly, encircling your arms around his neck to coax him into making eye contact with you. “i didn’t know you were the clingy type.”

“you’re just a handful,” he spits, though it’s not as intimidating as he’s trying to make it out to be—not when his face is the same shade of windwheel asters, and his bottom lip is trembling from shame.

“and you’re so cute when you’re so in love with me.”

eventually, his hand settles on your face, and he pries you off him, pointedly ignoring your delighted laughter.

A/N put a hold on the lyney fics to come back to this guy. i love writing for him he is so fun.

[pitchsidestories]

underneath your clothes II Cata Coll x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1687

a/n: based off the cute request here. We're really craving a tattoo on our own now after finishing this oneshot. 😂

You knew tattoos were your passion since you had gotten your first one aged eighteen. So by opening your own tattoo studio with your best friend, you had fullfilled one of your life goals in the last year.

It was not always easy but you loved your job, especially when you could make your clients happy with your artwork. But at the moment, business was slow.

You were focused on wiping down the counter when your best friend and coworker Carla grinned at you: “Your favourite customer is back, y/n.”

Surprised, you looked up and saw someone walk towards the door of your studio: “What? Oh, she‘s not my favourite customer, Cata has been her only once before.”

“She‘s still your favourite.”, Carla shrugged with a smug look on her face.

You grimaced at her: “I don‘t have favourites.” Turning to your customer, you greeted her: “Cata, hi.”

“Hi.”, the goalkeeper smiled at you.

“You‘re here for another tattoo?”, you asked politely.

She nodded: “I am.”

“Do you have something specific in mind?” You noticed her gaze linger on the inked skin of your left arm.

“Uhm, yeah…”, she replied, catching herself and looking back at your face.

You bit back a smile as you thrust your arm in her direction to show her the floral tattoo wraping around your forearm: “Liking this one?”

Catas cheeks reddened: “I do. It‘s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”, you replied. You could feel Carlas eyes on you.

“But I actually wanted to get something for my sister today. Maybe next time.”, Cata explained.

“Oh, that‘s sweet.”

The football player continued while she gestured towards her upper arm: “Yeah, I want it to be on my arm. I was thinking about a wave or something.”

“Is there a meaning behind the wave?”, you asked curiosly while simultaneously trying to picture the perfect tattoo for her.

Cata nodded with excitement: “Yes, we grew up in Mallorca…”

“Thats is adorable. I love when people tell me the meaning of their tattoos.”, you happily replied while getting your sketchbook.

“Ever been to the island?”, Cata asked while she watched you starting to draw different kinds of waves.

Without looking up from your work, you explained: “Actually, yes. My mother was born there and part of her family still lives there so we spend all of the vacations in my childhood there.”

You could hear the astonishment in her voice: “Wait, you did?”

“Yes.”

“That‘s a funny coincidence.”

You slid the sketchbook in Catas direction so she could have a look: “Who knows, maybe we‘ve met each other before without knowing. So which wave do you like best?”

The goalkeeper looked thoughtfully at the drawings in front of her:” I like that one.”

With a dreamy smile on her lips Cata continued: “This is a nice thought actually. That we might have already met before.”

“I agree.”, you responded in a warm tone.

“I’m going to the coffeeshop, would you two like an iced coffee?”, Carla chirmed.

“Sure.”, you nodded.

“Nothing beats iced coffee on a warm spring day.”, the Barcelona player confirmed.

“So true.”, you agreed.

After Carla left the coffeeshop Cata promised you with a wink:” Next time, I’ll bring you an iced coffee before I show up.”

“You want another one already? Don’t you get into trouble for it from your coach or something.”, you raised an eyebrow at her.

Confidently she waved it off: “Oh, no. If it’s done in my free time, he can’t say anything about it.”

“Okay, good.”, you sighed relived.

“Don’t worry. I won’t get in trouble.”, the professional athlete replied.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Also, it’s just a small one.”, Cata reminded you while you were drawing the wave on her skin with a needle.

For a moment you looked up from your work:” Right.”

Meanwhile Carla had returned, bringing the coffees immediately to both of you:” Hey girls, I’m back.”

“Thank you, Carla.”, you answered sincerely.

“You’re welcome.”, she mumbled.

You quickly took a sip from the coffee before asking her:” What do you think of Catas new tattoo.”

After your friend took a closer look at your art piece, she whistled: “Oh, this is nice.”

“It symbolizes my sister.”, Cata explained beaming.

“How cute.”, Carla smirked.

While they talked for a bit you added the finishing touches until the tattoo was done:” Now you’re ready to go, Cata.”

“Thanks. I love it.”, the goalkeeper told you happily.

“My pleasure.”, you said and meant every word whole heartedly.

She stood up excitedly:” I’ll call you soon for a new appointment.”

“Alright.”, you answered.

After Cata has left your best friend declared dramatically:” That poor girl.”

“What?”, you frowned at her.

“Oh please, don’t play dumb.”, Carla begged you groaning.

This was the moment you realized what she has been hinting at:” Don’t worry. Next time, I’ll ask her out.”

Normally you didn’t open to customers like you did with the Barcelona player. Even though it was you who was the person who has seen her upper body without clothes, her dark eyes seemed to have seen right through you.

“You should.”, your friend grinned.

You couldn’t help but to blush as you thought about Cata:” She’s so cute, Carla.”

“I could tell that you thought that.”

Guys! Cata has a crush on her tattoo artist!“, Claudia yelled full of excitement.

The other Barcelona players looked up from their team dinner with varying degrees of curiousity and surprise while Catas cheeks turned red. A minute ago, she had just shown her new tattoo to Claudia and Patri but the youngest midfielder had immediately caught on as she heard the way Cata talked about her tattoo artist.

“Oh, that’s why she’s getting so many tattoos recently!“, Ona exclaimed with laugh.

“That’s not true.“, Cata tried to defend herself.

Mariona just smiled sweetly at her: “That’s so cute, Cata.“

“Guys, stop.“

When Alexia finally spoke up, Cata had hoped that she would call her teammates back to order but instead she just tilted her head: “So, when are you going to see her again?“

“Whenever I get my next tattoo?“, the goalkeeper shrugged.

Patri raised an eyebrow: “And that’s soon?“

“I mean I do have an idea for the next one.“, Cata admitted with a small smile on her lips.

Salma shared a knowing look with Patri: “Guess this means very soon.“

Cata was back at your tattoo studio only a few weeks after her newest tattoo, this time with an iced coffee in hand. You caught yourself smiling subconsciously as you watched the football player walked in.

“Hi Cata.“, you greeted her and gratefully took the drink from her that she handed to you. “Thank you for the coffee.“

Cata smiled as you took a sip: “Told you, I’d bring you one.“

“Appreciate it.“

It was the perfect mix of sweet and bitter. Exactly how you liked it. You set down the coffee on the front desk and thoroughly looked at the goalkeeper: “But you know that you don’t have to get tattoos all the time to ask me out on a date.“

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

Cata looked at you dumbfounded: “Wait, what?“

“Cata, would you like to go on a date with me?“, you asked politely.

Her face immediately lit up: “I would love to.“

“Great.“, you said and had to bite back a laugh as Carla pumped her fist in excitement behind Cata.

But the goalkeeper caught your attention again: “When is your shift over?“

“At 5 pm.“, you replied truthfully.

Cata nodded with a big grin on her face: “I’ll pick you up then?“

You nodded happily: “Yes, okay.“

“Perfect.“

Cata left the studio without a tattoo this time but she did leave the feeling of butterflies in your stomach instead.

At exactly 5 pm, Cata waited for you in front of the studio. From what you saw through the window, she looked great in her button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to showcase her tattoos. You could barely wait to close the studio.

When you finally locked the door behind yourself, the two of you awkwardly smiled at each other and you had to admit that Cata looked even better when she was right in front you.

You pointed at the picnic basket she was holding in her right hand: “Where are we going?“

“Just trust me, follow me.”, the goalkeeper replied warmly.

You didn’t know why but you trusted her immediately. Walking along side Cata made you feel safe and welcomed. When you reached the destination, you stood there in awe: “Oh my god, the view is stunning.”

“It’s, right?”, she grinned at you.

Truthfully you told her:” Yes, I love it.”

“I hoped you would.”, the player answered satisfied.

Watching at Barcelona from a distance made your worries surrounding your tattoo studio look small in comparison and you felt lighter in the company of the other woman, so you mouthed into her direction a heartfelt thank you.

“Here’s some food.”, Cata hummed, handing you some antipasti to eat.

Closing your eyes you mumbled:” It’s delicious.”

“Wine?”, she asked you, proving to be the perfect gentlewoman.

“Sure.”, you nodded, as the goalkeeper filled your glasses and you both took a deep sip.

“You know I would have come by to get a million more tattoos just to spend time with you.”, Cata confessed with a wink.

You looked into her eyes amused:” I do, so I had to save you from yourself.”

“That’s sweet. But I still want some more.”, the goalkeeper smirked.

Quickly you promised her:” You can get them one at a time.”

“I will.”

With that said you went forward to kiss her, she gladly replied to the kiss, pulling you closer to her, to fully embrace you in her strong arms.

A few weeks had gone by, and Cata and you were officially girlfriends. You were in the tattoo studio when Carla excitedly exclaimed:” Y/n? Thanks to your girlfriend a lot of her teammates have asked us to do their tattoos!”

Hearing that you hugged your girlfriend gratefully:” Love!”

“You’re welcome.”, Cata whispered.

[3liza]

everyone arguing with material analysis/assertion about how art is a "luxury" has rarely if ever spent rent or food money on art, if they even pay rent or buy their own food, and if they did that would be considered extremely dysfunctional, and thats what i/we mean. artists are not providing a necessary service.

our plane crashes in the Andes and you are not particularly excited about my "can draw that Playboy centerfold of Marge Simpson from memory" like that is not an essential survival skill. lots of extremely skilled workers work in luxury artisan and craft jobs, it's not an insult to say even a very famous and very talented and influential artist is not producing a commodity necessary for the furtherance of human life. none of us are doing that, no matter how we stretch and strain the definitions of "essential" or even things like "morale" or "group identity". i will burn my copy of Finnegan's Wake to stay warm and thats what it comes down to.

i get foamy crazy snarling and biting about the idolization and obfuscation of what artists actually do because it is a labor issue! the public conception of artists as people possessed of a divine talent they dont consciously work to develop like any other skill, and the public idea that we are simply pleased and privileged to make art all day and "not work", something people say to my face every time i get asked "what i do", is largely responsible for the absolute dogshit reality of how subsistence and working class artists have to survive. we usually dont have health insurance unless we're so poor we qualify for medicaid AND live in a state that will enroll us. most of us are too disabled or crazy to go to a real job every day. most of us have tried, over and over, to enter the normal workforce, and have failed, and been forced to develop alternate skills that allow us to make rent in the ten hours per month we're actually functional. many of the artists i know work from bed because standing up is dicey. this has been turned into a charming eccentricity of famous artists and writers instead of people wondering why a person would need to stay in bed all day and take the enormous bother of bringing their stupid pens and paper and writing board or typewriter or whatever to their bed instead of just getting up and getting dressed and going to work. ive done this, i spilled ink in my sheets. its a huge hassle.

and artists play along with this mystique because people dont want to buy paintings from sadlords! they want to buy paintings and books and marge simpson nudes from cool guys who get a lot of chicks and wear rockstar outfits and party a lot, because of the transitive properties! of course!!! this is basic marketing!!!!! and if the artist doesnt play along they turn into Sad Story Artist where they're doing emergency commissions and posting about how sick they are all the time. this is not cool or fun or sexy. it's a sand trap and its very hard to recover from. im struggling with this right now!

famous and successful artists and writers are constantly ending up 60-90 years old with cancer and multiple sclerosis and dementia, being the subject of some sort of public, last-ditch, humiliating GoFundMe because painting paperback covers fr 60 years means you dont get a pension, you often dont even have kids who can take care of you, you dont have life insurance, you dont have health insurance. 'died penniless and alone' is one of the stereotypical artist endings for a reason, that is not fiction. this happened to more artists than i can list on two hands. look up what happened to Peter S. beagle, the guy who wrote The Last Unicorn. you write a book like that you should be set for life, right? NO. thats not how it works

i'm not saying 'all artists are disabled and working class or poor' because that isnt true, observably. nepo babies and trust fund artists exist, obviously. but they take an outsized portion of the spotlight when the public thinks of the concept of "artist". they are not actually the norm. the average artist is probably making under 40k and living in extremely precarious circumstances and has had periods of homelessness, illness, extreme debt and/or bankruptcy.

this is true even for the 'successful' artists. having one or two or ten good projects and being a household name does not save you from just not having the safety net provided by a normal career path. i was very close with a major, famous 2000s network television creator and team that you have heard of. they won awards, they changed culture entirely, they were a big deal. one of them was turned down for a half dozen projects by the same network that made millions or bilions on their franchise over several years (each pitch is completely unpaid btw, imagine carefully preparing a PowerPoint for morons for months at a time for no reimbursement and thent he morons ask you if you can put a teenage witch looking for her lost cat in the alps in it and you're like, haha, well, it's a 4 part hard sci fi miniseries set on Europa and takes place entirely inside a pressurized lander settlement, i mean Ridley Scot said he was interested already and he pitched a bottle episode about a carbon monoxide poisoning, soooooo....and the executives look at each other and they're like "it's jst not really what we're looking for right now, thanks for coming in" and you go to coffee bean and tea leaf and kill yourself and thats sort of what its like. i made that example up it didn't actually happen i'm using an illustrative example), worked on a canceled film, and just. gradually ran out of money. thats what happens. that guy ended up slowly selling off all his belongings, getting roommates in a one bedroom apartment, and then eventually having to just live on a friend's couch for years. famous guy. you probably know his name. another major member of that same team ended up in GoFundMe/commission hell for years (might still be there) because they had to take care of their two dying, dementia patient parents by themselves. these are people who go to GenCon and sign autographs for four hours at a time. THE PUBLIC IS NOT AWARE OF THIS SHIT and i'm sick of it. im sick of going to a gallery opening night ("vernissage") and drinking bad wine and having a guy with an email job that pays six figures and benefits tell me being able to push "undo" on the computer is cheating. that's a real example, that has actually happened to me. more than once.

artists currently have zero labor protections whatsoever. all of us are undercutting each other in an unregulated market and relying on welfare and private insurance and not having families or buying houses. zero security until we get so old all our illnesses and dysfunction finally ground us permanently and then we get turned into a charity case by fans (humiliating) or just fade away into ghosts and die

whats my punchline? idk i dont have one. it's possible and likely that any given artist you meet is permanently in precarity and will be until they die, even the famous ones. the culture of selling art demands that artists do not admit to this in public unless shit gets really really bad. i guess my point is you should know this, as a person who looks at or listens to or reads things that people have made for your amusement, not for your survival

[jjenthusee]

🎃 Halloween Shenanigans Pt.2 🎃

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: i’m like the only one wearing a halloween themed shirt on campus rn so im kinda sad no one wanted to be festive 😭 but HAPPY HALLOWEEN ✨😌✨ i’ve been busy with exams this week, so sorry for the short drabbles lately, but ENJOY :) comment if your comfortable, reblog and u will get some flowers 💐 and like if u can <3

Tags: MATCHING HALLOWEEN SHIRTS, worried jason, reader is going to give jason more white hair, pumpkin carving

Check out pt. 1 here!

You grabbed the two round pumpkins, setting them on the table right next to each other. Each picked with the intention to carve them.

“Maybe we should’ve grabbed some carving tools cause all I’ve got are the stuff from my patrol.” Jason came out, wearing the same Halloween themed shirt as you did, holding onto very sharp and dangerous knives that he kept somewhere deep in his utility belt. “They’re clean by the way.”

You glanced over to where he was standing. You watched how he effortlessly handled them.

“Do you trust me with those?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow in question while glancing at the glistening edges of the recently sharpened knives.

“Uh…” Jason contemplated, staring at your eyes shining at the opportunity to handle something so deadly. “Maybe I can run to the store.”

He started to safely put them away.

“They’ve practically replaced all the Halloween stuff with the next holiday items, so we have no choice.” You started to reach for the utility belt.

“And leave you with a knife dangerous enough to cut through Batman’s grappling lines? Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Jason started to turn around to put back his patrol gear.

“Wait! I have you. You’ll help me.” You tried to reason. “It’s also Halloween, we can’t go to the store, there will be nothing there.”

Jason looked back at you, mentally listing all the dangers. His white streak of hair drooping as low as his frown when he couldn’t find a sliver of reason.

“Pleaaaase.” You kept persisting.

Jason sighed.

“This is a horrible idea.”

“Yay!” You cheerfully walked back to the table, getting out a sheet of paper, inking Red Hood’s emblem on it. You were originally planning to do a ghost design, but you had to make sure Jason would let you carve this pumpkin tonight, no matter what.

And if that meant being a suck up, then you were carving that emblem like your life depended on it.

Jason sighed again as he pulled out the chair next to you, watching you draw.

“You really aren’t holding back.” He pulled your chair right next to his, resting his arm on the back to minimize some distance between you.

“Only cause Red Hood is the most handsome, amazing as hell, sexiest vigilante in the entire world.” You smiled wide, patting Jason affectionately on the cheek to seal the deal.

He grabbed your hand, pecking a small kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Gleefully you leaned back, turning your head to kiss his shoulder. The fabric of your matching shirts meeting the edge of your mouth.

You got back to your art piece, trying to make sure the design was perfect.

As Jason watched you, you just let the thoughts of your mind run out. Dinner plans, did you get enough candy for tonight, how you planned to watch all the horror movies you could.

It was questions filled with excitement to Jason as he nuzzled into you, giving as fast of responses as he could, but a big smile was on his face as he listened to you talk and ramble.

“Maybe I could dress up as you next year.” You thoughtlessly said, puncturing holes in the pumpkin for your outline.

Jason’s eye widened. He strangely really liked the idea. A little too much.

“Could you imagine me saving you?” You chuckled to yourself, imagining trying to carry Jason in your arms to safety. “I might have to start exercising to build up the muscle.”

You started your plan in your head. Your eyebrows lowering and nodding as you were starting to like the plan.

“Then I can take a photo of me carrying you, dressed as you.” You looked back at Jason, seriously meeting his gaze.

He was taken back, at your intensity and the clear devotion you were willing to put in.

“You can’t carry me.” Jason lazily shook his head, reaching up to rub the back of your neck affectionately.

“Just you wait. I’m gonna do it.” You turned back to carving. Determination seeping into your veins.

Jason let you get back to mentally planning as he worriedly watched your every move. This was a very dangerous activity. He shouldn’t have let you do this at all.

Once your arms were getting tired from carving, you put the knife down.

“If I can’t even carve this, how will I carry you?” You leaned back into your chair, back into Jason’s side.

“I can finish it.” He kissed your temple.

“No, I’m determined.” You puffed.

Jason was going to break out into a cold sweat.

—

After much arm strength and a piece of candy, you managed to carve out the pumpkin, but it wasn’t that good.

There were knife marks in areas you didn’t mean to put, it was a miracle that you managed to get the general shape of the bat symbol.

“Maybe I’ll let you be the one to handle the knives from now on.” You put the candle in the hallowed center, gently lightning the carving.

You admired your work despite how clumsy it looked.

“It’s perfect.” Jason was finally breathing, he held every breath each time you stabbed the pumpkin.

“Let’s put it outside!” You placed the pumpkin outside your front door.

Jason had managed to carve his, the iconic pumpkin face next to yours. He finished his as quickly as he could since he didn’t want to leave you unsupervised for too long.

He definitely won’t forget another carving kit after this year.

[princessbrunette]

tattooartist!pope was pretty nonchalant at times. you could tell he wasn’t always this way, and occasionally he lets the hyperactive dork in him slip out — but he’d had his heart played with too many times, so decided he was going to be petty just like everyone else. now the two of you had a thing going and you just wanted him to show he cared. you wanted to know things were exclusive.

the two of you were on the couch when you decided to bring it up. you didn’t quite have a clear point to make, but clearly you felt comfortable enough to express a particular emotion.

“i can feel you staring at me, you know?” pope chuckles quietly, eyes not removed from his sketchbook as he draws out a few design ideas. in the low lighting of your apartment, the tattoos that cover his neck cluster into one.

“sorry.” you smile, but making no effort to look away.

“is something wrong?” he converses, and is happy to do so. he liked spending time with you after work, it’s why he was here after all.

“do you like— frequently tattoo other girls?”

you watch his pencil slow and he slides his eyes over to you. “i mean… yeah, of course?” he raises an eyebrow when you say nothing. “its kind of my job.”

“yeah, for sure but like — they probably get tattoos in like… super intimate places, right?” you’re looking at your nails now, already feeling dumb about the whole thing. you just couldn’t help it sometimes, couldn’t help feeding the jealousy beast that festered in the pit of your stomach.

“i mean work is work.” he shrugs, but continues to stare at you through the silence. “any reason you’re asking that?”

“no.”

“okay that’s bullshit.” he puts his sketchbook on his lap and turns to face you a little more. it takes about ten seconds, but you look back up at him — even having the audacity to try and look all casual. “so what are you like jealous or something?” pope is suddenly the one feeling vulnerable. scared, even. jealousy means serious. serious means he gets hurt in the end.

“no.” it comes out even quieter. “just forget it. i was curious—”

“—because we aren’t even really dating, you know that?” he croons, but it comes out a lot snippier than intended. you’re silenced instantly, staring ahead at the TV. you decide no answer is needed, bringing your knees to your chest as you pretend to be engrossed in the show infront of you. his lips part, chest heaving with guilt. why the fuck would he say that? “look, i mean… yet.” he shuffles up to you, “admittedly i have some baggage… but i do like you. i don’t… know why i had to say it like that.” he wraps an arm around you and you sulk, a sucker for it.

“i want to get a tattoo.” you pout. “one right between my tits. a bow or something.”

“no you don’t. you just want it because i’m the one doing it for you. you would literally regret it as soon as you step outside the store. i try and encourage my clients to make the right choice, and plus — you quite literally regret the tattoo i did for you on the inside of your lip where no one can see it.” you hear him smirking warmly, his thumb pulling down your puffy bottom lip in gesture to reveal the ink.

“how’d you know?” you mewl.

“i’ve been in this for a while. i just know.”

you turn and look at him now, and he smiles at you — not that cold, withdrawn version of him that rears its ugly head at times— the warm, kind of dorky version. the one you like.

“sorry for being crazy.”

“hey, stay crazy. the majority of geniuses on this planet are a little crazy.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

ways TANGERINE stays sentimental, while protecting his love’s identity:

credits to @everythingisspokenfortbh for the idea, and expanding on it with me. post is here <3

gn!reader, <500 words

tangerine is sometimes too protective, like the near overbearing kind. it's not because he's controlling or tyrannical or domineering —though it may feel like that— instead his obsessive need to keep you safe, came from a far more loving place. vulnerable, even. 

he knew his line of work was not safe. and not only does he put himself in great depths of danger, but he also puts those he loves in that same chasm of the unknown. that includes you.

when it came to picking wedding rings, he wanted to steer far from the traditional bands that each of you would have upon your left hand, instead opting for something more secret. 

so, on your special day at the altar, rather than exchanging rings, you gave necklaces - each complimenting the other, not completing another: charms with the sun and the moon. tangerine had gold to match the rest of his jewellery, and you had silver. the sun worked best with gold like the moon did with silver. but tangerine is not a sun person. so to get around that issue, you brought up a suggestion, saying that you should wear each other's charm. 

since your special day, each of you have been wearing your promises around your necks, the pendant of your lover there as a reminder. not for others, but for you. the meaning of the necklace was for the two of you only. no one else knew.

and during those weeks when he leaves for work, you would swap necklaces - giving the other a piece to remember. tangerine would wear yours like a lucky charm, the pendant offering him safety, while his would offer you comfort. 

tangerine is sentimental, and you'd have a hard time trying to convince someone that he is. he keeps his love hidden and protected, the feeling only to be expressed with those he values most. and to keep with the theme of your protection, he finds ways to show his love without putting you in harm's way.

when it came to honouring special dates between you, he liked to remember them with tattoos. he'd get small and meaningful drawings inked into his body to secretly showcase his love for you. 

over the years, he accumulated an array of tiny momentos declaring his love - ranging from an outline of the country you met to a sketch of your favourite planet all the way to the moon phase on the night of your wedding. to an unknown eye, these tattoos would look like little random doodles. but not to tangerine, and not to you. these inked images are snippets of proof that show the love and sentiment of your heartless, cold assassin of a lover.

everything he does, he does it for you.

ALSO BTW my cat has a similar moon charm that we were talking about AHH!?

[sturnsiolos0]

Private-Matt Sturniolo

You will do anything to get what you want. And what you wanted? Well, that was the man currently dragging you up to his bedroom,a crooked grin lighting up his face as he glances over his shoulder to take in your half-running, half-stumbling form.

A breathless giggle slips past your lips as he begins to slow his pace, and when the two of you draw close to his door, he turns to walk backwards, not even pausing in his steps to tug you close and wind his arms around you. Matt leans down to plant an eager kiss to your lips, and before you can reciprocate, he's spinning you around, still pacing backwards to retrace his steps.

He repeats his actions once more, a firm, promising press of his mouth against yours followed by a sudden turn.

"You wanna tell me why i was dragged up here?" You comment jokingly, peering into the room before glancing back up to Matt, who is smirking down at you, pride and anticipation mingling into what would be an adorable expression if not tinged by the all-encompassing lust blowing his pupils and staining his cheeks.

"Thought we could use some quiet, plus Chris and Nick aren't here." He explains casually, hands slipping down from your waist to cup your ass, and a wicked grin reveals his intentions.

Liquid heat pools within you - It's the push you need for your hands to slip back down to grip at his shirt and yank him into the room, this time you being the one to walk backwards. He follows eagerly, hurrying into the room, and kicks the door closed behind him without a even half a glance.

You break away for a moment, "Quiet, what for?"

"Well, not that I don't enjoy our little midnight quickies in the kitchen or the car, but I thought we could do with somewhere a little more.." He gives pause as he considers the right word, and your heart beats double-time at what was sure to come; sure enough, Matt runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, walking you backwards until your knees buckle against the bed, flopping down to stare up into his eyes. "...private."

Matt studies you - lips parted in anticipation, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded as they mirror the lust in his own. A broad palm cups your jaw, fingers splaying across your warm cheek as his thumb takes its time tracing the curve your of bottom lip, before daring to slip into the corner of your awaiting mouth. Your tongue is quick to envelope the digit, sucking gently as you maintain eye contact; Matt swallows, his breath deepening as his pupils dilate like a spill of ink. Pulling back, his thumb slips from your mouth with a wet pop, and you smirk lazily up at him.

"What did you have planned then, Matt?" You breathe, steeling yourself against the temptation of simply grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him down on top of you, especially when he shudders at his name, whispered like something akin to a prayer if only it wasn't with such filthy intonation. Instead, you wait for him to put his own plans in motion.

"Well, I thought we could get naked for a change." He jokes, and your laughter bursts out of you; certainly, the pair of you got up to plenty of mischief together, but never more than a few half-undressed fucks or a heavy make-out session in the kitchen before one of his brothers would interrupt.

He drops down onto the bed beside you, knees bumping into yours as he twists to face your awaiting form, and you watch his every move in anticipation that increases with every passing second. Matt reaches out, curling a long arm around your waist and pulling you closer whilst the other cups the back of your neck, and your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders of their own accord as he closes the short distance. It's a swift kiss that quickly turns heated, his tongue exploring every word your mouth once uttered. The gap between you closes when you shift from the bed and twist to straddle his lap, knees digging into the plush mattress as you grind against his cock, already hard and ready though the layers of clothing separating you.

Matt grunts at the pressure, and you smirk against his mouth, daring to nip at his lower lip; it's enough to catch him by surprise, and you use the opportunity to push him back onto the bed before fidgeting with his shirt to take it off. Your breathing comes fast and heavy, a pace that matches Matt's as his hands disappear behind you to grab your ass, pulling you closer still.

With his shirt finally off, you barely have a moment to admire the exposed skin before he's sitting up once again and removing your shirt to reciprocate the act of removing his; he immediately was latching himself onto the exposed arch of your throat, nibbling and sucking a path down the sensitive flesh and across your chest until coming to a stop at your clothed breasts. Matt wastes no time in unlatching the clasp of your bra to toss away without a thought.

You lift yourself higher onto your knees, stomach pressed tight against his bare chest, and a breathless whimper escapes you when Matt's mouth once again reconnects with your skin, hot lips skimming the underside of your breasts before daring to caress your nipples. Matt's arms coil tight around your waist, pulling you close, and you run your hands through his hair, cradling his head. His tongue laves and swirls until they peak, and he takes the tender bud between his teeth to gently tug, to which you can only whine desperately, your fingers twisting in his hair and yanking in pleasure.

Matt continues his admissions on your breasts, alternating between playful nips, earnest sucking, and adoring kisses, and you fight against your closed eyelids to peer down at him, admiring the sheer devotion and passion written across his face, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Lowering yourself until your ass once again rests against his lap, you almost laugh at the way his neck bows in his pursue of your breasts, until he can't no longer; he pauses only a moment before redirecting his attention once again to your mouth, to which you eagerly respond.

You grind against his lap, feeling his thick cock press against you, and your hands graze down his chest, fingers splayed in appreciation, before reaching your destination and getting to work on undoing the buttons on his pants. Like-minded, Matt loosens his grip to undo the fastenings of yours, before giving a light swat to your ass.

"Up," He grunts, but he's already lifting you to stand you up; your pants slip from your body, and you kick them away, your shoes and socks quick to follow, as Matt does the same with his own remaining clothing, almost falling in his excitement.

Before you can remove your panties, already soaked, Matt is grabbing you by the waist and tugging you close. He's stripped bare, sat on the edge of the bed with his legs splayed, and you can only stare at him, a blend of awe and hunger alight in your eyes at his naked form. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, the material peeling away from your glistening pussy that he can't look away from.

"Fuck, come here," Matt mutters, voice like gravel as he pulls you close. He runs a thick finger through your folds appreciatively, and when he pulls away to inspect it, he nods in approval at your liquid arousal before slipping the digit into his mouth and sucking it clean. "Hmm, you're fucking delicious, love. All of this, just for me?"

"Mm-hmm." You moan, nodding fervently as your fingers once again entwine in his hair, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before guiding you to kneel on his spread lap, shins pressing into the solid muscle of his thighs as your feet catch against his knees. Matt's lips find yours, desperation tingeing the rough movements, and when you shift closer, you jolt with a needy moan when the length of his throbbing cock brushes against your pussy.

"Shit," He hisses through clenched teeth, and one hand leaves your ass to slip between your bodies. Fingers trace your folds, finding your swollen clit to rub a trembling circle around the bundle of nerves before once again slipping back down through your slick folds to tease your entrance. Despite the awkward angle, Matt still manages to slip a thick finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit with each knuckle that he sinks in; one, two, and three, and he pumps a couple of strokes before withdrawing, only to return with a second finger. Your pussy clenches around the intrusion, his expert digits working you open in preparation, and you can only moan and sigh wantonly against his lips.

You try to return the favour, one hand untangling from his ruffled hair to stroke at his cock, but you only get as far as wrapping your hand around his throbbing length before Matt is withdrawing his fingers and leaving you empty. He can feel your cry of desperation on your lips before you can even utter it, and his fingers, drenched in your arousal, seeks out your own around his cock.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, tonight is all about you." He soothes, and he gently pushes your hand away to pump his cock, your slick mixing with his beading pre-cum as his fingers twist against his tip. Matt leans back to stare down, eyes fixated on your pussy as he runs cock through your dripping folds, the tip nudging at your clit, and you can only grind yourself closer as he continues to tease you; with every half-thrust guided by his hand, the head of his cock would catch your entrance before slipping through your pussy to brush against the throbbing bundle of nerves.

"Matt, Matt, please," You beg, voice needy and breathless as you clutch at his shoulders. "Please, fuck me, Matt, I want you inside of me now."

"Anything for you, love." He murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before aligning his dick with your entrance. "Ready?"

You nod earnestly, loose hair flailing about your shoulders as you gaze into Matts's eyes, your own heavy-lidded and glassy with tears of pleasure-fueled desperation. Slowly, achingly so, he pushes in, inch by inch, and your high-pitched moan reverberates through the room as his thick cock stretches you to your limits. Finally, he bottoms out, and through your euphoria, you catch sight of Matt, slack-jawed and panting heavily as he tries to hold still; around him, your pussy twitches and trembles, and your moans are met by strained grunts as his grip tightens on you, palms squeezing your hips and fingertips sinking in to the flesh of your ass.

Your hips shift experimentally, slowly lifting an inch before dropping back down, and you can only offer him a dazed nod before tightening your grip on his shoulders and rising again, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls alighting each and every nerve within you. It's difficult to ride him in this position when you're so over-stimulated, and Matt is quick to note this; his grip on you adjusts, and he lifts you before dropping you back down, repeating the act until your hips are rolling and he's thrusting up to meet you.

The room is filled with heavy panting and high moans, curses and profanity littering the air like prayers as sweat dampens your overheated skin and kisses become hungry clashes of teeth and tongue. You're distantly aware of your nails biting into Matt's shoulders, and when you drag them down his back, scrambling for purchase, Matt's hips stutter. Suddenly, you're being flipped, your back colliding with the rumpled sheets.

Matt looms over you, hasty hands grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist before burying his cock in you once more. You only have a moment to acclimatise before he starts to thrust, face buried in your neck, and the new angle combined with the sheer force as he drills into you makes the tension within snap. Your pussy clenches tight, walls spasming as you climax, and you can only chant his name as your hands clamp down on his biceps.

He continues to thrust throughout your orgasm, throbbing cock dragging against your velvet heat, until he finally shudders, hips faltering and stuttering to a halt as he cums deep within you. Matt collapses against you, softening cock still buried in your pussy, before rolling over with an exhausted grunt and pulling out. Strong arms seek out your shuddering form, still desperately trying to catch your breath, and Matt pulls you over until your head rests against his heaving chest, his pounding heart echoing in your ear.

"Holy shit," You murmur when you finally find your voice. "That was good."

"Only good?" He mumbles around a yawn, prompting you to yawn yourself. "How about we go to the shower and have round two in there?"

[redheadspark]

Hi, this is first time I am asking someone for a story, but your prompts are so fun... Well my request is for Benedict and can you pla make a combo of prompt #2 & #19 (did you know its going to be this hot, write it to confirm 😅) and when its about Benedict it will be fun to read something smuty 😉

Hope I am not being very demanding ... Thanks in advance 💮

A/N - This was great to write, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the request!

Distract

Summary - Benedict knows how to distract you, even on a hot day

Warnings - Just fluff and a HINT of steam ;)

“Are you sure all the windows are open, dear?”

“Trust me, darling.  I have every single window open in attempts to give us some relief with the breeze,” 

You hummed, using the fan as much as you could as your husband, Benedict Bridgerton, was working away at his canvas and trying his best to finish the latest piece he was working on for a month.  You loved watching him work, it was a peaceful time when you two would be in his art studio while you would be working on your correspondence and Benedict was painting.  It was what you two would do every Sunday before you would have to start your hectic weekly schedules again. 

You’ve been married to Benedict for almost 5 years now, you two have known each other since you were young and were madly in love with one another in your teens.  Of course, you both had to wait until you both were old enough for Benedict to properly court you, then propose to you.  It was rather silly since you both knew even as early teens that you would be married to each other for all of your lives.  It was also a perk that your families were close friends, both sets of parents were already inwardly planning on your courtship when they saw the spark between the pair of you.  It was safe to say that his mother, the sweet and kind Violet Bridgerton, was beyond happy to gain another daughter in her household and with her name.

You were glad too.

Having a small apartment in the Bridgerton Estate was an immense blessing, having new siblings to get to know and be social with, your own space to share with Benedict, and simply have your time as a wife with him.  He was beyond an amazing husband, making things light in diet times, knowing when to make you laugh when you were sad or simply hold you when you needed physical contact.  You both had flaws, but talking through them together as a team made it all worthwhile.  

But now there was a minor heat wave that came through the area, and even the massive Bridgerton estate would not bring any relief that would help you anytime soon.  

“Did you know it was going to be this hot today?” You asked nonchalantly as you were scanning the stack of envelopes on the desk for you to peer through.

“I wish I did, then we would have planned a better outing,” Benedict answered.  

“Perhaps we should have escaped to the lake, like Kate and Anthony,” you hummed as you looked over another ball invitation while fanning yourself, Benedict chuckling from his spot at his easel while he was drawing a long stripe of blue on the canvas.

“I’d rather be in an audience of their…love for one another,” Benedict replied with a snort, making you giggle as you looked over in his direction.  He was still dressed somewhat formally, you both coming back from a luncheon with your mother-in-law.  His blue coat and undershirt brought out the shine in his eyes and the flushness in his cheeks, making him look even more enchanting than ever.  

Every once in a while you would get lost in his appearance: whether he was working deep on a piece of art and his skin was stained in ink or charcoal, or even when you two were chatting during dinner and he was ranting about a family story.  He had a way with you, a way to make you lose your train of thought or make time stand still.  

“Darling?”

You blinked, seeing that Benedict stopped his painting and was watching you with a hint of concern, “Are you well?”

You smiled and blinked slowly, placing your fan on the desk and resting a hand on your cheek as you tilted your head at him, “More than well, since I get a marvelous view of my husband being a marvelous artist,”

Benedict grinned, the smirk he showed you was enough to make your stomach flip.  You knew that look, something reserved for the pair of you out of the public eye.  He may have Benn posted as a gentleman when it came to his name and how to conduct himself, but it was a different scenario when you two were alone.  He knew how to make you cave from a simple look or sweet talk.  Benedict has always been a flirt, before you got together and then after.  But most of the time you were the object of his flirtations.  

Which you would never object to.

“Just marvelous? Oh, you wound me,” He replied, you ruling your eyes as he continued, “The words I would use for my wife would be far more expressive,”

“Oh would they?” You asked, taking the bait that he was dangling for you.  Benedict could only smile, placing the paint brush on the easel before he walked over towards you.  He went around the desk, his eyes still drilling into yours with a signature smile as his fingers traced along the top of the dress, almost making a mess of your letter pile while he was getting closer to you.  It felt like you were frozen in your spot in the chair, your fan staying still in your hand, Benedict reaching over to take the fan from your hand delicately.

“Divine…exquisite…intelligent….kind….angelic….” He laced every word with love and affection, inching closer and closer to you as he was now perched on the top of the desk, his eyes twinkled in the sunlight and your breath was lost in your throat.  You felt every single one of those words hit you along your chest, making you feel so loved and almost as light as air.  

As soon as he was close enough to have his lips brush against yours, you felt your stomach summersault as he eyed your lips for the briefest of moments.  

“Just to name a few,” He whispered, you eyeing his lips in return as you finally grinned widely at you.

You dived in, kissing him deeply as he was perched over you on the desk.  You both kissed, leaning into each other smoothly and with no hesitation while it felt like you couldn’t get closer than ever before.  This was nothing new for you two, especially when it came to the throws of love.  Benedict was an amazing lover, knowing which buttons to push and where to touch you with both his lips and hands.  There was never a dull moment with your husband when it came to pleasure, and he would surprise you in the best way possible.

“Take off your jacket, the hell?” You huffed against his lips as you reached to push his blue jacket off.  Benedict laughed, kissing you deeply as he threw off the jacket to toss it to the floor you spoke again, “You’re making me hot just by looking at you,”

“Just by my looks?” Benedict asked in a breath, you laughing as he reached to undo a bit of your dress with his nimble and skilled fingers, “I must be lacking then.  Perhaps I should brush up a bit more,”

“Yes you must,” You hummed in return, almost in a growl.  You both let the rest of the world slip away, just like your dress slipping to the floor as well as his trousers.  

That hot day was bearable after all. 

The End

July Prompt Session

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi!! I have a one shot request (I hope I’m in the right place lmao)

What about a autistic (fem)reader who is super smart and seems to notice things about the case that the others haven’t and every time she tries to state her thoughts a rude sherif cuts her off/infantilising her and Emily defends her

Honestly my brain stopped at the thought of Emily, I need more of her 😔🫶

-anon ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

fem plus size autistic!reader, wc: 517.

a/n: i have had this finished but sitting in my drafts because i was too lazy to post it, but here it is! i hope that i was able to capture what you were looking for right! :] this can either be read as platonic or romantic!

cw! asshole elders :/

You have been spoken over and shut down for the past hour, twenty minutes, and thirty seconds. 

You hated being silenced, but one thing that trumps that was being infantilized. You worked hard to get where you were now, and you hated being treated like a child just because your way of thinking was different from your peers. 

You have saved thousands of people and you’ll be damned if you continue to be treated like this.

“If you look closely, you can see that the area that these women were killed in must hold some kind of sentimental meaning to our unsub.” You grab the black marker and go to draw the inevitable triangle on the printed out map before you’re stopped by the sheriff.

 “Hold it now, sweetheart. Don’t just go markin’ up stuff.”

“I beg your pardon?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m sure the area these women were killed in was just pure coincidence, so we don’t wanna risk coloring in the paper just ‘cause you think you know somethin’.” He spoke as if he knew more than you did like he was the one with the degree, his tone absolutely rolling in condescension. 

“I’m sorry but –” You try to say but the old fart cuts you off. “I’m sure you are –”

“Excuse me, sheriff, but I’m afraid Special Agent _______ made a great point.” Emily was quick to come to your aide, emphasizing the words ‘Special Agent’ just to reinforce her point.

You could see it in her narrowed eyes, and everyone else’s really, that she was about done with the Sheriff’s embarrassingly large ego. You send her an appreciative – albeit shy – smile, and she gets up, her eyes trained on the map as well. 

“She’s right, because if you look here,” She points to the first crime scene and motions for you to draw a mark. “And here,” Her finger trails down to the second location and you follow close behind. “And here.” Her path finally ends, and so does your black ink. 

There it was, just like you had first thought, a perfect triangle connecting them all.

“The most important thing should be right –” You finish her words and color in a big circle in the middle. “Here.” Emily sends you a proud look and it threatens to weaken your knees.

“I mean… I suppose that makes sense.” The man grumbled before leaving with his tail between his legs. 

“Thank you.” You say quietly. The conversation was meant to be kept between the two of you. Of course you loved and trusted everyone on your team, but Emily was your comfort person, and she made time to understand you.

“No problem,” She responds back. “Everyone was done with his shit anyway.”

“Still, thank you.” You pressed the conversation, because you don’t really think she realized the gravity of the situation, of your appreciation. 

For most of your life you had never been given a voice, and having someone stick up for you and even paving the way for you to make your point known was something that no gratitude could give.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[estellan0vella]

Doodles Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU

You return to the tattoo parlour, balancing a tray of coffee cups and a bag of pastries. The aroma of fresh coffee mingles with the scent of antiseptic and ink, a peculiar but comforting mix that you've grown to love. You push open the door with your hip and are greeted by the familiar sight of Gojo lounging on the couch, Geto perched on the edge, and Toji leaning against the counter. They glance up as you enter, offering a mix of smirks and lazy waves.

"Coffee's here," you announce, setting the tray down on the table.

"Finally," Gojo drawls, reaching for his cup. "I was starting to think you'd run off and left us to fend for ourselves."

"I wish," you retort, handing out the drinks. "Where's Sukuna?"

"Office," Geto replies, taking his cup with a grateful nod.

"Sleeping Beauty needed his nap," Toji adds with a chuckle.

You smile, picturing Sukuna sprawled out on the couch in his office, one arm draped over his eyes. "I'll go check on him."

Balancing the last cup of coffee, you head towards Sukuna's office. The door is slightly ajar, and as you approach, you hear the faint sound of giggling. You push the door open wider and freeze.

Yuji and Megumi are perched on either side of Sukuna, markers in hand, drawing elaborate patterns on his face. Yuji has a red marker and is carefully colouring a heart on Sukuna's cheek, while Megumi, armed with a blue marker, adds swirls and stars to his forehead. Sukuna, deeply asleep, is blissfully unaware of the artistic masterpiece being created on his face.

Your mind races. Should you wake him up? Stop the kids? Scream? Laugh? You have no idea what to do. Instead, you stand there, mouth slightly open, until Yuji notices you.

"Y/N/N!" he whispers loudly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Look what we did!"

"I see that," you say, voice hushed but incredulous. "Where did you get the markers?"

"Gojo let us use them," Megumi whispers, as if that explains everything.

You glance back at the trio in the other room. Gojo, Geto, and Toji are watching with poorly concealed amusement. None of them made any attempt to stop the kids. You shake your head, sighing.

"Okay, you two, let's go. Quietly," you instruct, ushering the boys out of the office. They giggle as they sneak past you, and you close the door softly behind them.

You return to the main room, where Gojo is practically vibrating with suppressed laughter. "You just let them draw all over his face?"

"We thought it would be funny," Gojo replies, grinning. "And it was."

"Very mature," you say, rolling your eyes. "You know he's going to wake up soon, right?"

As if on cue, a loud "What the fuck?" echoes through the parlour. You all freeze, and then Gojo and Geto dissolve into laughter, Toji smirking.

"You're all so brave," you mutter, as they push you towards the office. "Why me?"

"You're the best at calming him down," Geto insists, still chuckling.

"Yeah, go use those girlfriend superpowers," Gojo adds, winking.

Toji gives you a nudge. "Suck him off if you have to."

You glare at them as you walk towards the office. You can hear Sukuna's muttered curses and the sound of him moving around in the office. Taking a deep breath, you open the door and step inside, closing it behind you.

Sukuna is standing in front of the small mirror on his desk, staring at his reflection with a mix of disbelief and irritation. His face is a canvas of colourful doodles, and his eyes snap to you as you enter.

"Hey, Kuna," you say, trying to keep your voice light. "How was your nap?"

He points to his face. "What the fuck is this?"

"Uh, art?" you offer, giving him a sheepish smile. "The kids got creative."

His glare softens slightly as he looks at you, but he's still clearly annoyed. "And you just let them?"

"I didn't even know until I got back," you explain. "But, hey, it's washable. We can clean it off."

Before Sukuna can respond, Gojo's voice rings out from the other side of the door. "Put in the good work, Y/N, you're saving us all!"

Toji follows up with, "No teeth unless he's into that!"

Sukuna's expression shifts from irritation to something more dangerous. You can almost see the murderous thoughts forming in his mind.

"Ignore them," you say quickly, placing a hand on his arm. "They're just being idiots."

"You think?" he growls, but he doesn't pull away from your touch.

Geto's voice joins in, "Show him who's the real boss, Y/N!"

"And don't forget to swallow!" Gojo adds, laughter in his voice.

Sukuna's eyes narrow, and you step closer, trying to distract him. "They're trying to rile you up."

"They're succeeding," he mutters, but he's looking at you now, his gaze softening as he meets your eyes.

"I'll help you clean it off," you offer, reaching for a cloth and some cleaning solution from his desk. "Sit down."

He sits, still grumbling, and you gently start wiping away the marker. "You know," you say, trying to lighten the mood, "you make a pretty good canvas."

He snorts, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're lucky I love you."

"I know," you reply, smiling back. "And I love you too, even with marker all over your face."

Gojo's voice calls out again, "Y/N, you still alive in there?"

"Yeah, she hasn't killed me yet," Sukuna shouts back, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Well, keep up the good work!" Geto hollers. 

"Only because you're scared of him," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Sukuna chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "They should be."

"Can't argue with that," you agree, finishing up the last of the marker removal. "There, all better."

He stands, looking in the mirror again. "Thanks, babe."

"Anytime," you reply, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Now, go deal with those idiots."

You step out of the office with Sukuna, your fingers entwined with his as you walk towards the front desk. Yuji and Megumi are already there, giggling and playing with their toys. You lift them both onto your lap, balancing them with one arm while grabbing your coffee with the other. The kids snuggle into you, their laughter bubbling up as they see Sukuna approaching the trio.

Gojo, Geto, and Toji exchange wary glances, trying to maintain their innocent expressions. "All clean?" Gojo asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

"For now," Sukuna replies, his voice dripping with ominous intent. "Now, who's first?"

The trio scrambles, but Sukuna's quicker. He grabs Toji by the collar and hauls him back, planting him firmly in a chair. "Hold still," Sukuna growls, pulling out a black marker from his pocket.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing?" Toji protests, but he's laughing, clearly enjoying the chaotic turn of events.

Sukuna grins wickedly as he starts drawing on Toji's face, the crude outline of a penis taking shape on his cheek. "Just adding a little artwork. Sit still."

Gojo and Geto can't stop laughing, even as they try to make a run for it. Sukuna is relentless, though. With Toji marked, he quickly corners Geto next, who throws up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I give up!"

"Good choice," Sukuna says, drawing another crude image on Geto's forehead. The laughter continues, echoing through the parlour as Sukuna finally rounds on Gojo, who's been trying to hide behind a potted plant.

"Come on, Sukuna, you don't have to do this," Gojo pleads, but he's grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh, but I do," Sukuna replies, pouncing on Gojo and quickly drawing yet another obscene image on his face as Gojo screams. The room is filled with laughter, yours included, as you sip your coffee and watch the chaos unfold.

Yuji and Megumi are practically bouncing with excitement, their giggles infectious. "Suku drew on their faces!" Yuji exclaims, clapping his hands.

"That he did, Yuji," you say, ruffling his hair. "Isn't it funny?"

Megumi nods vigorously. "Funny!"

Once Sukuna's done, he stands back to admire his handiwork. The three men sit there, each with a ridiculous drawing on their faces, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

Sukuna turns to you, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "Well, babe, what do you think?"

You raise your coffee cup in a mock salute, grinning from ear to ear. "Beautifully done, Kuna. A masterpiece."

The room erupts in laughter again, and even Sukuna chuckles, his earlier annoyance completely gone. The kids cheer, and you feel a warmth spread through you as you watch everyone having fun together.

"Alright, you three," Sukuna says, crossing his arms and towering over Gojo, Geto, and Toji. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before letting the kids use me as their canvas."

"To be fair, it was pretty funny," Toji says, trying to look innocent despite the crude drawing on his face.

"Yeah, you did look kinda cute with the whiskers," Geto adds, winking at you.

Gojo just laughs, slapping Sukuna on the back. "Consider it payback for all the times you've messed with us."

Sukuna rolls his eyes but can't hide his grin. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make it a habit."

As the laughter dies down, you take another sip of your coffee, savouring the moment. Life at the parlour is never boring, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

taglist - @sad-darksoul @thejujvtsupost @kyo-kyo1

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Inviting other artists!

So I've just made a superhero AU for utmv. Right? Well, I really only wanted to design one guy, Lust. Sooo I'm opening the AU (WHICH LITERALLY HAS NO LORE YET SO NO WORRIES) for others to partake in!

Here's like, the basic lay out.

Choose one Sans AU to turn into superhero/villain. Please refrain from using a Sans someone else claimed.

Make them into a superhero/villain themed after something specific. (Example: A plant themed superhero, or even a cactus one!)

Keep powers balanced with weaknesses, please make them relate to their theme!

Give them a civilian identity! You don't have to draw this one, but make sure to mention their civil job and name!

Give them a Superhero/Villain name as well!

Wait, supervillain?

OH YES! You can choose the mortal alignment of your claimed Sans! Super hero, villain, neutral, vigilante? Just pick whatever you want!

Of course headcanons are welcome, it's Canon to YOUR design! Make them trans, gay, autistic, whatever! (Human designs are allowed too!)

Wait.. what do I (the artist reading this) Even get out of doing this?

Well I'll tell you! For one, its a fun artist challenge where you personalize and create a whole new hero/Villain to your preferences!

You also get to imagine their lore, and incorporate their personality into the story! They'd all be canon part of the AU. (Note: if someone claimed a sans first and you did it anyways, yours wouldn't be Canon unless issues occurred with the OG/they gave you permission.)

I dunno, I just wanna make an AU with a ton of people, ya know? I think it's be fun for us to work together on this.

CLAIMED LIST:

Lust: Hero. Complete. By @thelunarsystemwrites.

Reaper: Vigilante. Completed by @solusminds.

Outer: Vigilante. Complete by @dzasterdumpterfire

Ink: Retired Hero. Complete by @lix88888

Error: Supervillain. Complete by @its-paperd

Dust: Claimed by @billygoat26

Farmer: Claimed by @absurdumsid

Cross: Claimed by @weirdest-worlds

Geno: Claimed by @eldritchcats

Shattered: Claimed by @genderfluidyellowocto

Nightmare: Supervillain. Completed by @analexthatexists

Killer: Claimed by @a-menacetosociety

Dream (and core frisk): Claimed by @thenocturnenarrator

Blue: Superhero, complete by @createbellatheartist

Fell: Supervillain, complete @underrrtaleee-freakk

Quantum: Superhero. Completed by @nashdoesstuff (Also made an OC for the AU, Dreamshade! Superhero.)

Horror: Neutral Evil. Completed by @it-came-from-mount-ebott

Ccino: Claimed by @some-aroace-chaos

Fresh: Claimed by @nightmareishomophobic

Die sans: Claimed by @dustsansm1

Bill: Supervillain. Completed by @endless-emptyness (OC Nanno made by sane person!)

Epic: Claimed by @dtdrawz

Fatal error: Claimed by @spookyboris2

Swan: Claimed by @glitching-moon

Sci: Claimed by @joonebugg

Dance: Claimed by @dv-reblogs

Swad: Claimed by @shinanigans-art

Littletale: Claimed by @somehhuuuhh

Possession: Claimed by @b0nerific-individual

Alter: Claimed by @annabel184

Paperjam: Vigilante. Completed by @papple

Decadent society: Supervillain. Complete by @supper122

Green Sans: Claimed by @xxcross-is-a-helicopterxx

Roulette: Claimed by @ant1quarian

On the claimed list, if you claim a Sans (By commenting or reblogging saying "Dibs Blank!" Or "Can I do blank?" Etc! I'll add it on the List saying: "Sans: Claimed by User"

Once it's made, please tag me so I can see! Then I'll update it to "Sans: Moral alignment. By User." And link it on this post! [Please only claim one, we want enough to go around! However you can claim variations! So one person could make dream, another could make shattered!]

[Note I do not claim any ownership over your designs for the AU, nor will I use your design w/o permission.]

With all that said! Anyone interested? [And hey, if you're not interested? It's okay to just not join. Or ignore this!]

Asks! (Questions regarding the AU!)

Can we make our own lore woth other characters?

Secondary claims?

Only two grabs?

Can we have OCs?

Can we use our own AUs?

[kararisa]

between you, me, and these bookshelves

synopsis: just the little things that happen in a little bookstore.

— featuring: albedo, ayato, childe, scaramouche x gn!reader (separate)

— cw: modern au, swearing, yn is an avid reader, use of childe's real name, none of the books i mention here are real lol

— author's notes: first headcanon post with multiple characters~ very self indulgent so hope you guys enjoy <3

Working at a bookstore isn't the most glamorous job in the world.

The pay is good for the amount of work you need to do, and most days nothing much happens.

But sometimes, there are just some events that happen between the bookstore's mahogany shelves that make your days just a bit more colorful.

Albedo

The bookstore has a chalkboard stand outside that details new releases, promotions, or events that the store has. Displayed on it are elaborate illustrations or hand-lettering, all of it done by the same person.

And he comes by every other weekend to re-do its contents.

You sometimes watch him as he draws, his nimble hands becoming dusted with colored chalk as he sketches on the blackboard, his light blond hair tied back as he furrows his brow, deep in concentration.

He’s caught you staring a handful of times, to which you turn away in hopes that he doesn’t bring it up. Thankfully he never does.

This week you watch as he colors in his artwork, a dragon and a young man with wings at the center soaring over rolling plains and sharp cliffs.

As the boy gets started with the lettering, you ask him a question.

“Do you really just come up with all this on the spot?”

The boy looks at you with curiosity in his eyes, “So you do talk. And here I was wondering if you just didn’t like talking to me.”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what we can really talk about. You’re a freelancer right?”

He smiles as he returns his attention back to his illustration, “You can say that. Well to answer your first question, I usually have a final outcome in mind before I start sketching. Your boss sends me a gist of what he wants and I draw it. Simple as that.”

You converse with him until he finishes, sprinkling in some questions about his work in between. As he packs up to leave, you ask him one last question.

“I never got your name, chalk boy.”

A silent question, but one that he still understands.

“It’s Albedo.”

The two of you end up striking up an easy conversation every time he visits, with you always watching him draw

If you express interest in his other works, he’ll let you browse his sketchbook 

One day while flipping through his drawings, you begin to see some familiar sights: a vending machine outside a nearby convenience store, a food stall, and the outside of the bookstore. Some pages have small doodles in pencil and ink, and some in color. Others have full illustrations.

The next page that you flip to, though, nearly takes your breath away. 

You find a colorful illustration of the bookstore, a blend of paint and ink. Sunlight streams through the glass walls and envelops the scene in a warm light. Boxes lay strewn on the floor, all of them brimming with books. And among the boxes stands you, a stack of books in hand as a small smile graces your face.

You look up when Albedo spots the page you’re on, “Ah, I hope you don’t mind that I sketched you a handful of times. I tend to draw what I find interesting.

“So is it alright if… I sketched you more often?”

Scaramouche

Scaramouche pisses you off most days.

He distracts you while you try to do your work, he steals the pen by the cash register whenever you need to use it, and worst of all, he always makes fun of whatever book you read.

No matter what genre it is, mystery, fantasy, or heaven forbid, romance, he'll always find something to tease you about.

But it’s odd. For someone who claims to hate every novel that you've taken interest in, you find yourself discussing with him each and every book you’ve read.

“Sure, Forest of Lies had a strong opening,” he starts, leaning back on his chair, “But did the princess seriously need to go through those arbitrary trials just to prove that she was determined to save her kingdom?”

“Fine, I thought it was stupid too,” you say, “But you have to admit, the characters are actually well-written and have interesting subplots. The knight having a backstory connected to the princess’ was a good twist.”

“But does anything really come from that twist? Or was it just there for shock value? When you get to the part where–”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, “Spoilers! I just got past the twist, asshole.”

“You should read faster then!” he says, going into the storage room to fetch some supplies, “Whatever, we’ll continue this when you finish the damn book.”

You’re about to continue reading when Scaramouche pops his head out and adds, “The next two novels in the series go downhill in quality from there. Trust me.”

“But this is a trilogy??”

“That’s the point!”

You realize that he had a point when you finally got to the second book.

Around halfway through reading the book, you catch him reading over your shoulder. You turn to look at him and he simply gives you a smug smile. You simply rolled your eyes and continued reading.

A couple of days go by after you finish the second book when he approaches you.

“What’s the occasion?” you say as Scaramouche hands you a book, a pen, a highlighter, and some book tabs.

It’s a novel on your wishlist, you notice; one that you had mentioned to him in passing. Small colored tabs stick out from the side of the book. Thumbing through the first few pages, you see that he underlined some passages, his neat writing occupying the margins, the blue highlighter bringing your attention to a handful of quotes. Just from reading the first sentence as well as Scaramouche’s comments, you could tell that you were going to enjoy reading this.

But you recall a casual remark he during one of your past conversations — he doesn’t typically annotate his books. Did he do this for you?

“Nothing. Just thought you should read a good book for once,” he answers, not quite looking at you.

“Excuse you, I read good books sometimes.”

“The last book you read, you kept ranting about how the writing wouldn’t just ‘let the characters fucking talk’. Your words, not mine.”

“And the last book you read, you literally couldn’t finish because you kept getting fed up with the protagonist doing nothing.”

He groans, “Are you gonna accept my gift or not?”

You give him an unimpressed look, setting the book and stationery aside, “This novel better be as good as you say it is.”

He was right. The book was actually good. You even ended up adding your own annotations alongside his — like having your own conversation amidst the pages of the book.

His comments, whether they be snarky, insightful, or analytical, definitely enhanced the experience. And thanks to that, you end up finishing the book in just two days.

Another one of your story discussions happens and, amidst the bickering, a book he mentions piques your interest.

After making fun of the ever-growing list of books he wants to read, to which he retorts by saying you’re not better off, an idea pops into your head and you search for the novel he’s looking for.

It’s in a genre you wouldn’t typically go reaching for, but this is the least you could do for him, right?

You spend the next week reading and annotating the book, using the highlighter and tabs Scaramouche had given you to highlight passages and give your comments.

The shocked look on his face when you gave him the copy of the book was definitely worth it.

“Just thought you should read a good book for once,” you say, sliding the book toward him.

“Huh. Don’t you hate this genre?”

“Surprisingly enough I actually liked the story; you have decent recommendations when you’re not being such a dick. So, are you gonna accept my gift or not?”

He rolls his eyes, snatching the book from the table, and mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’. 

You pretend not to see the blush that reaches his ears.

Ayato

It starts off as most days do, with a delivery of new books.

You open the box to find the newest releases as well as some bestsellers. One of the covers catches your eye, the title Child of the Roses emblazoned in front of an illustration of two women laying in a field of red roses — one of the books you’ve always wanted to get your hands on ever since the author announced the plot.

Sure you could purchase the book right now, but your budget for the month didn’t have a lot of wiggle room. And if you did wait until next month, you couldn’t exactly guarantee the availability of the book since it always manages to sell fast.

While you’re restocking the shelves, the door to the store opens, and in come a man and woman with pale blue hair. 

The girl starts looking around while the man walks up to you.

“Does your store happen to sell the book Traingazing?” the man asks. There’s an elegance in the way he carries himself — well-dressed, handsome, and dignified in the way he speaks, “It’s alright if you don’t.” 

You confirm its availability and lead him to the nearby shelves, “You lucked out today, sir. This is our last copy.”

He laughs. Fuck, even his laugh sounds expensive, “Lucky indeed. My sister and I have gone to five stores today just looking for it.”

The girl, his sister, you presume, comes up to you two with a small stack of books in hand, “Did you find it?”

The man holds up the book, its silver-edged pages gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the store, “Got their last copy, too.”

She sighs in relief, “Good. You can finally stop nagging me about you never being able to grab a copy before they sell out.”

“Says the one who dragged me to eight stores looking for a book you ended up hating.”

The siblings leave shortly after purchasing their books. 

The rest of the day passes by as normal. Rush hour usually comes around early afternoon to late evening, when students get out of school and people usually get off work. 

Unfortunately, your shift just about lines up with the store’s more chaotic hours.

You spot a familiar blue-haired man again later that evening while you’re in the middle of helping another customer. He’s browsing the shelves when he spots you.

“Can you help me with something? I’m looking for a gift for my sister.”

“Oh, the girl you were with this afternoon, right? What kind of books does she like?”

He describes the types of books she favors along with a handful of her favorite authors. You lead him to some nearby shelves, picking out some books and giving him a brief synopsis of each one. He listens intently to each of your suggestions, his lilac eyes focused on you.

As you’re finishing up, he spots a book behind you and grabs it from the shelf. You spot the familiar title, Child of the Roses. As usual, whenever you restock it, it’s the last one in stock. “You thinking of buying that one? It’s our last copy.”

The man reads the synopsis as you summarize the plot, “Seems like quite the interesting book if it got you so excited.”

You laugh at his remark, “Well, I’ve been wanting to read that book for a while now, but I never manage to get a copy before they sell out.”

He considers the book before saying, “Is that so?”

Your co-worker calls for you before you can respond, saying that they need help with manning the cash register.

After almost an hour of helping with scanning barcodes and packing books, the blue-haired man stands in front of the counter.

He holds up Child of the Roses, “If it’s alright, I’d like to make this a separate purchase.”

Figures he’d buy the book if the reviews and your excited ramblings are anything to go off of. While you were sad that the chance to purchase the novel had once again slipped away, at least you could be reassured that it would be in good hands.

After giving him the book and the receipt, he simply hands them both back to you, “You were quite passionate when you described the book to me. I thought I should buy it for you before someone else gets it.”

This has to be a dream, “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I mean don’t get me wrong! I’m grateful, but don’t you want to read this, too?”

A smile graces his face, “Of course. You helped me find what I was looking for this afternoon, so this is the least I can do for you.”

When you finally get home and settle down for the evening, you open the book, intending to get through just one chapter.

That’s when you find a calling card in between the pages of the index and the first chapter, the name Kamisato Ayato in immaculate handwriting on one side along with his number.

On the back was a message: I’m actually currently reading Child of the Roses, so I have no need for another copy. But if you’d like, we could go out sometime and read it together. What do you say?

Childe

Most days there's not really much to do aside from the usual talking to customers, restocking the shelves, and helping close up shop. 

So sometimes you read just to pass the time. 

You’re just finishing up a chapter when the door to the store opens.

Ajax, you learn his name, is a massive flirt. Instead of talking to you like a normal person, he instantly says the cheesiest pickup line you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t need glasses,” he says, leaning on the counter, “ ‘cause I can clearly see that we were meant to be.”

It’s way too early for this shit, “... sir are you going to buy a book or not?”

He tips his head back and laughs, “C’mon! You have to admit that one was good.”

And he’s come by the store every so often ever since.

He’s quite the chatterbox too, talking about anything he can think of whenever you scan his items at the counter.

You learn he’s an older brother when he asks you for book recommendations for his younger siblings. His attentiveness to his siblings’ taste in literature never fails to put a smile on your face.

You also learn that he’s very knowledgeable in literature.

He comments on one of the books you’re reading during one of his visits, talking about his favorite scenes as well as discussing the characters with you.

A week of nearly daily visits turns into a month, with you getting used to his corny pick-up lines and little conversations.

But then it suddenly stops. A week passes without Ajax’s visits.

You don’t think too much of it until that one week turned into three. 

He was under no obligation to come back every day, of course. He was a customer, at the end of the day, and there was never any guarantee that he wouldn’t suddenly stop visiting the bookstore nearly every day.

But you couldn’t help feeling dejected at the thought of just never seeing him again.

Then, on one unassuming Monday afternoon, a familiar face returns to the store.

“Hope you didn’t miss me too much,” Ajax winks at you, “Mind if you help me look for a book?”

You smile, doing your best to hide your surprise, “Good to see you’re still doing well.”

He gives a vague description of what he’s looking for: a sci-fi series that’s appropriate for his little brother Teucer, the third book to a series his sister Tonia is currently reading, and “whatever you think is good” for him.

Walking over to the shelves, you could feel his eyes on you as you started picking out the books for his siblings. A soft smile is on his face when you turn to face him, becoming wider when your eyes meet his.

“You were gone for a while,” you say, unsure of how to continue. His life is none of your business and like hell were you going to admit that you missed him.

He sighs, “Yeah. Work has been a lot these past few weeks, but now that it’s loosened up I can finally start seeing my favorite person more often.”

“Your favorite person huh?”

“Getting the chance to talk to you is the highlight of my visits. Of course you’d be my favorite person.”

He leans in close to you, “Y’know, I just realized that I’ve lost my number. So can I have yours?”

You roll your eyes, still smiling, “You could have just asked for my number like a normal person.”

Ajax laughs, and you find yourself wishing you could listen to it every day.