#the splotches I draw on him change every time

[conflictedemma]

He's alive!! All three of them are alive!!! *I say as the doctors take me away*

[lev-berryz]

The art beneath.

Synopsis: After your professor finds your sketchbook filled with drawings of himself, he makes you stay after class.

Tags: 18+, smut, professor-student, professor Rafayel,

"See me after class"

The words keep ringing into my ears as I carefully pack up my bags and clean the workspace around my easel. I glance at the front desk where my art professor totally ignores me, a shudder running over my back.

He is the strictest; most demanding; most critical man I have ever met, and he drives me absolutely insane every time I look at him. His dark violet hair; the pink splotches in his eyes; the way his lips always look moisturized. I see him every night when I close my eyes and yearn to see it all up close, to feel his long fingers, that can expertly maneuver a paintbrush.

But since he's my professor, it's all just thoughts and wet dreams. So I draw him. I imagine every detail he carefully hides under his flamboyant suits. Every curve, every muscle. I imagine him having hidden scars or tattoos or maybe even a scandalous piercing.

But now, all my courage has gone out of me, now that he has my sketchbook on his desk, filled from cover to cover with my sketches. All of him, in the most outrageous poses I could imagine. Some clothed, but most of them naked.

And he saw them.

As the art room grows emptier, my nerves start to get the best of me. My brow starts to get damp, my knees buckling under me. And then - finally - the last student leaves and he looks up at me.

"Explain."

His deep voice rings in the empty room. I tremble slightly as he takes of his glasses to clean them. His multicolored eyes looking more vibrant - more pink - then ever before.

"I ... Uhm ... I'm sorry, sir."

The words stutter out of my mouth, which suddenly feels drier then a dessert.

"I didn't mean to draw you that way."

His gaze grows more fierce as he places the glasses back on his nose. A small smirk playing at his oh so juicy lips.

"Of course you did, else you wouldn't have filled a whole sketchbook worth of them."

He suddenly pushes off his desk and approaches me, his gaze never leaving my eyes.

"I meant, why are they so bad. Your anatomy is all off, you lack basic perception of measurements and perspective and you give in to ... fanciful, dare I say, fantasies more then in fact. The only thing decent about them is my face. I expect better of you."

I take a tentative step backwards until I feel the cold bricks of the wall against my back, his arms placed at either side of me so I can't escape, his breath caresses my ear as he whispers.

"I can help you get better, correct your technique; your attention to detail; help with the ... specific measurements."

The words hang in the air, electrifying it. My skin prickles from the closeness of his lips, almost caressing my ear, goosebumps forming all over my neck. I can feel my heartbeat pumping fast in my neck vein as my whole brain focused on how close he is and the sound of him swallowing.

I slowly nod at his offer and he pushes away from me, creating a more breathable space between us. But my body screams at me to be close to him again, to feel his breath, his touch, his very essence.

"Professor, are you really going to tutor me?'

His smirk turns wider as he walks to the door of the art studio, locking it.

"Oh, I'll tutor you alright, cutie. But if you get it wrong..."

He lets his words trail off, my mind almost exploding with the meaning behind them. After I catch my breath, I follow him with my eyes while he sets up a place for me to work at.

"We'll start with something easy. You sit here and I'll model."

He points at the stool he placed behind an tilting table, right in front of the chaise longue we use to take breaks during long painting sessions. He lays down on it, hand supporting his head and he smiles mischievously.

"Now, paint me like one of your French girls."

He laughs at his own joke, his voice gradually changing from his normal stern demeanor, to a more relaxed higher pitch.

I quickly sit down and grab pencil and paper, outlining his rough sketch, trying to get the basic shapes right before grabbing transfer paper.

But before I can even start transferring the sketch, he grabs it from the table and studies it. His eyes unreadable as he glances over the paper.

"Hmmm, it's technically correct, cutie. But you need to focus more on the subject instead of just the basic shapes."

Before I can protest, he moves behind me, leaning over my shoulder awfully close, taking my hand in his as he starts correcting my sketch. His breath tickling my skin while he whispers.

"Don't focus so hard on the technical side, yes it should be correct, but you should also focus more on the flow of the clothing, the form of the muscles, not just what you learned they look like, but actually see it. Everyone's shapes are different."

I want to explain my reasoning for first getting the pose right before doing the actual sketch, but my mind blanks when I feel his lips on my neck, not as a kiss, but a gentle caress. The softness of it sets my body on fire and tenses my muscles even more.

"You need to relax more, cutie. How can you make art while being so tense."

His fingers run over my spine while he continues.

"You should be aware of how the body moves, how muscles change with every small shift in position. Forget about the technical stuff for one evening, sketch what you see, not what you know."

His fingers continue to send fire throughout my body while he shifts them over various bumps and dips on my back.

"C...can you show me, professor?"

My voice comes out more shaky then I intended. I feel him shift away from me, the sudden coldness of his absence making me shudder once again. A second passes and I hear the clink of his belt falling on the floor, the shuffle of clothes being removed, and then only the sound of my own hitched breathing.

"Call me Rafayel when we're alone."

I can't resist turning around, finally looking upon his body. Unlike in my fantasies, there's no tattoos, no piercings, but his body is riddled with tiny freckles. I just stare at him for a long time, trying to take in his beauty, his finely tuned muscles, the veins on his arms, the small scar on his right knee. He takes my hand into his and starts guiding my fingers over his biceps.

"Stop looking with only your eyes, make your hands do the work. Touch and you will remember, feel and let your pencil guide you."

He releases my hand, telling me to draw without actually speaking. I grab the pencil in my still shaking hand and start to sketch. While I lay down my outline, I get lost in him, the sight of his almost naked body, the pattern on his boxershorts. They inflame my brain with wild ideas and guide my hand. The warmth of his body pressing against me shocks me out of my fantasies.

"tsk tsk, did I ask you to draw more then my bicep? Can't you even follow the most basic instructions?"

"S...sorry profess-"

The feeling of his hand hitting my thigh sends a new shockwave of arousal through my body. He grabs my legs sharply and turns me around on the stool, facing him again.

"That's for not listening and calling me professor. For your other mistake ... I have something else in mind. Strip!"

"Strip, sir? Sorry ... uhm ... Rafayel?"

Another clap against my outer thigh sends a jolt of heat straight to my core, forcing out a startled yelp from my lips. My shaking hands instinctively move to undo the buttons of my blouse. I fumble to loosen each of them, my mind buzzing with wild idea's about what's about to happen. I bite my lip while idea's about defying him bubble their way up, battling it out with my conscious telling me to submit to his rules.

My blouse falls open over my bra and I can feel his eyes boring into me, scanning over my breasts. I shiver when I remove it completely, the cold air against my lace bra sharpening up my nipples immediately.

"Again, pick another body part."

I think for a moment, trying to get my mind out of the gutter before carefully touch his shoulder, gliding over the hard muscles that lay beneath the surface. Each stroke sending jolt through me, making me struggle against the desire to throw all caution to the wind. I feel the hardness of his collarbone under my fingers and trace over it until I feel the dip of his sternum.

My hand glides down even farther, drawn by the two tiny freckles on his left pectoral. Before I know it. I'm on my feet, trailing my fingers over his chest, to his v-line and back up untill they glide over his hips, eventually my other hand joins in to caress every raise and dip on his back. Studying him with my fingers.

I find myself pulled close to him, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he follows the movement of my hands on my own back. My eyes automatically close when I feel him breathing in my scent and groaning lowly into my shoulder.

"Rafayel ... we should stop this, before ..."

He cuts me off.

"Gods, cutie, you're so soft. Don't think I could even translate that to paper properly"

The tone of his voice softly and sultry, his normal sternness long forgotten while he keeps caressing my back. My heart skips a beat when his hands hook under the clasp of my bra which he opens expertly.

"Rafa~"

My words break off when he grabs my thighs and hoists my legs over his hips. A whimper escapes my mouth when I feel his lips on my skin again, planting kisses all over my neck. I bury my face against his chest, breathing in the smell of oil paints and his cologne, the subtle touches of citrus and sea salt making the desire in me burn even harder. My hands trail lower over his back, teasingly caressing right above the waistband of his boxers.

"Cutie .... Please ... You're making it really hard to hold back."

The yearning in his voice snaps something in me, my resolve to learn and stay professional goes out the window and my hands disappear into his underwear sliding over the soft flesh of his cheeks.

"I need more references, need to see ... feel ... to draw."

He growl against my skin and drops me onto the chaise longue. I almost salivate when I see how hard he is under the fabric, my fingers glide over his thighs, making him shudder under my touch. I let my hands wander higher, gliding over the fabric from back to front, stopping right before touching hiss balls.

He squirms and whimpers under my touch, making my core heat up even more. I want him, I need him, but I manage to keep myself in check a little longer.

Rafayel on the other hand, can not control himself, he slips off the last barrier between him and my hands, making his hard length spring out. He grabs my hand roughly in his, trying to get me to stroke him.

"Please ... I need to feel your touch..."

"So needy, professor."

I prepare myself to get spanked again, but it doesn't come, his normally strict eyes looking at me like he's a puppy. I take my hand back from him, swallow deeply and run one finger over his shaft. Rafayel whimpers under my touch, barely keeping himself in check, a drop of precum already forming on his tip.

I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the weight, measuring his girth with the length of my fingers.

"Need you so badly.."

He groans out, rutting against into my hand. My grip tightens around him, moving up and down his shaft with deliberate movements. I lift my ass slightly while I remove my panties with the other hand.

"You need me? You want me? Can I do what I want?"

"Yes ... Yes ... Yes!"

His breathing becomes even more erratic. He whimpers again when I let go of him, getting up from the sofa. I dance around him, turning him to the sofa and pushing him onto it.

"Then let me take controller for once, professor. Let me teach you something too."

I stradle over his lap, my hand wrapping around his shaft again while I guide him into me.

[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

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There were only a few days left until the Sports Festival. Though you’d expected it, you hadn’t been able to work on your Quirk much at all, but the fact that nobody knew your powers yet was definitely to your advantage. You’d been keeping up with your studies over the last week and a half, annoying Katsuki with text messages, and most notably—meeting up to train with Izuku.

You definitely felt a strong connection to the freckled boy. He was quick to get flustered, had a habit of mumbling to himself every now and then, but it was clear that he had a heart of gold. He was kind and gentle; two traits that were incredibly important for a hero. You liked to think that you had a similar gentleness about you, but it probably couldn’t compare to Izuku’s. The two of you were similar in that your Quirks were a bit difficult to work with, but there was a lot you could learn from his spirit and determination.

“Thanks for breakfast,” you said, setting your plate aside. “Would it be alright if I maybe had a friend come over today?”

Freja smiled at you. “It looks like you’ve already gotten close to your classmates in such a short time.” She picked up your plate and turned towards Mikael with a frown. “Excuse me. What did we say about painting at the dining table?”

“Hm?” Mikael blinked, paintbrush in hand, feigning innocence. “What’s this now? [Name] wants to have a friend over?”

“Please don’t try to change the subject.”

“Of course she can have a friend over,” he smiled. “What time were they thinking of coming?”

Freja’s brow began to twitch. “Mikael. Kindly get the art supplies off the table.”

“Oh, just a few more minutes? I’m almost done with this section.”

She let out a begrudging sigh, and you laughed, knowing full well how much she loathed cleaning up after Mikael left a whirlwind of paint splotches in his stead.

“I haven’t actually asked him yet,” you said. “Just wanted to let you know that it’s a possibility. I’ll let you know what he says.”

You left the room, and just in time—Mikael had apparently spilled some paint onto the floor and Freja was about to chew his head off. Even though you’d been spending a lot of time with Izuku this last week, he’d never been to your home before. It probably wasn’t the best place for training, admittedly, but a part of you just wanted to take a breather for a day.

“[Name]-chan, this is your house…?!”

A few hours after your text conversation, Izuku showed up to your home, emerald eyes as bright and wide as you’d ever seen them. You giggled a bit at his reaction. You didn’t normally have people over, just because you didn’t want them to think you were some sort of overly important person. Mikael was the one with the wealth and stature, and though he was your legal guardian, you didn’t want your home to be what people based their impression of you off of. Your Quirk already made it hard enough to tell who really liked you for who you were.

“I know it seems a little intimidating, but it just comes across that way at first,” you reassured. “Everyone is super nice and accommodating. I’m sure they’ll love you.”

Izuku nodded rigidly, though you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was very much still dazed and in awe. You led him inside, where Freja and Mikael were waiting to greet him in the lobby. Rui wasn’t working today, which was a bit of shame. You were sure she’d be over the moon to see that you’d brought a boy over.

“Hello,” Mikael greeted, extending his hand out. “You must be Izuku. I’m Mikael, [Name]’s legal guardian.”

“I-It’s very nice to meet you!” the boy squeaked.

“I’m Freja,” she introduced. “It’s a pleasure to have you here. I was wondering who [Name] had been spending all her time with these days.”

Mikael grinned. “She can’t stop talking about you! It seems like you’re one of her closest friends from the class.”

Izuku went red as a tomato, glancing over towards you for confirmation. You nodded, laughing, and his blush somehow deepened even more. He was so easy to read that it was almost criminal.

“Would you like some food?” Mikael offered.

“Oh, um… it’s fine! I ate just before I came here.”

“I see. Well, I hope you two have a good time. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask either Freja or myself.”

“Yes, thank you so much!”

Izuku flashed them a bright smile, and you didn’t waste a beat before grabbing his hand and leading him along. He stammered out, so flustered he was speaking in squeaks, but he didn’t let go of your hand for a second as you gave him the tour of the manor.

“This is the downstairs kitchen,” you said.

“There’s more than one kitchen?!”

“Yes. And this… is one of eight washrooms in the place. Or maybe there’s more. I don’t remember.”

“There’s more than eight washrooms?!”

Each and every one of his reactions was priceless, and by the end of the tour your stomach hurt from all the laughing. You finally led him towards your bedroom, but as you began to open the door, you could feel the resistance of Izuku tugging back on your hand.

You frowned at him. “Izuku-kun?”

“S-Sorry.” He was staring down at the floor, looking guilty for some reason. “I’ve never… been inside a girl’s room before. Somehow, it feels like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be…”

He’s so cute. I love him.

“We’re friends, so of course I’d let you in my room,” you smiled. “It’s nothing too special anyways. See?” You pushed open the door and gave his hand a small tug. Compared to the rest of the manor, your room wasn’t all that outlandish. It was decorated with your favorite colors, some poster and magazine cut-outs taped to the walls, accessories and clothes and various other things cluttered together. Come to think of it, you probably should’ve cleaned up a bit before having a guest over.

“It’s really cute,” Izuku breathed out. Not two seconds later, he realized what he’d just said, and started stammering out apologies. You laughed again.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. Oh, yeah—you’re a huge fan of All Might’s, aren’t you?”

He flashed you a sheepish smile. “Um… yes. I mean, you know that he’s my inspiration for becoming a hero in the first place, so I’m definitely a fan. I might even be his biggest fan…”

“You probably have a lot of merch and stuff, right?”

“I guess it depends on what you mean by a lot?”

“So, that’s a yes,” you laughed. “Well, I probably don’t have you beat or anything, but since Mikael travels overseas so much, he’s able to score a bunch of merchandise that isn’t available in stores here. Especially in America, there’s so much stuff dedicated to All Might. Look.”

You walked over towards your desk, opening up the lowest drawer. There were tons of things inside, but what you were interested in was the mint-condition figurine still secured in its box. You showed it to Izuku and watched the eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“T-That’s—!” He stuck out his pointer finger, mouth agape. “It’s part of the series with his Golden Age outfit that’s sold exclusively in America! I wanted to order it online, but it was so rare that you could only buy it in stores during its launch! I-I can’t believe you’re in possession of such a treasure, [Name]-chan…!”

His excitement was even more pronounced than you’d been expecting. You smiled brightly, placing the box in his hands. “There. It’s yours now, Izuku-kun.”

“Eh? N-No way!” he stammered out. “This is limited edition! You’re never going to be able to buy it anywhere ever again!”

“That’s fine by me. I was actually hoping to show it to you. I definitely like All Might, but I’m nowhere near as big of a fan as you are. I’d rather it belong to someone who can appreciate it.”

“Seriously…?” Izuku stared down at the boxed figurine, incredulous. “But even still… this is way too much! There’s no way I’d ever be able to repay you…” His big green eyes began to well with tears, and before you realized it, he’d begun to cry.

“Izuku-kun? Oh, no—I didn’t mean to make you cry! I’m sorry!”

He sniffled, cradling the figurine to his chest. “N-No… I’m just so h-happy… ugh. Sorry… you probably think I’m so lame right now…”

“No, of course not.” You ruffled his curly hair with your fingers. Almost immediately, his tears stopped, and a deep flush overtook his cheeks instead. “You’re really amazing, working with a power like the one you have. It must be pretty scary to have to worry about injuring yourself so severely every time you use it. I couldn’t imagine.”

“That just means I need to get stronger,” he said resolutely. “I haven’t made this power fully mine yet.”

“Fully yours?”

“N-Nevermind!” he squeaked, jolting back as if he’d seen a ghost. “I was just mumbling to myself again!”

“Ha-ha, alright. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“Um, yes! I’m good with whatever you want to do, [Name]-chan.” He smiled shyly, still cradling the boxed figurine to his chest. “I really don’t know how to repay you, even if you say it’s not that big of a deal. For me, this is huge.”

You giggled, lightly tapping by the freckles on his cheek. “It’s fine for now. But maybe one day I’ll ask you for a little favor in return.”

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[bathic]

when farewell comes - February 14, 2025

Word Count: - 2.7k

warnings: vomiting, mentions of cheating, mentions of cancer.

AN: Reader is Gender-Neutral.

February 14, 2025

<>•<>•<><>•<>

You should have hurled those roses out the window near the back tire of your car, reversed over them a few times until they were nothing but smears of red on the pavement in front of your apartment building. Surely your neighbor would understand, turning a blind yet knowing eye to the double slaughter of the already dead flowers (or soon to be, not like cut flowers ever last no matter how many water changes are done or packets of the special flower food are deposited into the filled vase). It’s the nerve of your ex, a man so desperate to get you back despite having been the sole reason for losing you— caught under the red lights of his stupid LED’s with the one he claimed you didn’t need to worry about. Right, because that’s how it always goes. The moment those words are spoken, you should just pack it up right then and there and place your relationship resignation down on the countertop, drop those keys in that fishbowl by the door and let whatever luggage you got on hand hit the back of your ankles on the way out.

You should have known. That’s always the next step. Acknowledging what you refused to in those mundane moments. A foreign smell that lingered, late nights bleeding into empty mornings, the wind-chime of constant conversations hidden under the veil of lowered screen brightness. The signs were there. In red— the lights, the color of the cologne bottle, the unfamiliar tie in the wash, the embedded trails dragging down the skin of his back. His boss did mention in a fleeting way about how alluring crimson was. Designed to seduce, to attract.

It was a warning. To you, for you.

The bouquet had been laid on the welcome mat in front of your door, with a blue bow tied around the bulk of plastic swathed stems. A small little card was attached at the front with your name scrolled in the most rudimentary cursive— his attempt. You didn’t care to read what was written on the back, a slurry of ‘sorry’s’ and ‘give me another chance’ all wrapped together by a definite ‘I promise to…’. It’s nothing new, just the same continuous cycle over the span of a month. There’s a stark difference between feeling remorse for doing something terrible and feeling remorse for being caught doing what is universally acknowledged as being terrible. A mistake and a choice are not cut from the same cloth.

They almost have a presence to them, those stupid dozen roses. You cast a glare their way, challenging them to push against your mental wall with every singular lie and promise and regret repeated from your ex’s mouth. They were the messenger, and while you aren’t supposed to shoot them, you very much could. Because they were him by extension.

That was enough.

You break your gaze away from the bouquet to shove your car keys into the ignition, the turn of them a little harsher than necessary. The action draws a soft spoken apology from your lips. The car starts up, the radio you had forgotten to switch off yesterday pops the stifling bubble encapsulating the front seat with the chorus of an overplayed pop song. You didn’t dislike it, but wouldn’t add it to any of your preexisting playlists.

The car peels out of the parking space and further out of the lot until it’s wedged within the throes of early morning traffic. The song has ended, and now plays the droning of radio hosts while you try to ignore the splotch of red in your peripheral.

You fucking hated Valentines Day.

•<>•<>•<>

“Oh?” Haru looks at the bouquet of roses in your death grip with such a thoughtful expression. Her nails are painted the same exact red with gold tips, a luxurious contrast to the sterile and orderly atmosphere of the hospital.

You scowl just a bit, not really at her but down at the flowers. Harmless in their near dead state, thornless and perfectly bloomed. The complete opposite of the relationship you ended and the man at the root of it all.

“I didn’t ask for these.”

She raises her hands up in mock surrender, “I didn’t say anything.”

You move around the space with such a postured look, all tense shoulders and straight gait. If you were a stick, you’d easily be snapped in half. Haru raises a finely plucked brow, “Is he a stalker? A creepy neighbor? Former patient that pulled through at the last minute?”

“Not exactly.” You didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Which one was the closest?”

“Who am I being assigned to?” Perhaps choosing to divert attention from her probing will inevitably cease any further discussion regarding the roses. Haru looks a bit nonplussed for being brushed off but simply turns in her chair and rifles through a stack of folders until she finds the exact one she’s looking for. It’s pulled out without a hitch and passed over within seconds.

You look down at the label tab, in basic black pen is the moniker— Choi, Jongho. The file feels only slightly weighted in your hand. Not a good or bad sign but just a telling indication of everything the patient has gone through up until this very moment. More paper will be added to it, any new testing if necessary, documentation worthy of importance, the certificate of death when that day inevitably comes.

Haru taps a nail on the counter, watching as you flip open the cover of the file. “He’s new, arrived sometime last night. Pretty young, has a cute face. We don’t get many patients that aren’t just rattling bones in a skin bag. Might be a nice change of pace for you.”

You glance over at her. She’s not looking at you anymore but over at those roses, an inquisitive look marring her face. You focus back on the first page to greet you, a hospital face-sheet. In the corner is a small room printed picture of the patient but the quality is terrible enough that you could hardly decipher if he was cute or young or if Haru was just pulling your leg after denying her an answer to her earlier questions.

“My ex. The one that cheated on me with his boss, those are from him. Found them on my doorstep this morning. Not sure when or how long they’ve been out there.”

Haru’s upper lip tugs upward in displeasure, arms crossing over her scrub top. “Bastard has some nerve.” She then looks over at you, “Did he leave a card?”

You jerk your head towards them, “Attached to the bow.”

She gets up from her chair and crowds next to you, grabbing the bouquet and twisting it around until the little rectangular piece of card stock comes into view. You see your name, it sees you. Haru purses her lips as she plucks the offending thing from the blue bow, scrutinizing the atrocious penmanship on the front before flipping it over to read what word vomit was on the back.

There’s a short lapse in silence before she lets out an indignant scoff, the card tossed across the counter without a single care. Her eyes settle onto you, bouncing back and forth between the paper and her hand that had been holding it.

“Glad he’s an ex.”

She returns back to her seat without elaboration, muttering quietly under her breath. You look over at the card, fingers twitching to reach out and read what was on it but something kept your slight curiosity at bay. Maybe it was Haru’s reaction, anything but pleased at whatever had been written or possibly it was your subconscious trying to warn you that it wasn’t worth digging into what you’ve tried to keep buried. It wasn’t like you owed it to him. He was nothing to you now. A smudge of dirt you’ve wiped away.

You close the file, and scoop up the bouquet. Perhaps the new patient will enjoy them far more than you ever would.

<>•<>•<>•<>

Room 1117, East wing, floor three. You double check the location on the paper once more before looking up at elevator. The small screen above the door counted down its ascent from the eight floor in bold orange. The color reminded you of your neighbors cat, the chubby tabby who greets you with a plop and roll at your feet in the shared hall after a day’s shift.

With a soft ding, the elevator doors open. You step inside the empty space and reach to press the third floor button. You flip open the file once again, staring down at the face-sheet while the elevator whirs softly.

He’s about four years younger than you, a former college student previously attending a university for broadcasting and entertainment up until about a year ago. Blood type O, height 175cm… you continue to skim the provided demographics, of which offer nothing of real substance. Until the diagnosis, in a separate section on the next page under the large referral heading glares back at you in dark bold lettering.

Metastatic cancer, primarily of the bones.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, you close the file and shove it under the bend of your armpit. It’s tragic, a sad reality. To be hit with something so profoundly terrible in the days of one’s youth and knowing that this was it, there was no being saved, no definite cure. Sure, chemotherapy and radiation is always on the table but both treatments guarantee absolutely nothing. Either one is caught in the pain of trying to be healed or caught in the suffering of just letting the ailment progress.

You count the room numbers under your breath— 1111, 1113, 1115, 1117.

The door is closed, beyond it the faint sound of music. You give a courtesy knock, two simple raps against the wood. The music stops and the occupant of the room beckons you to enter with a soft ‘come in’.

You open the door slowly, peeking your head in first to establish the first step towards making a comfortable introduction. Jongho is propped against a couple of pillows on his designated hospital bed, hospital-assigned blankets tucked around his waist. He’s got a black beanie on his head, stray clumps of dark hair sticking out from the folded over bottom. Dangling from his earlobes are small gold hoops. You enter without much sound, turning to fix the man with a hospitable smile. The plastic wrapped around the bouquet of roses in the crook of your elbow make a crinkling noise as you move to his bedside.

Up close, you immediately zero in on the sunken in state of his eyes. What were most likely wide and endearing at one point in time now seemed to droop under the weight of his ailment.

“Hello, my name is Y/N and I will be your assigned nurse. I know this is a stressful time and—“

“Stressful time? I’m dying, biggest understatement of the year.” Jongho’s voice is soft despite the harshness in his tone. What’s left of his brows furrow downward, hair loss having already claimed most of them as well as all of his eyelashes.

You let the remark slide off of you like softened butter, choosing to place the roses in an empty vase provided in every room at the bedside table on his right. He watches out of the corner of his eye, huffing at the sight of them. Twelve fucking roses for one of the worst holidays known to man. He despised the sight of them.

“Figured you could probably use these more than me.”

“Thanks, I hate them.”

You pull the chair nestled in the closest corner of the room to the side of the hospital bed, settling down into the stiff cushions which’ll surely have your back aching by the time you leave the room.

“So do I.” You shift a bit, balancing the file on your lap, “Guess we have something in common.”

Jongho scoffs, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mary Poppins. We are nothing alike.”

One thing about being a hospice nurse is that no patient is exactly the same but most happen to adopt the same manner of attitude. While you could get those who are sweet and easygoing in their last days, others become hostile and withdrawn when death stands on their doorstep. Just like with grief, everyone copes differently. There isn’t truly a right way to deal with these things. Some cry, some scream, some wither away inside their heads, some make the most of each day, some laugh until they are breathless, some request for the last of their unfulfilled wishes to become the final memories in their dwindling life.

You briefly ponder about what Jongho will choose to do with the last of his days. Who he will choose to be.

“Of course not. That would be pretty uninteresting if we were. I mean, I can already tell you that I’d probably have to strangle you if you were even a smidgen like me. One is good enough.” Usually a bit of self-deprecating humor can get even the most difficult patient to respond in some type of jesting agreement but Jongho wasn’t amused at all.

If anything, he looked… like he was about to be sick—

Suddenly the man was lurching over the side of his bed, vomit spraying past his lips and splattering along the vinyl flooring. He heaves and sputters and gags and the mess just continues to grow. You’ve pushed yourself hurriedly out of your seat and rush to the adjoining bathroom where a bucket is located for these particular instances. Jongho coughs, shudders racking his body. You have the bucket held several inches below his face, waiting for anything else to come parting from his body. He heaves again after a rather rough cough and only a small amount of milky green film comes up. He spits, sniffles and then slumps back into his original position. In that short span of time, he looks even sicker. Skin a pale yellow with a gross sheen, eye bags a darker purple and lips cracked and pale with chunks of whatever he had eaten earlier in the morning clinging to the lower one.

You swipe a couple tissues from the bedside table, wadding them up and leaning over to wipe gently at his mouth. Jongho wants to protest, to smack your hand away and tell you to fuck off. But he’s so tired. He feels like a prisoner in his own body, incapable of doing anything other than lying there and letting you clean off his mouth and wipe away the sweat that gathered on his skin. He wants to sleep.

About halfway through cleaning the perspiration from Jongho’s clammy face did you notice that his eyes had fallen shut and his breathing had grown shallow. You weren’t expecting him to fall asleep all of sudden (or suddenly throw up mid-conversation) but it seems he hadn’t been strong enough to remain conscious after getting sick.

You pull away when he’s been fully wiped down, glancing down at the messy puddle of vomit beside your clogs. Whatever the chunks were supposed to be were unidentifiable, possibly eggs or even pieces of fruit. You weren’t sure.

<>•<>•<>•<>

Haru looks up at your approach, eyeing the mop in one hand and the mop-bucket in the other. It was empty, having been dumped before you returned to the front lobby area.

“Well, he’s cute right?”

“He threw up and then passed out right afterwards. Not exactly the word I would use to describe him. Plus,” You open a utility closest and deposit both the bucket and mop into the small room before nudging the door closes with the toe of your clog. “He’s a bit of a dick.”

“I would be too if I was given secondhand roses.” Haru huffs to herself, nails tapping against the caps on her keyboard. You roll your eyes at the comment.

“He doesn’t even know they were given to me initially.”

“And you say he’s the dick?”

Perhaps he isn’t, not really. He’s sick, dying, painstakingly waiting for the inevitable. But trapped until then in this between of living not for the sake of living but living until death. That is what he is doing— living to die.

Who will you choose to be in your last moments, Choi Jongho?

[ruin--eclipse]

About me (LAST UPDATED MARCH 31)

Most of my time: spent on Roblox with my friends/drawing and watching stuff about Undertale, OR POSTING ON TUMBLR!!

Pronouns: any /gender fluid lol my fam and friends use she/her

what i do every day(or what I post about): fan art of ppl like shundertale/By se-sans (< my favorite au) and sometimes my au, dandys world, and sometimes fnaf, I draw every day bc it’s the only thing I’m good at other than sitting and being lazy like Sans the Skeleton XD

I love undertale as you can see above lol, I love the amazing aus that ppl create!

DNI if 18+ blogs, proshipping, DONATION BLOGS, etc. I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

I sometimes check out the blogs of the people who like my posts.

I just want to know who i should block or not :D

My goal with my blog: to make people happy and to show my art progress >:D (also for people to know more about my au :3)

This is pretty long so go under the cut for more!

my bday-October 21

My art style: what art style?!?!? It always changes!!!! Ghshdhzhgzusjdgatiakjb

I get art block often so you all can suggest any art things I can draw! I draw almost 24/7. If im not doing that then im watching vids or playing with my friends

Tags I'll commonly use:

My au/Soulswap: #soulswap AND #my au

free comissions - #free comissions

50 followers post

my fandoms: UNDERTALE, UNDERTALE AU, FNAF, OBJECT SHOWS, DANDY'S WORLD, HTTYD and you can try to get me into other fandoms if you want

fandoms i lost but got back into: HTTYD

Past fandoms: lunar and earth show, sun and moon show, pokemon, glitterforce(i watched everything then left), Countryhumans, Solarballs.

you guys can suggest art if you want, I dont want the creators to be uncomfortable so no NSFW allowed. (I do shipchildren if requested)

-SOULSWAP- (MY AU)

ALL ASKS OPEN

THE MAIN ASK BLOG IS @asksoulswap

-TRUST!

how to gain trust:

dont pressure the monsters or make them uncomfortable..

Be nice to them

--hoping to be able to make a comic soon!, writing the story when i'm not playing with my friendos or drawing--

Designs ive finished: Sans, Papyrus, Frisk, Alphys, Toriel, and Undyne.

Papyrus: a lil kid! has a scarf, who gave it to him..?? He doesnt really do hugs, really trusts sans. Sans cals him papyru (papy-roo)

Papyrus's soul: white heart

Interaction one: "Papyru?" "Yes sans?" "i cant sleep.." "Nightmare again?" "mm... Yeah.." "Trust me sans.. I'm not going anywhere.."

Seems pretty harmless

Sans: has a long light blue jacket, eye changes when feeling strong emotions. Ink on the side of his face and over the eyesockets. He has nightmares very often. Really cares about his brother.

Sans soul: white heart

Harmless?

Interaction one: "Hey Sans?" "Yeah?" "Have you been sleeping properly?" "Y-I-uhm.. Y-yes. I-Ive been sleeping r-really good...!" "You sound tired." "..." "..." "..." "Sleep. Please." "Fine... Can please have one of your cookies?" "Only if you sleep." "Okay."

Frisk: "..."

Frisk's soul: black (color slowly changes to determination -red- and patience -light blue-)

Unknown. . . the 7th soul.

Alphys: looks like the original alphys but with ink splotches everywhere on her skin. She doesnt really leave the lab often. Dont bother her while she's working. She likes her job as the royal scientist. She has a slight crush on undyne.

Interaction one: "O-oh hey undyne..!" "Hey!!! Alphys!! How've ya been?" "Ah... Good..!" ".. Have you been working overnight again..?" "A-Uh!!! N-no...." "...."

Alphy's soul: purple heart -perserverence-

Pretty harmless... Sans doesnt like her though..

Undyne: usually visits alphys. They are "best friends".

Undyne's soul: green heart -kindness-

Will hurt you if you hurt her friends.

Toriel: Queen of the underground. Enjoys talking to papyrus.

Toriel's soul: ???

Wants the best for her people. Doesnt know where Asgore is. Hates collecting souls.

interaction one: "Hello papyrus. Its been a few days hasnt it?" "Mhm!! Undyne i teaching me how to cook!!" "is it going well..?" "... I might've started a...small fire... BUT SHE GOT RID OF IT..!!" "Hehe.. Oh papyrus...."

Asgore: keeper of the ruins. A really good cook. Loves to bake. Speaks to Sans. Sans doesnt know his true name. Sans calls him "tea lover" or "old man".

soul: green -kindness-

"Hey old man. Who taught you how to cook? This is amazing..." "...Haha.. Thanks.. an old friend taught me."

[padawansuggest]

Ok, so I was supposed to draw one small fanart, but I got carried away and created an au ^^''

Jedi cats Au

(Disaster lineage edition)

Yoda: Small green cat with tufts of white fur on his tail tip and across his spine. He loves being cuddled by the younglings as he tells them stories(basically their therapy, grandfather cat) and going on occasional trips to Dagobah for meditation (at least, that's his excuse). What he really does there is hunting frogs(he claims they're good for his bones) and camping out in the swamp(the whole trip traumatizing Dooku in the process).

Dooku: Huge white cat with brittle yellow eyes and spiked-up fur. He doesn't change much in his cat form, but when he does, he spends most of his time sunning himself on the council chairs(you can't blame him, cats can't resist such a good sunning spot), skulks around the temple corridors looking elegant and graceful, and steals sith holocrons out of nowhere so he could 'study' them(they were later confiscated and thrown out of the temple when Qui found out). He never lets anybody pet him except for Sifo, Jocasta, Qui, and sometimes Yoda(his adoptive father figure), or Obi-wan(his grandson whom he's secretly proud of)

Qui-Gon: Greyish brown cat with long silky fur and leaf-green eyes. He mostly hangs out on the temple's huge tree or goes on trips to Lothal to have tea with Loth-cats and wolves. (The Loth-cats kind of worship him as their 'god', and the wolves invite him and his apprentice for night strolls and 'singing to the moon' meetings)

He also randomly adopts kittens(padawans; in this case, Obi-wan, Anakin, and recently Ahsoka)

Obi-wan: Small auburn cat with darker splotches and grey-blue eyes. He's smaller than his apprentice but twice the sassiness. Cody loves to cuddle him and stroke his soft fur for hours while talking about how his day went(Obi doesn't mind^^). As a kitten, he constantly kept Qui company while he studied at night(at least that's what he says when Qui complains about his student/son being annoyingly cute and knocking over his mug of tea on purpose every five minutes).

Anakin: Brown tabby emo with sky-blue eyes. He hates sand, is very chaotic in many ways, and has a talent for annoying Obi(he actually passes down his 'abilities' to Ahsoka, who becomes more like her master). He also holds a record of being the most troublesome padawan in existence.

Despite all this, Padme finds him adorable (he often sneaks out of the temple in his cat form to meet his gf), but Obi-wan and Ahsoka know better(sure, he's nice and charming, yet can also be pretty stupid and reckless).

Ahsoka: Sleek, lithe, orange cat with white tail and blue stripes. Her Lekku still exists in her cat form as well as her facial markings(the Lekku are used to communicate with other cats or Jedi, and also play an important part in balancing their bodies while they leap agily or pelt across obstacles at high speed). 

Toruguti cats have very short, smooth fur on their bodies(the pelts are mostly an orangish hue, with blue stripes appearing on the back of their flanks as they get older), but their tails are often white, bushy and flecked with blue stripes.

She's one of the 501'th's favorites because she often hangs out with Rex and the clones(sharing stories, playing games... etc)(the clones especially love placing random things on her head until she moves). As her species are carnivores, she has an instinct for hunting small animals(sometimes leaving her half-dead prey on Anakin's desk like the cheeky adorable prankster she is).

I might upload some headcanons and designs btw

Have a nice day ^^

😭 NOT OBI CUB LOOKIN LIKE A LIL LIPN CUB PLZZZZZZ😭

Lil baby man who looks like an infant permanently no wonder he wants a beard so bad in human form.

Soka’s Lekku is so cute and I love how pissy Ani is. They’re all precious to me. Swamp kitty Yoda is so perfect.

[crsssie]

juliet roses

word count: 3.2k

summary: it was his fault for letting you go, but your fault to leave.

You wonder how long it has been since you've met O'Connor.

The first time you meet him, you had your place of first in your department snatched from you, your name placed second after his despite the fact that he had never shown up to class and only took the exams. He's evil, you find. He was personally sent by the heavens above to steal your place as top of the art department, and it makes your blood boil. Your head hurts just thinking about him. The fangirls next to you are NOT helping his case either. Maybe you are just cursed to be annoyed by him consistently and always.

He strutted up next to you, hands in his pocket as he stares at his name, smirking down at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Oops—"

You punched him.

The principal went off on the two of you as you sat in his office, and O'Connor whistled, feet kicked up on the desk as you tuned out the rambling, looking to the window as you plan your escape. The principal really could not do much about the two best students in the department. It's not as though you're some goody two shoes and he's not some model student either. The art department should really start picking some better-behaved students.

"That's why— are you two even listening?!"

"No."

"I bet I could live if I jump out the window." O'Connor grins.

"Can I have your studio if you die?"

"I'm leaving that to Emerald."

"HE'S NOT EVEN A STUDENT—"

But that's how your day to day life with O'Connor started, and it was how it would continue without effort or change. Even when you look back on it in the future, the world was bitter and lifeless at your fingertips. He smeared colors onto your cheeks while you weren't looking, pignmented yellows staining your skin and tumeric oranges wrapped around your bicep as he throws paint at you in your shared studio, splotches of color staining every edge of the wall until the two of you are inevitably scolded by the rest of the faculty and left to create what you can. Your final project is a piece of art, and you fear that you will never find the inspiration that you once held when you were young.

There is no light in your life when you are at the end of your educational time.

You watch O'Connor paint, his fingers sliding across the canvas as he leaves the brushes, fingerprints digging into the canvas as you watch him draw his muse. White hair, purple eyes, portraits upon portraits of your shared art professor. You stay quiet, lashes fluttering as you observe O'Connor, your muse. You observe your muse, but he does not bring color into your life. You find it depressing. What world do you live in, and why must your muse not care of you the way you do of him? So, you turn around, brush sliding across the canvas as you tune out O'Connor.

Your world is colorless.

Color in your life comes quickly and simply.

It will stay that way until something changes.

You wake up one morning, pink petal in your mouth, and for that moment in time, you seem to understand.

You are the artist, but not the muse. Perhaps you will die before you ever receive your final degree. It makes you sick, and you find an idea. Perhaps you will die, but you will leave one final thing for the world. Perhaps then, you will understand why people love so fervently.

You find that pink is a fun color. Many of the other female students wear it, and when you stick your first petal onto an empty canvas, you understand why the flower has chosen to bloom in your lungs. It is a flower that means everything to certain people. You will bloom a flower so dazzling that it will have no choice but to bleed out of your lungs and onto a canvas — until you are dust and your portrait is in a gallery. Until the world crashes and burns, your painting will stand untouched. That way, perhaps some sort of a color will appear into your life.

"New materials? Where'd you find these petals from?"

You turn to face O'Connor, kicking your legs.

"This one's my trade secret." You continue painting, O'Connor stopping to stare at your painting. The man in the portrait resembles him to some degree, yet the way you paint him makes him look so foreign — almost as though he were someone unknown to you. You make him look like a man he will never see himself as. Though, as you stick one petal after the other around him, he wonders if this is what he looks like to you.

Halfway though, you push the canvas to the side, clattering as the wood crashes onto the ground and the petals stay put.

"Why are you wasting?"

"I have a better idea."

O'Connor watches as you leave the room, going back to his painting as he observes the fallen portrait of himself on the ground. He hops off his seat to adjust the painting, leaning it against the glass doors as he stares outside of them. That is perhaps some sort of Eden out there. The world is clear and beautiful, yet the two of you are stuck. He turns his head to stare at you when you return, three new buckets of paint lugged behind you as he walks over to offer help.

"Hands off. Your piece involves no glitter." You huff. O'Connor watches as you dig your fingers into the glitter, grabbing a handful as you throw it at his portrait.

You are changing. Ever so slowly, you are changing.

When you finish, you hit the canvas from the back, glitter falling to the ground as it stains your feet and dress. The ink of your side of the room becomes stained with shimmer, your paintbrush overflowing with a glisten that only the sun could rival. You paint. Even when you're coughing uncomfortably and O'Connor leaves for the night, you stay in the room, fingers forcing across the canvas as you bring O'Connor to life. If your life would depend on his actions from now on, then you would make sure that everyone would know of your demise.

You will go out stained with so much glitter that the world suffers a shortage.

O'Connor returns in the morning to you on the ground and knocked out, chest rising and falling with each breath, body surrounded by petals as he pauses to stare. A tattoo on his body glistens, and you sit up, coughing out another petal, eyes wide as O'Connor stares down at you, frozen.

"Okay, well, cat's out the bag, I've been coughing up flowers."

O'Connor smiles, lips curled upwards as he takes it out of your hand.

"Who are you in love with?"

"Bold of you to assume that I'm in love with someone." You huff. "This comes as a curse too, you know? I helped someone tattoo that once."

You do not bother looking at O'Connor, closing your eyes and knocking back out instead.

The world will not end if you take a nap.

O'Connor takes the chance to move his own portrait, white hair purple eyes hiding a portrait of you behind it, his fingers gentle against the canvas as he paints you, life slipping through his fingers as he continues. You are his final assignment before he is allowed to finally teach. He will bring you to life, even when his tattoos glow against his back and you cough your lungs out, he will turn you into a permanent memory. Perhaps one day when he is old and wrinkly, he will remember the portrait of you, lips curled upward and pointing at the joy he got to experience as a final project.

When you stir, he moves the painting of Emerald back.

You do not need to know.

You wake up, coughing out even more petals, pink stained with glitter this time, making you do a double take. Wow.

You are literally cursed at this point.

O'Connor watches you, a patch of ink on his skin dimming as you finish coughing, blood on your lips, his head spinning.

Perhaps it is rude of him, but he can not say that he would have let any other curse you like this.

"Lotus flowers?"

You cough, fishing out another petal from your throat. "Yes? I suppose so."

He stares at you, pursing his lips.

"Can I borrow some?"

"Kill yourself." You huff, sticking the new petal to the canvas, glitter smearing.

O'Connor dips his hand into the paint, skin pink as he jumps off his seat, chasing you as you scream. You race past the windows, hopping off the second floor balcony onto the tree as passing students pause to watch. It is not new, but it is not normal either. They can only wonder what has caused O'Connor to chase you around with pink paint. The top of the class with one on equal standing.

You finally escape his clutches when you slam your dorm room closed behind you, heart racing as you sigh. Perhaps you have left a trail of glitter and pink again, perhaps you have not. Perhaps the two of you are cursed. You blink as your roommate returns, ink sleeve fresh against her skin as she blinks at you crouched in the corner of the door. The two of you don't exchange words, but you offer her your forearm instead. If you are to die then you might as well die while having fun.

"I'm surprised you're letting me do this to you." You hiss at your roommate's words, needle puncturing your skin as you wince. "What's with this change? Is it because of that god-awful cough?"

"You can say it's that." You whimper. "What are you drawing?"

"Magic circles."

"You hate me." You hiss. "What are the circles for?"

"To wash the glitter off of you. It's technically telekenesis."

You go quiet, staring at the circle that starts forming from the ash.

"Would you like one on your back?"

"What do I get out of it?" You grumble.

"Wings."

"Yo..." You mumble. "It is the weekend..."

"Stay still." She grumbles. "Do you want anything else?"

"Oh, can I get a canon to blast flowers from my lungs?"

"Not possible. Not discovered yet."

You sit in silence, arm staying still even when your roommate finishes with the ink on your skin. You stare down at the pattern, closing your eyes focusing on the tattoo as your skin burns.

"Yeah, just like that." Your roommate mumbles. "Focus on the skin."

You open your eyes once the circle starts glowing properly, and the objects in the room rattle slightly as the glitter seems to pull off of your skin.

"Hands out." Your roommate mumbles, showing you the movement as you follow.

Shimmering, the glitter forms an orb, and you have an idea.

"I could glitter bomb someone."

"That's right." Your roommate winks at you as a knock comes from the door.

"I swear if the two of you are fucking, I will kick this door down."

"Oh, William! Do you happen to know where O'Connor is?"

"I'm with him. Are the two of you having an orgy or something?"

"Yeah, her head game is strong." Your roommate calls, waving her fingers to unlock the door.

"William, duck."

You throw the glitter at O'Connor, pursing your lips in amusement when he blinks, spitting out the sparkles from his mouth as he locks eyes with you.

"You."

You throw him a peace sign, jumping out your window as you pull the glitter out with you. He chases after you, tattoos on his body glowing as you cough, flurry of petals and glitter following behind you as your roommate and William blinks at the window.

"... I honestly can not tell that they are older than we are."

"Well, perhaps only with each other can they be that casual." Your roommate shrugs. "Such a shame, though. I was going to give her wings."

The two of them watches as your magic develops to create wings out of the glitter.

"...or not."

"You've just given her a weapon that could just result in the end of the world."

The world does not end when you cough out flower petals again, sticking them to the painting as the glitter sticks it to the canvas. It is beautiful, at times. O'Connor turns to face you, canvas turned away from you as he turns you to life. Perhaps you cough up flowers because he is cruel and wishes to bind you to him, or perhaps you are coughing up flowers because he does not genuinely like you.

The world is not ending, and that much is evident when you complete your piece, staring at O'Connor and the everlasting petals that surround him on the fabric.

You celebrate the finishing of the painting by retiring early, cheeks and ears warm with giddiness as you expose your back for yoru roommate to continue drawing on.

"I'd like the upper half of your arm."

"What are you unlocking for me this time?"

"You'll see." She hums.

"Oh, right. What tattoos do O'Connor have? I was drawing them earlier, and some of them looked foreign to me."

You roommate tilts her head.

"He has tattoos?"

"Yeah! On his... back..." You trail off when you realize how weird that sounds. "And..."

"What? Are you going to tell me you've been exploring each others' bodies next?"

You gape. "NO????"

"What context are you seeing him shirtless? He's not the type to just go around parading himself shirtless, you know?"

"In our studio? He takes it off because it gets stuffy from the sun occasionally." You blink. "There's no way he's been flirting with me. I know what you're thinking."

"I don't know about that..." Your roommate mumbles, taking the needle out. "You good with an elemental one?"

"What will you let me control?"

"Air." She deadpans. "Be a menace, but don't tell O'Connor I'm granting you that ability."

"Isn't it going to drain my mana?"

"Not with a threshold like yours. I'm surprised you didn't just pick the magic department with how much affinity you have for it."

"Art is much more fun."

"Yeah, it really feeds your delusions to be able to draw the ficitonal twinks who appear in your dreams, huh?"

"MY DREAM MEN ARE NOT TWINKS."

"The love of your life who's making you cough flowers up sure is."

You wince as she speeds up with the needlework.

"You're mean."

"I love you too."

The second tattoo heals much quicker, and you manage your newfound magical ability with the help of your roommate. She holds the power to grand and negate magic through art, now that you think about it. You wonder how people are supposed to get rid of tattoos. Perhaps they just use up all of their mana without replenishing it. It's a scary thought... that you honestly do not care for. You'll die before that happens to you. At the rate that you had been coughing up flowers and glitter, you might as well be one of those little glitter trolls the students had been reading on except you'll die if you spit too much out.

You've taken care to paint over your tattoos to keep them hidden for multiple reasons, one of which is to stop O'Connor from asking you more questions. The questionable gusts of wind that nearly knock over his paint supplies is enough comedy to you in your day to day life. But it is a game of cat and mouse for the two of you. Perhaps there is no cat, and the two of you are just rats in the subway in the city. There is really no chasing or courting when O'Connor could not care less for you.

Perhaps you are stuck in this never-ending hell as a result of which.

"Now that you are finished, perhaps you could aid the student council." Emerald hums. "You signed a contract."

You wince, puffing out your cheeks with a huff as you grimace at the paperwork.

"Must I really?"

"You promised."

You go through the papers, banned from leaving the room unless it is to return to your dorm, fingers sliding through the piles as you speed up the process with Emerald. The end of the year means much to everyone, only it seems to bother you to no end that you are no longer able to see O'Connor all the time. You cough up more flowers as well, a mess of edible petals on the ground as you work. The coughing slows you down, but not a significant amount. You still finish earlier than Emerald. Perhaps your beauty has just charmed him— who are you kidding. There's no way.

The two of you sort out files, and quickly, you forget what it was like previously with O'Connor, blinking at your fingers as you complete the job for the day, Emerald granting you freedom as you skip into the halls, wind pushing you into the skies as you do tricks, head spinning gleefully with each move.

"Gotcha." O'Connor wraps his arms around your waist mid-air, earning a piercing scream from your lips as the two of you crash into the ground, only cushioned by O'Connor's magic. You blink as you process the fact that you did not just die, heart still racing in your chest as O'Connor laughs from underneath you. You can just imagine the shit-eating grin that's on his face at the moment, and it only irks you. You do not understand why he had chosen to stick to you of everyone in your graduating class.

Perhaps there is just a reason why he is the way he is, and perhaps you just aid him in bringing that out.

Perhaps it is a blessing to be someone's place of comfort, even if he does not love you back.

When the day of graduation comes, you put your piece on display next to his, both of them hidden behind a cloth, and you blink at O'Connor, lips quirked up as he stares down at you with a smile.

"I wonder what Emerald will look like."

O'Connor chuckles.

"You will see."

"I wonder if he will see."

You never quite see O'Connor's final piece.

You are called in for an early graduation instead, degree received in private as you rush off to somewhere where O'Connor can not find you.

Instead, you leave him alone, stuck to stare at the portrait of the two of you facing each other, lotus petals surrounding him, juliet roses framing your face with closed eyes, traces of glitter visible in the tattoos stained onto your skin. He will not see you again. You have left, because he had been cruel to not tell you. It had always been that way. You had always been such a free soul, he was wrong to think that you would have not jumped at the opportunity to leave a place that was causing flowers to bloom in your lungs.

He scratches the tattoo on his back with more ink, freeing you from a curse that he had decided to place on you.

It was his mistake to let you go, and your mistake to leave.

[snow-143]

Water Coloured Tears | Jeon Jungkook

six- late night inspo (1.7k words)

'You're late.' I say without looking up at him.

'And you're as blunt as usual I can see.'

Finally, looking up at him, I squint my eyes before replying, 'Don't change the topic. Why are you late?'

'I had something to take care of.'

'Look, if you aren't going to take this project seriously just say that from the get go. At least that way I can prepare to pick up your slack, so I don't fail.' My voice is a little more accusatory than it could be.

'I'm only 15 minutes late. Chill.' He's finally sat down, across from me, levelling us out.

Managing to soften my voice, I return to my previous point, 'You are going to take this seriously, right?' 

'Yes, y/n, I'm taking this seriously. I really just had to deal with something.'

'Okay. Then lets get to work. I was thinking we could both brainstorm on our individual pieces today. I have a couple of ideas, and I'm sure you do to.' I can't help but smile thinking about the art we could make together. We used to always come up with the craziest ideas together, they may not have always come out as we imagined, but we always had fun.

'That sounds good. What do you have in mind?' He's smiling now too.

'Get your sketchbook out, and I'll tell you. That is if you remembered to bring it.' It was meant to come off as harsh, but it came out far to soft, as if I was joking with him like old times.

'Shit...'

'Jungkook, I swear to god if you tell me you've forgotten it again I will shove this eraser down your throat.'

It's silent for a minute before be bursts out laughing, retreating his beaten up book from his bag. 'Not funny.' And with that I fling the rubber off his head, hitting a perfect bullseye.

This does nothing to sober up his laughing, if anything it made it worse. He's now hunched over the bench making a massive scene out of it all. 'God. You're scary when you're angry, you know that?'

'I've been told once or twice.' I let out a little laugh at this.

When he finally straightens up it's my turn to laugh at the others expense. A massive red mark has formed right in the centre of his forehead. 'Damn I have an extraordinary shot, maybe I should've gone with sport. My talent is obviously being wasted here.'

'Very funny.' He rubs the red splotch on his head cursing, 'How bad is it?'

'What? Worried it'll put off the flock of women always surrounding you?'

'Oh, trust me, It'd take a lot more than this to deter them.' He's smirking now, and It's putting an end to my fit of laughter.

'Right, sorry. Forgot you were like some sort of Greek god here.' I scoff.

'You jealous? Because you sound jealous.' He's still smirking, god do I wish I could slap that smirk off of his face.

'Jungkook, I've seen you playing Barbies with your little sister. Trust me, I do not see in you whatever every other girl on this campus sees in you.'

As soon as I'm finished talking it's like his whole demeanour has changed. He's not smirking any more, so I guess I got my wish.

'So about the individual pieces, how exactly do you think we should go about it?' Is all he replies.

Ignoring the lump in my throat I open my sketchbook and show him what I've planned so far. They aren't very detailed, but they show the overall message I'm trying to put forward.

By the end of my little presentation he's smiling again, and I can't help but feeling a little shy. We've spent hours showing each other our art but after all this time I feel like I'm laying my soul out to him.

Art has always been the way I express myself, and I'm always worried that maybe I'm showing too much.

I've only done sketches for 3 pieces. Technically 4. One that I'm planning on making out of stained-glass, it'll be made up of multiple different parts that hang from the ceiling to make an overall image. The second one is a drawing of a man, that may or may not resemble Jungkook, comforting a little girl, who may or may not resemble me as a child- representing someone healing your inner child. Of course, I'll have to find a way to incorporate the photographs, but I'm sure I'll be able to make up some pretentious explanation.

And lastly there's a sketch of 2 sculptures, both resembling me and Jeon. I must say I enjoyed drawing him far too much, and I'm sure I'll enjoy sculpting his face even more. They count as 2 pieces as we will make them separately, but they also fit together. I've drawn them, so they have cloth covering their eyes that can be removed. I'm also planning on having LED lights in their eyes, so we can change the prospective of them. We can arrange them in many different ways; with them facing away with the fabric covering their eyes, them facing each other with different colour settings on the lights to represent emotions, etc.

I've explained all of this while showing him the drawings. Him adding a little hum here and there, never interrupting me.

The sculpture is the only one of his that I've planned as I wanted it to be a joint project and for the rest I don't want to control his creativity.

'I know I've planned ahead a lot, and we still need to incorporate the pictures, but I'm sure we can think of a way to incorporate them. And for the others we can centre it more around the pictures. It's okay if you don't like the sculpture idea it's your project too, but I just thought-'

'This is amazing, y/n.' He cuts off my rambling. Closing the book I look away from his gaze.

'It's just a rough idea. You can put in any input you like.'

'Actually, I have a couple ideas myself.' Looking over at him, hinting at him to elaborate, I notice he's still smiling. It's gentle, admiring almost.

After a moment he breaks from my gaze, focusing on his sketchbook instead. 'There not as detailed as yours but... I just had a burst of inspiration last night and this morning.'

He's rubbing the back of his neck now, a nervous habit of his. I'm the one smiling now, he always did get inspired at random times. He'd go months without even picking up a pencil sometimes and then seemingly at random times he'd get 'inspiration' and then you'd never see him without his face buried in a sketchbook.

'Is that why you were late?' Glancing at me, he gives me a shy smile.

'Sort of.' He says before opening his book.

While he's flicking through his drawing, trying to find the most recent drawings in the unorganized mess I decide to try and get a look at his other drawings. It may be an intrusion, but I'm curious on how his style has changed over time.

'What was that?' I ask after he rushes to turn the page.

'Nothing. It was nothing.' That was definitely not nothing. There is a high chance I have lost my mind because I can't believe what I just saw.

It was a drawing of me. A drawing of a picture I posted on my Instagram over a month ago at least. Except the background was different.

In the actual photo I'm laying on my bed, but in his drawing I'm in a field of flowers. One that looks suspiciously like one next to his childhood home.

And surely that can't be right. It makes a lot more sense that I've finally lost it.

Deciding that I did infant hallucinate it, I focus on the drawing he's stopped on instead.

It's a beautiful drawing. If he hadn't told me that he only started on it last night I'd easily believe that he spent hours on it.

It's a drawing of a girl. Me. This I can accept as the whole project has to revolve around the other person. Except it's not just a regular drawing of me. I'm sat in a dark room with my legs crossed and my arms up in the air, looking more carefree than I truly have felt in months. My smile is bright, blinding.

But the thing that catches my focus the most are the angel wings I've got. They almost look like they're shining in contrast to the dark background. There's a bright light coming off of me lighting up the surrounding space.

'I um, I already have a photo to represent this one.' Looking up at him, we lock eyes.

I don't even know what to say. It's beautiful. I look beautiful. He truly is an amazing artist if he could show someone he clearly has some sort of disdain for in such a positive light.

Before I can even compose myself to ask any questions he's clearing his throat and looking away. Getting one last look at the drawing, I watch as he turns the page.

The next sketch is one where we are hugging. I'm basically a rainbow incarnate, full of colour. Whereas he looks like the storm clouds that hide the prism of colour away from sight. There's a bright light in both of our chests. But where we're connected in the embrace my colour is leaking into him. At first, I think it's a beautiful concept until I realise that where he's gaining colour I'm losing it. He's draining me of it. Leaving those parts of me a dark void whereas he's being filled with my light.

'I also have a picture for this one.' This time I don't look up at him. I don't think I can.

'These are insanely good Jungkook.' Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ask what we should do this Wednesday.

prev | m.list | next

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a/n: first saturday i haven’t been at work in like a year so i figured i’d write last night instead of sleeping :)

[just-a-normal-regretter]

Hello 0uuu0

Random request.

In the Code Lyoko "The trio are AIs" fics you have been doing.

Do you have a detailed description of what the AIs look like normally with and without their disguises. I get bits and pieces through the chapters but I would like something more solid.

Honestly, I am tempted to draw them but I have nothing to base it off.

Please and thank you.

Sorry I've taken quite some time to get back to this ask. Things have been extremely hectic lately. Honestly, I hope this information does spark some drawings ;-;

Since I've taken so long I'll also toss in some bonus content beyond the cut below. (Note: Each character I talk about I'll use a basic reference for and expand on it & how it may separate from Canon.)

Oddr Bianchi/PNX-621: 

This is the default avatar of Odd in S1 of Bizarre Guide. Obviously there are very noticeable changes. Odd's main color in this AU is white. The yellow/grey/pink markings on his outfit are colors of calico cats (i.e. black, brown, orange) w/ his original purple as Odd has some purple cat in him at heart. Purple on his white paws, purple/brown splotches along his tail (not neatly of course). Of course he also keeps his blond hair with purple splotch too :3

His eyes are heterochromatic (think Todoroki Shoto's eyes lol) w/ right one purple & left one gold feat. slit pupils (they do grow bigger depending on high amounts of emotion within Odd, which is a little thing of itself). He also has some fangs mixed with human teeth, and some whiskers around where his tribunal markings are. Notably his ears are replaced with cat ears, also a soft purple with a inner light pink.

Camouflaged Form: Brunet hair with a hard-to-see purple splotch. Amber eyes. He typically wears a face mask until he improves his ability to hide his whiskers/fangs, but when the mask is off and his whiskers are hidden they instead give way to freckles in their place. Wears a fluffy purple sweater with lilac fluff around the hoodie, eye-searing pink jeans, and neon yellow shoes.

Odd's the flashy "doesn't understand fashion" of the trio. His outfit is an abomination that slowly becomes sane throughout the first season.

Ulrich Schmidt/PNX-458:

Obviously once again we're referring to the S1 for the Bizarre Guide baseline. Ulrich's outfit is changed the most out of the trio here, although Aelita takes a close second. Jeremie describes him as a "samurai-knight warrior" which is a confusing mess, but I'll say he's meant to be a warrior. A literal mesh of different fighters. 

His eyes are a bright neon orange, slightly tanned skin. He has a gauntlet of metal on his left hand, while his right hand wears a fingerless glove. There's also a pouch on that right arm where he has a limited amount of shuriken to toss when he needs a projectile.

The chest and legs are pretty similar to canon (i.e. short-cut orange-yellow kimono, black leggings, black-red kneepads, black sandals).

He possesses antenna on top of his ears. Sissi calls him a bunny for it. They're slim pieces of silver with red lights at the tips. Every time Ulrich fiddles with them (which is a lot, it's a bit of a habit to double check things lol) they trigger a red scanner to appear in front of his eyes. 

Camouflaged Form: Short brown hair, hazel eyes. Green jacket on top of a beige shirt, worn grey jeans, slightly pointed ears donning some hearing aids to mask his typical antennas. I think he's the most similar to his S1-S3 Earth outfit, except his camouflaged antennas & different colored eyes.

Akizakura Yumi/PNX-379: 

We're back to referencing S1 for the Bizarre Guide Lyoko forms~!

His eyes are a soft pink, think of cherry blossoms if you want the specific shade. Notably they darken to a bright red to display her overuse of telekinesis. Her makeup is pretty much the same as canon.

Her sleeves are much longer, think of her beta Lyoko form for a visual reference. The red-black of her upper outfit follows each sleeve (i.e. black right red left) and pink-grey sakura petal designs decorate both sleeves. Underneath her sleeves are bandages wrapped around her arms and her nails are painted a ruby red.

There's a kabuki fox mask attached to the rope pinning her obi. The mask allows her to activate her invisibility for a few minutes at a time. There is also a small grey bag on her left thigh that typically is flat, but at rare times will contain a special item that she'll use. She wears some short black heels too.

Her hair manages to grow an assortment of flowers (note: think of them growing as if they were part of a flower crown) depending on her mood, although the flower that she usually keeps is the cosmos. 

Camouflaged Form: Black-haired w/ her hair pin shifted into a loose hair tie. It keeps her hair up in a messy bun. Grey eyes. Grey-black sweater (think of S1 since that's been my main reference) except for slightly lighter. Black leggings and her canonical boots.

+ An Extra Cause I'm A Sucker for Asks...

Aelita Stones/???!

Alright so this Lyoko outfit in particular, as I mentioned earlier, is the second most changed behind Ulrich himself. 

She's no elf this time around. She's a full-fledged alien!

Her eyes are the same green shade, but they lack pupils. Her hair is a mix of blond and pink (blond roots while pink colors the rest of the strands). Some of it is in a small ponytail, but it's mainly loose (similar to Yumi's Camouflaged Hair but w/o the bun).

She has literal antenna cropping up from her forehead, tucked away under some strands of hair. They're not metallic like Ulrich's, but they're ones you can compare to whenever you see stereotypical aliens with green antenna. Aelita's antennas are a soft skin-like color that fades to a soft, glowing blue at their sphere-like tips. [they light up when she utilizes creativity!!]

Her pointy ears are pierced with sun & crescent moon earrings (sun on the right, moon on the left). She dons a rosy cardigan over a pink-white dress (colors akin to her S1 Lyoko form), the dress specifically has soft blue dots to represent the 40 towers in Lyoko [wink wink]. There's also fluffy leggings that shift to her canonical shoes.

Notably to replace her lack of fighting she possesses two purple bracelets that emit energy whips. They only do 2lps damage when they sink into an opponent, which makes them absolutely awful attack-wise... But, they're extremely handy when it comes to travel. This plus her cardigan allowing her temporary camouflage makes it hard on XANA to locate her. Too bad recharging her energy whips takes up her life points too.

I won't give away the Camouflaged form just yet though, but I hope this Aelita expansion is enough :3

[callmrmorrow]

i see your collective hopes for this fic and i’ve taken them into account. sort of. from what i recall, i saw hurt/no comfort, hugs, multidimensional soulmates, more hugs, and giving mark the happiness and his break that he deserves. did i mention hugs?

with equal enjoyment and acknowledgement from every suggestion, i decided that the opening scene was going to include absolutely none of this.

i’m sure you were all secretly yearning for a slow-burn mark x reader where you are catapulted back in time to change things for the better, with only fleeting dreams and memories of what your world once was. i’m sure you were all hoping for a season one experience full of looking into nolan grayson’s eyes and feeling a cesspit of terror in your gut for no reason other than instinct and muddled nightmares (spoiler! he may or may not have killed you). i’m sure you were all hoping for a strangers-to-friends-to-enemies-to-lovers-to-embittered-rivals-to… you get the point. i’m sure we (yes, WE, as in ALL OF US) will enjoy the suffering i’ll put you and mark through when the inevitable question is brought to face: are you a hero or are you a human? what is heavier, the weight of the world or the weight of who you left behind to go and save it?

anyway. here’s the opening scene. tw: gore, death, all the shit that happens in invincible but i’d really rather be safe than sorry. bonus points if ur an avid comics fan who can pick up on the overarching plot of the story from this scene alone. i’m not so subtle.

CHICAGO’S BURNING.

These two words are the only ones you can string together over the widening gap between reality and impossibility. Smoke paints a sickly haze from the cracked concrete beneath you to the clouds overhead. Your eyelids flutter, irises flitting erratically, catching blurred glimpses of an upended subway car, and then another, and another. Red paints everything, almost blurring the details of arms, legs, torsos and heads flung about the station like dirty laundry.

Above you, concrete frames a milky blue patch, bleak sunlight breaching the grey. The skyline’s been shattered. Someone’s wailing off-set that of the police sirens — somebody please help — and with a sharp pain you remember to breathe.

It’s a wet inhale, choking on blood. Agony explodes out from your ribcage, and you glance down to see the bad end of a bright yellow pole sticking out where your stomach should be. Blood is still spurting from the entry point and pooling around you on uneven rubble. Your vision whites out at the sight, and a broken noise jumps from your lungs to your lips.

Memory, faint as your heartbeat, returns in throbbing pulses. Giving your seat to the elderly woman. Jostling the crowd for a handhold. Checking your phone for new messages. The sudden, metal-rending stop, everything splitting in two and a welter of voices, impatient shuffling, turning to screams and squelches. Packed in like canned fish.

“[Y/N]?”

You turn to the voice instinctively, and your vision whites out again as agony lances through your skull like electricity. Something warm trickles down your temple, as your cheek rests against a torn chunk of concrete. Your eyes refocus on the too-familiar form of your brother, one arm extended out towards you and the rest of his body crushed under a slab of cement. You can barely see him in its shadow, but a splotch of color draws your eye despite yourself. A ruined gift bag. Spilling out is a new sweater, one that would’ve been your favorite color if it wasn’t soaked crimson.

With every ounce of effort you reach out for him. “Hey, hey,” you manage, the pain not so overwhelming as the panic, the instinct of an older sister. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be—“

Something crushes the concrete slab above him. His extended arm goes limp, crushed from the elbow up. Everything else goes dark except for his twitching fingers, and your ears begin to ring.

It doesn’t feel real, because it can’t be real. He’s still alive because he has to be, and it couldn’t be all over just like that. You command your arm to move towards your brother’s, fingers brushing his as you try to grab on. The pole locks you in place and you let out a whimper as you try to move ever closer. “Come on, please, come on—“

Another voice breaks through the ringing in your ears. ”No, no, wait— wait!“

Pressure on the side of your head makes you freeze.

“What’re you gonna do, Mark?” A voice from overhead asks, uncannily familiar and inhumanly cold. “You can’t stop me. And you shouldn’t even want to. This world — everyone in it — is pathetic! You and I are so far beyond these insects.”

The pressure increases with no hesitation, and on nothing but instinct, your hand stops reaching for your brother and comes up to grip whatever is pushing you into the concrete. Your fingers scrabble to pull it off, but you’d have better luck lifting an entire building. It — you’re beginning to think it’s someone’s boot — drives its heel into the side of your face.

“Get off m—“

You don’t get to finish. A sickening pop dislocates your jaw, hanging loose off your face. You let out a gurgling shriek.

“Stop!” The second person yells, voice cracking in anguish. “Please, just— You don’t have to do this. You— you don’t think they’re pathetic. You…”

The voices continue on, and you wish more than anything that you could look over and see whoever was trying to save you from the literal hydraulic press over your head. But your vision’s blocked by a lattice of rebar and cement. The boot presses harder, and you can feel your bones straining, every nerve in your body shrieking. Your vision was going out — it seemed predisposed to doing that now — and white was encroaching on the edges of your sight. Your brother’s hand was beginning to distort itself, taking on a strange bluish-white glow.

Your hand slipped back towards him, giving up on stopping the inevitable, reaching out again. You found yourself thinking you’d feel much better if you could hold his hand one last time before it all went out.

The white light pouring from his fingertips latched onto yours, racing up your arm. Suddenly, all you heard was a voice. Not from the two men in the subway, killer and witness, but from all around you, within you, between and beyond everything.

Is this what you want?

Your response bypassed the strangeness of it all, the hallucinatory nature of what was happening. Maybe this was the path to the afterlife. If it was, you weren’t so ready to walk it.

No. God, no.

What would you give to fix it?

You heard something in your head crack like a whip — your skull, cracked like a melon. You were bleeding from the eyes now, you could feel the indomitable pressure popping them from their sockets. You weren’t even sure you were alive anymore, but you still found it within yourself to answer.

Everything.

i’ve seen a considerable amount of people yearning for a slow-burn mark grayson x reader

coincidentally i have a project on the back burner involving mark and a vigilante!reader with time-based powers

to anyone who sees this yall got any particular like… “tropes” (i hate to write on tropes but ykwim) or romantic plotlines that you’d find interesting? (i already have the character set up) if this gets no responses i’m going my own way and as someone who doesn’t have mark in my own top 5 it’s gonna involve a lot of hurt and not a lot of comfort

but if that’s what you like.

[umbralsound-xiv]

For Better Or Worse.

The quiet clatter of pans upstairs sounds out from the Fellfrost home, as Eir; dusted in a fine film of flour, prepares breakfast. He'd risen early for a change, long before the sun had properly illuminated the window, the scent of sweet spices drifting through the house.

Sayuri's gaze found itself locked upon the ceiling, as she laid in their bed. She was no longer shrouded in the darkness that had plagued her, and had it not been for her eyesight now being incredibly blurry, she might've assumed that it had just been a dream, despite the telltale sign of an ache that pounded in her head from her previous crying last time she awoke. She draws a deep breath and briefly closes her eyes, beginning to heave herself out of the pillow pile - having decided to brace the blurry world in favour of attempting to join Eir upstairs.

Pyjama-clad and hard at work over the stove where small, palm-sized pancakes simmered away, golden from the spices he'd opted to use. Her arrival brings a bright smile to his features, briefly abandoning his cookery to greet her. "Good morning, my Moon…" He leans down to press his lips to her own, looking over her all the while. "How are you feeling?"

She offers a weary little smile, leaning herself back towards him to meet his lips with her own. ".. Well, I'm not.. completely blind anymore, so I will take it.. Everything is very.. blurry, though."

"Blurry is good. Blurry is sight, at least." He gives another relieved sigh, having learned of the news upon first awakening. "I am only glad it is temporary… And fleeting, in the grand scheme of things." A gentle caress of her cheek, as he slips away to return to the stove, lest breakfast be burned. "I thought to prepare breakfast… It has almost been twelve bells…" Further along the counter, two mugs were set out; a vial set by the blue one.

I cannot think of how much a task this for her. Eating every twelve bells... Once a sun was pushing it. I am trying to be as gentle as i can with it, but she is trying hard to keep to the treatment. We will get through this together.

".. No less terrifying." Her ears flatten a touch, gaze lowering but head tilting into his cheek until he slips back to the stove. ".. Q'kura did say that the focus had been to ensure I.. survived, rather than easing the side effects." A brief pause, as she wanders over to the counter and places her hands on it, hoisting herself up to sit upon it. ".. Not that I trust him."

"I… Know what i would prefer. I do not want you to suffer, of course not. But if it will bring your aether back, and if it is temporary…" Eir gives a small shake of his head. "He had best be telling the truth. Still, i am glad you are doing… Better." He tries for an encouraging little smile, settling the small stovetop kettle to boil.

".. It's between suffering and suffering. One of them is just.. suffer now, and be restored.. or suffer the rest of your life." She formed a small pout, dangling her legs. ".. He had best, for his own sake." A small huff, gaze trailing back to Eir. His smile prompts her own lips to curl into one of her own, even if she can't see it too well.

"I know how much happier you will be. When your aether is restored. When i can see a flicker of ice and know that you are no longer in such pain…" One of the pancakes is set onto a plate, and decorated with tiny little mango hearts, before being offered to Sayuri with a fork.

She accepts the plate and fork, gaze trailing towards the offending splotch of purple that happens to be the vial's contents, most of it a blurred mess. ".. To finally be rid of this ache.." She mutters. ".. I wasn't aware of just how much my aether bleeds into everything just by me.. existing."

"…Your hair. Your eyes. Both were affected. I… I suppose it makes sense for your blindness, no matter how temporary it may have been, and thankfully so." He pours two cups of tea in their corresponding vessels, abandoning his own on the counter to bring over Sayuri's along with the vial. "…I will be glad when it hurts no longer. When you no longer suffer. Any god watching knows you have suffered enough."

".. I.. suppose.." She mutters, resting the fork on the plate to raise her hand and comb it through her hair. "--..If my hair falls out, I -will- strangle him." She huffs, pouting. The plate is settled down to let her accept the cup and the vial, which she offers a judgemental glare. ".. As will I."

"It had best not. I will love you anyway of course, but it is most lovely as it is." Eir's breakfast consists of the remainder of the pancake mixture, though a far less perfect specimen than the one gifted to his wife, and the offcuts of the mango he'd used to shape the stars. "…My own is getting a little long, now." He glances to the ash-grey hair at his shoulders, now almost chest-length. "…I think this is perhaps the longest it has ever been…"

Sayuri peers at the shapeless mango bits upon Eir's pancake, before down to her own very clearly shaped ones. A new pout finds itself upon her lips as she lowers her cup and reaches to pluck a star cutout from her own pancake before leaning over to place it upon Eir's. "It is pretty long, but it's nice on you." She beams.

A small, pouting look paired with wide, silver eyes is given to her as the star is gifted to him, a soft little smile as he decides to eat that part first. "I will likely keep it long until it becomes… Unmanageable. Without the braids, it already would be."

".. Oh, I know." She grins. Her gaze sinks to the vial, head reeling back as a sigh leaves her - not particularly happy about needing to take it. The cork is nonetheless flicked off, a grimace settling on her lips as she slowly sways the vial to watch the liquid move. "… Ugh. Not.. at all inviting to drink.."

"…No. It is not. Why is it purple…?" Eir asks, curling his nose. Already he has her tea in hand, handle facing her to wash down what he could already imagine was something unpleasant.

I have taken a good number of potions and treatments in my time. Most of them during conscription, where aetheric healing was not always available. They rarely taste better than awful. It would seem this is no different.

".. I didn't ask." She mutters. Another sigh leaves her, the vial finally being lift to her lips in order to empty out the contents of it into her mouth before she could hesitate, knowing they could be there for a while if she became too reluctant to take it. Her features immediately draw into a grimace of disapproval, the vial swiftly abandoned on the counter to let her reach for the mug Eir holds in her direction.

Eir soon relinquishes the mug to let her take it, retrieving the empty vial, re-corking it and settling it back in the rack from where it came. Brow knit, he resumes eating breakfast, looking on her with worry. "…I take that it is not pleasant. But at least it is no longer than a sennight…"

Sayuri takes a swift sip from the mug in order to force down the liquid completely, and wash away the taste. "… It's awful." She confirms, sighing. The cup is safely settled on the counter to let her pick up the plate, freeing a piece of pancake with the fork to promptly eat it - keeping in mind Q'kura's warning about it all coming up again should she opt to skip the meal meant to accompany it.

"…More or less awful than the alleged food we had to eat during our stay?" A brow raises, but his expression is sympathy. Still, he fights to keep the tone light, pairing his comment with a smile, especially as he watches her begin eating.

"… About as bad. This one just.. tastes like medicine, too. I don't know if that's an improvement yet." She snorts.

"It tastes like healing." Eir half-laughs, smiling wryly. "Which is rarely pleasant, but at least it has purpose. I did try to make a sweeter breakfast, and put cinnamon in the pancakes to dull…" A small frown at the empty vial. "Whatever that tastes like."

"Healing tastes awful." She pouts, piercing a bit of pancake on the fork. ".. It's working. The cinnamon, that is."

"Good. Perhaps this week should be full of heavily spiced, flavoursome food. Anything to dull the taste of the vials." Already finishing his breakfast, he moves onto his tea, then. "…What to do this sun, you think? We should perhaps stay at home for your sake. But we could sit in the garden? I know your vision has yet to recover fully, but at least you will be able to see the colours of the flowers?"

She nods, finishing up her own little pancake and mango stars. ".. Staying home may be.. safer, considering.. we don't really know what will happen.. But sitting in the garden sounds nice." She smiles. ".. I can't see any details, everything is just.. a mush of colour."

"Well, at the very least it will be a mush of very pretty colours. But yes… Home. I promise to make this week… At least bearable." He steps closer to her, to better see her. "I will try to make you smile, at least every sun…"

It was something i promised to her on the sun we wed. I will do all i can to uphold that promise.

"You already do." She murmurs, leaning herself over to him in an attempt to gently push her forehead against his. "I have you with me, and if.. if anything becomes too much, please don't be afraid to call on Bexy for help."

"…I will. Only if i must." He leans in to peck her on the lips… And immediately pulls a face, reaching for his tea. "…Well, if nothing else, i can now slightly sympathize. The medicine tastes truly terrible."

She can't help but smirk, sleeve being pulled down over her hand before she raises to wipe it over her lips in hopes to remove any residue of the medicine. ".. It does."

Eir stays still; akin to a dirty-faced child being cleaned with a towel. Though, he grins when she's done. "…At least now i know how much to season everything when i cook. Ready to relocate to the garden?" Eir asks, arms offered out. He'd planned to carry her, of course.

Sayuri swiftly drains the rest of her tea before throwing her arms around him in return, ready to be carried. She didn't even fight his doting, at this point. "Ready." She hums.

Lifting her in a bridal carry, Eir gently cradles Sayuri in his arms, nudging the door to the house open, to be greeted with the fresh morning air of the Shroud. "Where to, my Moon?" He asks, smiling. "Sauna? Flower bench? Table? Picnic blanket?"

Sayuri briefly hides her face away against him at the brightness of the sun, eventually tilting her head back to the sun. "Hmm… Flower bench, I think."

"I will put you with the rest of the flowers, then." He grins, nudging his head against hers before striding over to the aforementioned bench. "---But you will always be the prettiest one."

...She has really outdone herself when it came to designing the garden. So many lovely blooms to maintain... Sitting here on peaceful suns, having a picnic beneath the trees... And we need not even leave home to do it.

She snorts with amusement, pushing her head back against his. "Mmh? Am I.. your favourite flower?" She beams.

"You are. Most certainly." His nose nudges against her own, sighing peacefully. "The most beautiful of them all. Strong, too. No matter what you endure, you always return each time, just as beautiful as the last, if not moreso."

A soft snicker leaves her, nose gently booping back against his. ".. Mmh.. Debatable, but for the sake of not making you bicker with me, fine." She smirks.

"Debatable?" A brow lofts. "Perhaps. But you only do not choose to bicker because i will win." Eir bickers, purposefully.

Sayuri's lips pull into a thin line, slightly unfocused gaze finding itself to his eyes by judgement of colour. "You will not." She bickers back. Oh well, she tried.

"Oh, i will. My beautiful moon, loveliest of flowers. You tell me i am beautiful. I aught to know what it looked like, hm?" Eir cooes in that soft, gentle voice of his, content to bestow his affections.

"You -are-." She confirms. ".. But you're also brave, which you refuse to acknowledge." She pouts at him.

"I know i am. Beautiful, that is. Still, it is nice to be told." As if dictated, Eir does not in fact respond to the claims of his bravery, indeed refusing to acknowledge it.

".. Just proving my point there, love." She pouts.

"I am not brave…" Eir presses his lips to her own. Though his head still rested against hers, he opts to glance away. "I am a lot of things, Sayuri. But not brave." A small, slow shake of his head, then. "…Not me."

Her ears droop a touch, lips gently meeting his. ".. You are brave, Eir. Much braver than you give yourself credit for." She raises a hand to his cheek, letting her thumb gently brush against it.

Head rocking into her hand, he lingers in the gentle cool of her touch, though his lips were still downturned. "I do not think so. But… I am glad that you do."

".. You faced Spider when I could not. You kept at my side and fought when Takeo tried to kill me in the East." She reminds. ".. Was that not bravery?"

I am... Not a brave man. I remember all the times in conflict. Where all i wished to do was run. The times i felt fear crawling up my throat. Afraid, always afraid. ...I am glad she thinks so. Even if... I do not agree.

"Running was not an option. Not then. I loved you so dearly, i would have never left." His silver gaze slowly shifts to meet her eyes once more. "In those instances, i did not have a choice."

".. You did have a choice. Action, or inaction. You stepped in to protect me, to face dangers with me. Had the roles been reversed, you would certainly have considered me brave for it, hm?" She offers a small smile, head tilting. "Loved me.. In both scenarios?" She presses, offering a tiny way out of the other topic, lest Eir becomes too uncomfortable with it. "..Even aboard the Locket..?"

"Standing idly by and watching you get hurt while i could have surely done something was not a choice. I was… Afraid. Part of me wanted to run. You are the brave one." At her question, his cheeks redden only a little, prompting Eir to bury his face against her. "I… Had feelings. I was not… Quite sure what they were. B-but i cared, a great deal…"

".. I am not fearless, Eir. You saw that just last night. The fact you are scared.. doesn't make you less brave." She turns her head to gently press her lips against his temple, smiling softly. ".. I cared about you, too."

"You have reason to be afraid of the dark." Eir protests, quietened by her affection. "…I knew you saw me as a friend, at least. Even if… I had never been brave enough to kiss you. Or… Tell you. I would have been happy to have you as a friend. I… Was never certain how you felt for me, back then."

".. I fear more than just the dark." She mumbles back, nudging her head against his. "Had you not kissed me.. I might've kissed you first, instead." She flashes a small smirk. ".. I kept my feelings a touch.. smothered, at least until your own were revealed."

"…And i fear a great many things. Plenty of us do." Those reddening cheeks glance to her, then. "…I would never had known had you not told me. Part of me wishes you would have. I would have kissed you back, tenfold." In an effort to brighten the mood, he nudges his head to her own. "You would have picked a far better location, i am sure."

We sat in the garden for a time, enjoying the company of the other, and the lovely blooms that surrounded us. I had thought that... Perhaps this recovery would not be so terrible. That this would be a softer, more gentle sun to her...

She offers a faint smile at the forehead kiss, arms squeezing him in return. Despite having been fine just a moment ago, she slowly seems to lose her mood, beginning to look a touch unwell. "Recovery sucks.." She mumbles.

"…I know." Arm curled around her, he glances down to her, brow knit. "…Are you okay, Sayuri?"

".. Nauseous." She mutters, exhaling a sharp breath through her nose in her disapproval of the sudden nausea. Something that proves to be a horrible mistake, as a trickle of red decides it was an invitation; making a swift exit from her nostril. The mere feeling of it causes Sayuri to swat her hand up and wipe her sleeve across her nose, only to stare down at the splotch of red that now stained it. "… Shit."

"Side effects, perhaps?" His voice tinged with sympathy, he embraces her, watching… Until her sleeve pulls away red. Silver eyes go wide with fear, breath stuck in his throat. "No-- No no! Sayuri---!" He leaves for only a moment, to bolt across the garden and grab a towel from the bathtub, to bring it to her in an instant. And now, he does not let go, fearing collapse if he did.

---Blood? No.. No.. This... This is how it starts. This is how it always starts. After the Locket, this was how it all began, and... Please, no... I... I can not lose her.

Sayuri blinks as Eir darts away, yet quick as he is, is soon back by her side. She offers an unsettled smile as she grasps the towel offered. "It-.. it's just a nosebleed, Eir.. It's okay. I'm fine." She tries to reassure, before holding the towel up to her nose.

Eir still dare not let go. Eyes wide and full of panic, they trace over her form, desperately seeking out any other wound or ailment that might have surfaced. "I am here…" His voice wavers, swallowing back the terror. "Tell me h-how i can help…"

This... This is how it started with Lili, too... Nosebleeds. Just little nosebleeds, and sickness, and headaches. Little symptoms, it... Please, not like her, not like her, i... I cannot bear to watch her suffer like that...!

She otherwise seems fine, aside from the nausea and nosebleed. Her hand reaches for his, seeking to grasp it gently. "I'm okay, love. Just.. stay with me, try to be calm." She keeps her voice calm, the smile of reassurance that accompanies it is however hidden beneath the towel that presses against her face.

His thumb slowly trails over her knuckles, grasping her hand as he watched with a knot in his stomach. "I am not going anywhere…" He whispers, stiff as stone as he held her. His feet shuffle anxiously as he sat, almost urging him to run.

She squeezes his hand, briefly lowering the towel only to lift it back up immediately. A tiny frown settles on her features, unamused at the very inconvenient bleeding.

"You are okay… You are okay…" He tells her as much as himself, watching as she held the towel to her bleeding nose. "Should i call Bexy…?" He asks, clearly anxious for her current state; and more than clearly willing to run to the nearest infirmary with her in his arms.

"I am." She reassures, turning her head to look at him, one ear drooping. "..Would it make you feel better if you did?"

"…It…It would make me feel better if you were okay…" A laugh, though not in humour; it's a terrified, nervous little thing. "Do you feel lightheaded? J-just nauseous…?"

".. I'm trying." She whines back at him, squeezing his hand in some attempt to comfort him. ".. Just nauseous, right now."

"I am sorry, i am sorry---" Eir swallows that ball of nerves to squeeze her hand back, holding her close with his free arm. "I have you. I am here. If you need anything at all, i am right here…" He glances to the towel, in a hope it had subsided, brow knit with worry.

...Pull yourself together, Eir! You cannot afford to be a mess when she is the one suffering, not you! She needs you to be there for you. You cannot afford to crumble.

Sayuri leans against him, gently tracing her thumb along his knuckles. ".. Shh." She hushes softly, lightly pushing the crown of her against his jaw. She lowers the towel, peering at the blood before moving it back up to tap at her nose, and back down - the path being clean enough that Sayuri lowers the towel completely and sets it in her lap. ".. See? It stopped. I'm fine."

"Good… Good…" He rocks a little to stem the anxious panic in his gut. In the gentle trace of her thumb, the silence between them persists, looking to the reddened towel. A sigh of relief leaves him with a ghost of a sob, though he bottles it for her sake. "…I am sorry." He replies, eventually. "…I… I was scared. All i could think of was… Was that ship…"

A soft, saddened frown takes to her features, head pushing against his. ".. I.. admit, it.. lingered at the back of my mind.. But I didn't pass out." She smiles weakly. "..Had I done so, I.. would've likely panicked afterwards too. Don't apologise for being worried, love."

"With… With everything on the Locket… I was so afraid of losing you, then. When death lingered so close. Now…? I… I cannot… I can not bear the thought…" Gently, he combs a hand through her hair. "…How are you feeling?"

She hushes softly, leaning her head into his palm. "You won't lose me.. I'm not going anywhere." She murmurs. ".. Still.. a bit nauseous.. But better for the lack of bleeding.. And better for your presence."

"I… I am glad…" Slowly, he combs her hair from her face, frowning at the remnants of blood. "A bath and a change of clothes may… Perhaps be in order this sun. If you do not think it will make things worse…?"

".. What if it starts again..? I don't.. want to bleed over every bit of clothing I have.." She half-whines, directing her gaze to him. She takes a moment to realise the little details her vision can finally tell, even if not completely restored to its natural state. ".. I see you." She opts to announce, in a little whisper.

"…We will keep the towel close. I hope this is the last of it…" Eir murmurs, though it was clear even he didn't quite believe his own hope. As her gaze shifts over to him, his eyes meet her own, widening then softening in some quiet relief. "…You can see me?" He whispers back, trailing a thumb gently over the hand he held.

"..Gods, I hope." She sighs, before nodding gently and squeezing his hand. ".. It's not.. completely back.. but I can see more details." She smiles. ".. Like your face."

"…I am glad. And relieved…" He leans in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, pulling away a moment afterwards. "…We should not do anything too strenuous this sun. Just in case." He glances aside in thought, and back. "…The bath is still an option. But with your returned vision, we can just as easily settle in with a book or if you wanted to sketch, if you have the sight for it?"

She gently presses her lips back against his, exhaling a soft sigh afterwards. "Mmh.. Maybe.. wait with the bath a little, just to.. try to make sure I don't bleed all over a fresh set of clothes when I already have one slightly stained one." She offers an offended squint at the splotch of red on her sleeve. "..Book sounds nice. I'm not sure drawing will turn out nice."

"Suppose it would be difficult without your usual vision. But we can cosy in with a book. You can read, or rest… And if something happens, at least you are comfortable." Eir curls an arm around her; as though he meant to carry her, but doesn't lift her, yet. "…We can stay here in the garden for a bit, or go inside?"

Sayuri leans into him, head resting against him. ".. Lets stay here a little longer, then we can go inside?"

"Then we stay here a little longer. Besides… It would be a shame, now that you can see more properly, that you could not admire the flowers…" Gently, he strokes her shoulder with affection, looking out over the garden with a smile. "I think… This home is full of the peace we both need, even on our difficult suns…"

".. I will draw a flower on your face, then I can admire it whenever I want." She snickers quietly, smiling. ".. Our own little paradise."

"I do not think you need to draw on me, to admire me. I catch you doing it often enough." He grins, nuzzling against her with a soft little hum. "…Our little paradise. But it is you, who makes it a home."

She pauses, a slight red tint blossoming over her cheeks. ".. You're my husband, I'm allowed." She huffs, peering up at him. ".. For you, maybe. For me.. it's you."

"You are not only allowed, you are encouraged." Eir quietly teases, offering a warm smile. "…And for you, i will make it the best home it can be."

".. I'd still do it even if I wasn't." She pouts. ".. You are already succeeding."

"Good." Eir answers in a soft murmur to both offered questions, lingering in the company and quiet for a short while. Slowly, his head rests to settle on her own. "…Shall we go choose a book?"

A moment of peace and silence, Sayuri's eyes shut briefly to simply enjoy it with her head still rested against her beloved husband. Only when he speaks does she open her eyes, humming softly. "Mmh.. Lets."

I will keep her close. Keep her as safe and as comfortable as i can. Anything, for her.

[delopsia]

Warning for mildly implied alcohol abuse & underage drinking

Thinking about Rhett in a soulmate AU...

Everyone's soulmates are different; his parents had each other's first words inked into their wrists from birth, and Perry had Rebecca's name on his forearm in a pretty cursive font, but Rhett...he had nothing. No markings, no counting timer, not a single thing to indicate he had a soulmate. Defective, doomed to spend his life alone, without anyone to share his world with.

He's 14 when Perry meets Rebecca and brings her home to meet the family. But then he's found himself so jealous that he's had to get up and leave the dinner table because he just can't stand seeing soulmates find each other, knowing that he'll never get to have that.

He's 15 when Amy comes into the world, with a timer that counts down to the very second she will meet her soulmate. At age five, Amy doesn't understand why Uncle Rhett gets watery-eyed when she asks about his soulmate. She figures it out when she's six, draws a fake timer, and glues it to his wrist, so he can have one too.

Rhett's just turned 17 when his buddies all decide to go to prom together as friends, because they don't have dates but they'll be serving food at the event. He doesn't make it an hour before he has to go outside, because a girl found her soulmate on the dance floor and he just can't stand it.

His momma finds him drunk on the front porch, the day he turns 18. She doesn't know how he got the alcohol, but he keeps hiccupping about how unfair it all is that he's doomed to be alone. "It just ain't fair," he sobs into her shoulder, "what did I do wrong?" She prays for him every night before bed, because she can't stand seeing her youngest so broken up. Nothing changes, and Rhett just keeps drinking.

He's given up on it by the time he turns 21. It's hard to think when you're slaving away on your father's ranch and drunk for the rest of the time, hooking up with randoms because it's the closest he'll get to intimacy.

Rhett's 23 and given up when he sees a car from out of state broken down on the side of the road. He doesn't know what possesses him to stop and offer to help you, but he stays with you until the tow truck gets there. He doesn't expect to walk into the bar that night and run into you.

He sees you again the next day, then the next, and before he knows it, he's spent a week going to the bar, just to sit down and talk to you about everything under the sun. Your fingertips and palm are permanently gray, something to do with a soulmate that you've given up on figuring out.

But then your car is fixed, and you're back on the road, because life unfortunately doesn't stop for a blue-eyed cowboy you've found in middle of nowhere Wyoming. Texts turn into never ending phone calls, staying up late into the morning hours, clinging to every second.

Two days after his birthday, you show up by surprise, and Rhett finds himself running toward your car is it pulls up his driveway, work long forgotten. You've only stepped out of the car when he scoops you up in a big hug, spinning you around.

He feels something start to tingle as you reach up and wipe the sweat from his left brow, a tingle that seems to follow as you cup his cheek. When your face changes, he knows something's happening.

Rhett's 24 when he realizes that he had a soulmate after all, because now he proudly carries a marking on his left cheek. Vibrant splotches of every color in the rainbow, from the outer corner of his eye to the lowest point his jaw. Those same colors that now adorn your once gray hand. Sometimes folks bug him about it, sometimes people ask if it's bothersome to have such an obvious soulmate marking, and he just smiles and tells them that he couldn't have asked for anything more.

Because now he has someone to share his world with, someone that he's fallen head over heels for and has made him the luckiest man in the world. You're all he's ever wanted.

At rodeos, the announcer calls him The Rainbow Cowboy, and Rhett's not sure if that was meant to be an insult or not, but he wears it proudly. It's the Rainbow Cowboy who wins that season, and it's the last time they see him ride, because just after New Years, he packs up and hops into his truck with you, ready to take on the world together and never look back.

[starryredpandawrites]

Bendy Bites 4: Kitty

So, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that I’m not going to have the next “Born from the Same Ink” post update ready until sometime next week (hopefully).  The good news is that I wrote a bunch of Bendy Bites drafts while procrastinating working on the chapter so y’all get to enjoy those instead! I’ll be posting them throughout the week. 

Anyways, at the end of the story I’m planning on Audrey and Bendy escaping the machine eventually, right? There are some other details about their escape I can elaborate on if anyone wants to ask but that’s a subject for another post. 

In the game, it’s mentioned that if Joey Drew Studios ever went under, the Gent corp. would seize all of their gent-related property. This makes me wonder if Audrey and Bendy count as that property. 

Audrey decides “better safe than sorry” and hides Bendy immediately after they make it out. This is fine for the first couple of weeks they’re living together but eventually he starts getting restless. She does her best to sneak him outside every once in a while but she doesn’t get a lot of time off work and there are only so many secluded/safe/people-free places she can take him. He’s doing his best but there aren’t always interesting TV shows to watch and there are only so many drawings he can make before losing his mind. 

She starts getting worried that if she doesn’t change something about their home life, Bendy (in Ink Demon form)  is going to eat the mailman or the neighbor’s slightly-more-yappy-than-average dog or something worse.  

Then one day, the solution finds them. 

Audrey comes home and Bendy is nowhere to be seen. She’s terrified and rushes around the apartment shouting for him. 

She sees movement under the bed and looks underneath it to find two sets of eyes staring back at her: a pair of pie-cute eyes and a pair of cat eyes. 

((I think you can see where I’m going with this))

Bendy comes out from under the bed with a black and white kitten in his arms. He sets the kitten on the bed where it proceeds to walk towards Audrey and curiously sniff at her. 

((quick note, I headcanon that after they break out, Audrey and Bendy learn sign language so he can communicate in his baby form. Audrey speaks while signing))

Audrey: where tf did the kitten come from?

Bendy, signing: the window

Audrey: You just let a stray cat inside the house?

Bendy: It’s cold outside!

Audrey is about to say they can’t keep it when she realizes this could be the solution to their problem. She wonders why she hadn’t thought of getting a pet before. A dog would need to go for walks and be more maintenance than she had time for but a cat is a lot more self-sufficient. They need play too though and that’s exactly what Bendy needs while Audrey is at work. Obviously, there are other pet options too. 

Then she realizes she needs to check something first. 

She picks up the kitten: Bendy, can you change really quick?

Cut to the Ink Demon standing there. 

Audrey, holding the cat protectively: Are you at all tempted to eat this cat?

Bendy, with an offended gurgle/gasp: HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST IT? INK BLOT IS FAMILY!

Audrey: Ink Blot?

Bendy: IT’S A FITTING NAME. 

Audrey: Alright…why were you guys under the bed though?

Bendy, while reaching out to allow the curious kitten to sniff a claw: THEY WERE EXPLORING. I WANTED TO EXPLORE WITH THEM. 

A bit later, Audrey warns him that they need to take the kitten to the vet and ask around to make sure no-one is missing him. Of course, they can’t find any owners so they have a cat now, all thanks to the cat distribution system.

I could make a whole other post about Ink Blot/the kitten but I’ll just shoot some ideas here:

They are a very friendly kitten. They have to be to not be afraid of Bendy when he’s a big boi

I don’t want to decide the gender so I’ll leave that up to reader interpretation. 

They are black and white with white splotches on their front two paws and their face (mimicking Bendy’s gloves and face, of course)

Toon Bendy is their favorite, followed by Ink Bendy, then Audrey. They like Audrey but she’s too busy/stressed to do much with the cat other than cuddle and take care of their money-related needs. 

They tear through cat toys ridiculously fast. Bendy learned to stash away all of his plushies

I was going to name the cat “Inky” but I’m used that name in my Big Brother Bendy fic so I went with “Ink Blot” instead. 

If anyone has any questions about their post-escape life (or anything, really) send me an ask! I would love to answer them 😊

[the-wintershade]

oh my love | pattinson!batman

pairing: pattinson!batman x reader  summary: your past relationship was pretty dark, but Bruce makes sure to make you feel safe again wc: 1.5k+  genre: worrying, sweetness, comfort, Bruce being a cutie warnings: mentions past abuse but very briefly and not in depth, reader has an instance of being very spooked by loud noises a/n: thanks for requesting anon and for your patience as I worked through this! <3

You told him it was a fear of loud noises. Who wouldn’t believe that?

Your muscles would squeeze every time he’d close a cabinet, slap papers on the table, or when the wind would pull the door shut with a loud slam.

Of course, you didn’t mean to, but it was something that’s been programmed into your body for so long it’s hard to figure out how to turn it off. Those loud noises and harsh cutoffs brought you back to a time when those noises warned of pain.

It would only be so long before a hand would angrily arc through the air and you’d squeeze your eyes shut before it landed.

You’d smile and tell him everything was OK, trying to ignore the way the adrenaline burned through your veins, how your hands began to shake, and everything in your body locked up.

It wasn’t hard to realize that Bruce was questioning more and more about why loud noises startled you so much, but he never pushed you. His respect for you was too great to invade your own personal battles like that.

You were grateful for that.

It’s a cold night, tonight. You’re just drawing the covers up over yourself to keep the warmth in when the window bangs open. Your body reacts faster than you thought it would and you throw your weight to other side of the mattress and are up on your feet in a moment, a blanket haphazardly hanging off your frame.

“(name)?” Bruce’s voice is soft and he sets his boots on the floor slowly. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes stay fixed to the window, your shoulders and arms spasming. Your stomach knots and you can’t bring yourself to relax, every muscle rigid.

You know Bruce is not a threat, but it’s so hard to get everything to relax.

It’s so painful, standing like this. You want to stop but you can’t. A few tears crawl out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m trying to stop.”

He steps over to you slowly. “I know. It’s alright.” He watches for a sign of fear as he steps closer to you. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Bruce…”

“Tell me.” The dark splotches under his eye make his eyes more vibrant and the pain underneath them easier to spot.

You nod and then keep yourself still to keep from doing something accidentally; you close your eyes as he gets closer.

He reaches out to slowly touch your shoulder and when he doesn’t sense any tension, he pulls you into his chest. He lets out a small sigh as you fold into him. He strokes a hand through your hair whispering, “you’re safe, you’re safe,” as your tears roll onto his suit.

….

It took a few days to get back out into the world, but you did. It was an afternoon artisan market. You wanted to see what the city had to offer to decorate your room.

It was a good excuse to spend more time with Bruce. After all, you liked being chaperoned around by him, and you knew he wouldn’t let you go somewhere that busy all by yourself. Plus, it gives you a chance to put the events of the other night behind you.

You needed some time to get away from the manor, just for a minute, to help your body reset and readjust.

You and Bruce hadn’t had a deeper conversation about what happened, but you suspected that he was just trying to give you the space to allow you to keep things private. He’d held you the whole night, only leaving to change out of his suit and take a shower before returning.

But he never asked you anything. And he still hadn’t asked you since.

You wanted to explain it, give him some picture of what’s going on. You trusted Bruce and you wanted him to at least have some idea of why you were so distraught, but you couldn’t find a good moment to tell him.

…

As soon as you arrived at the market, Bruce kept an arm tucked around your waist, always being something solid to cling to. He kept dipping down to kiss the top of your head and watched a smile of bliss spread across your face.

It felt good to just have this time with him. Batman has to fight and put himself in danger to save the city, but Bruce can just be a “normal” man walking through the city — ignoring that he’s a Wayne.

You decided to tell him afterward. After you had this normal time with him. You deserved to have some time to just be happy and enjoy what’s around you — who is around you.

The both of you spent your time peering through stalls, maneuvering around people, and letting your eyes stop on anything you found interesting. There were a few times you’d pulled Bruce over to a small setup or helped him work his way through all the people in a particular area to get to a small trinket or drawing, but so far nothing held your interest.

“(name), how about this?” He held you back from moving and picked up a beautiful drawing, framed in a wooden frame with a dark stain.

“Oh, Bruce.” You traced a finger around the edges, eyes opening in wonder. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

“Let’s get it.” He smirked over at you and you just tucked yourself further into his side, blushing. “It’ll look nice on the wall near the door.”

You turned your neck to smile up at him. “That’s a good place for it. I like it.”

“Good.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, before pulling the two of you along to buy the painting from the artist.

After, after.

…

“Bruce?” You looked at him across the table from where you’d stop to dine for brunch. You’d been having such a good day together that you both figured you could stop for an impromptu meal. “Can we talk about what happened a few nights ago?”

His eyes widened for a second, before closing as he set his fork down. “Are you sure?” You could tell he didn’t want to pressure you into explaining anything about why you acted that way. He was open and ready to listen, but waiting for you to take the lead.

“Yeah.” You took a sip of water before clearing your throat to begin. “There was someone before you, someone who had a lot of problems. That someone had a lot of problems, problems that someone would take out on me.”

You looked up and watched for his reaction. His eyes were soft and sympathetic. Gently, he reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours.

You took a shaky breath. “That’s why I have issues with loud noises. I really didn’t mean to scare you and I’m sorry for reacting the way that I did. It’s just, sometimes sounds get overwhelming for me.”

Bruce’s mouth pressed into a firm line of determination before he got up and took the seat next to you. He peered deeply into your eyes. “You do not have to apologize for what you went through. I’m just glad that you let me take care of you that night.”

He reached across the table, taking your hands in his and pulling them into his lap. He gave them a light squeeze. “I love you. I want to do everything in my power to make you feel safe. What can I do?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached over and ran a loving hand across his cheek. “You already do so much.”

His eyes looked sad. “If that ever changes, if you ever feel in danger or uncomfortable around me, let me know. I never want to hurt you.”

“Okay.” You managed to get out.

He nodded, before leaning in to press a soft kiss on your cheek. You blushed as he drew away.

He sighed before looking at your plate and chuckling. “You better eat those blueberries before I eat them myself.”

You gasped in fake shock. “How dare you?” You pulled your hands out of his grasp to put them over your chest. “To someone you said you would never want to hurt?”

“A few missing blueberries wouldn’t hurt.”

“You don’t know that. Oh, I think I feel faint now.” You pressed the back of your hand against your forehead as Bruce chuckled.

“Okay, fine. No blueberries.” He slid an arm around your chair and drew you in a little closer. “I’ll spare them because of you, only you.”

You giggled before plopping one in your mouth. “Thank you. Glad to know my love for you gets me somewhere.”

He rolled his eyes jokingly as you elbowed him gently in the ribs. He laughed louder than he expected. You watched his eyes sweep over the restaurant before shyly turning to the plate in front of you, folding into your body further in embarrassment.

You smirked at him, before eating another blueberry. “Thanks for listening, Bruce.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and giggled as he tucked another one into your neck.

“Always, (name).” He slid a bit of your hair back, leaving a hand on your cheek, thumb rubbing affectionately across your skin. “Always.”

battison tag: @johnny-pie​

[honeycombstrawberry]

#104 w Adrian and reader?

bring it on home

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions)

rating: e+

word count: 1,252

prompt: #104: “ive never wanted to fuck someone as badly as i want to fuck you rn”

one-sentence synopsis: adrian comes home and finds you waiting for him in the bath.

author's note: i wrote this little one on my phone before bed tonight 🥺🥺 i hope you like it!!

read on ao3!

You can hear the front door open and shut, but you don't pay it much attention. Adrian will come and find you when he comes and finds you.

You trail your fingers on the heated surface of the water you're submerged in, letting your fingertips slightly displace the steam rising up. You swirl through that steam, the candlelight around you flickering the fog orange. Sighing, you slip a further deeper underwater, your muscles all relaxing piece by piece, bit by melting bit.

In the distance, you can hear Adrian going through his regular little routine that he does every time he comes home. His footsteps are heavy until his shoes come off; then, you're tracking him by the sounds of cabinets and doors as he changes his clothes and moves through the house.

You hear him pause down the hall, presumably when he notices the bathroom door is slightly ajar. You smile to yourself, letting your fingertips trail between your legs instead, waiting for him to finally come in.

There's soft footsteps, then a gentle knock at the door. Into the small space between door and frame, Adrian asks, "You in here?"

"Yeah," you reply, "Come in."

Adrian nudges the door open, slipping inside into the thick heat in the bathroom. He clicks the door shut behind himself, leaning back against it as he takes in the scene— takes in you. His eyes skim over the candles lit on the counter and the edges of the bath before he finds you in the water, your fingers sliding along the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Hey," Adrian says, cheeks splotching as his gaze burns through you over the top edge of his glasses. He shoves the frames up, studying you closely as he draws nearer. You were right; he'd changed his clothes, stripping down into a t-shirt and boxers, barefoot on the tile. He scratches at the back of his head as he observes you, rumpling his hair before he rubs the back of his neck.

His hands won't stop moving; you wonder if it's you he really wants to be touching, and you smile, tilting your head against the back of the tub.

"Hey," you reply back. You smile up at him, wet heat coursing through you that has very little to do with the warmth of the water and everything to do with him. "How was your day?"

"Who gives a shit?" he asks, and you laugh, holding your hand out to him. He comes and takes it, heedless of the slick, soapy water you drag along his palm and through his fingers when you intertwine them.

"I missed you," you tell him.

"Yeah?" he asks, breathless. You can see how hard he's already getting, tight in his boxers. "Fuck. I kissed you, too."

Smiling, you ask, "Don't you mean missed?"

"Whoops," he says. "Sorry. Typo." He kisses the wet back of your hand, lips gliding up your slick skin to the inside of your elbow, then further, to your shoulder. He kisses up your throat to the corner of your mouth before smiling into the rough kiss he presses in next.

"You're talking out loud," you argue, but he gets his hand in your wet hair, tugging your head back a bit so he can suck a kiss into your jaw that stings with the sweetest sort of burn, and you forget what he even said in the first place.

You slip your hand loose, wiggle it free and slip it up Adrian's strong thigh. Your wet fingers dampen the fabric of his boxers as you find his cock and circle it. The heat is a sharp pleasure, even better for the breath that punches from his lungs to your mouth as a result.

"Oh, fuck," Adrian mumbles. He kisses you again, confesses in a heated rush, "I've never wanted to fuck someone as badly as I want to fuck you right now."

"You say that literally pretty much every single day," you tell him, amused.

"And?" he asks. "It's true every time. Now, back up, move, I'm getting in."

"What?" you demand. "Adrian—"

It's too late. He's already climbing into the bathtub, the water sloshing nearly over the top. It just reaches the rim before slipping back down, sluicing over him, forcing his clothes to cling to him like a thin second skin.

Adrian all but tears his wet boxers off, flinging them to the ground with a wet slap against the tile. His shirt joins it, his arms contorting, torso twisting, his muscles all flexing as he tugs the soaked material up and off. It gets caught around his shoulders, so you reach up to smooth your hands up his strong chest before you help it off. He shakes his head once he's free, water flying out of his damp hair, glasses fogging up with heat. You reach up and slip them off, setting them aside.

"Fuck," Adrian breathes, "Finally," and then he's dropping over you, sending water cascading up again.

The hand Adrian reaches between your legs is hungry, searching, and he finds your entrance easily. When he feels how slick and loose you already are, he's lifting his head and sealing you in a kiss again, moaning into your mouth.

"Were you touching yourself before I got here?" Adrian asks. When you nod, he bites into another kiss with you, telling you, "Fuck, that's so hot. Holy fuck—"

He guides his cock to your entrance, pushes in in the slick wetness, warmth and heat everywhere. You reach up, stroking wet fingers through his damp hair, tugging him down so you can bite under the cut of his jaw. He makes a broken noise when you suck a bruise there, falling apart above you.

His hands come up to grip the rim of the tub on either side of your head, knuckles as white as the porcelain when he fucks into you in a sleek rush. He doesn't hesitate to fuck you into the bathtub, finishing what you started before he even got there. At the angle he's pounding into you, you easily get friction from his body. You just have to twist your hips just so, and then there's sparks rocketing through your entire body, coiling in your belly, shooting up your spine.

"Adrian," you gasp out, grasping for a kiss from him.

At the sound of his name falling from your lips, Adrian shatters, his breath stuttering in his chest as his hips gain a frantic rhythm. He can't stop repeating your name, intermixed with, "Fuck," and, "Please," and, "Holy fucking shit, I love you," over and over and over. His forehead comes to meet yours when he cums, a desperate, slack-jawed kiss coming to your lips from his.

Your chest is heaving, and you keep fucking yourself onto his cock, grinding against his body until you're cumming around him. You can feel your body tightening around him, your muscles all seizing and then releasing again, and Adrian breaks off a cry into your throat at the sensation.

You card your fingers through his hair absently. Still catching your breath, you tell him, "I'm going to have to take another bath."

"We," he corrects you, his back lifting in great heaves as he catches his own breath. He lifts his head and drags into a kiss with you, loose, biting, smiling. "I'm going to use watermelon bubbles this time."

"Fine," you agree, and he grins, kissing your cheek before reaching back for the drain.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25

[jimipoo]

All yours.

prompt: Since your boyfriend is a dancer you thought it was a good idea to learn a TikTok dance with him and post it for fun. Until suddenly, everyone wants to take him from you and you are not pretty happy with it.

pairings: choreographer!jimin x oc

genre: fluff and a tiny bit of angst (insecurity but its harmless)

word count: 2.8k

warnings: jimin is so sweet and flirty it makes u roll ur eyes, oc is emotional all the time lmfao but in conclusion, theyre that couple + they r domestic bc dats my fav trope

a/n: plots kinda lame but cute imo.. its jus something i randomly thought of as im scrollin thru tiktok bc i hav an addiction yay ^__^ plus i love this tiktok dance LOL anyway its my first ever fic, im nervous so pls tell me what u think about it :3 im still a beginner at writing so it might b messy and rushed >.< but aaa hope u enjoy hehe

if u have tiktok, u might kno about this ;) jus imagine jimin dancing to this song *screams and does a backflip*

It’s becoming increasingly rare for you and Jimin to be home at the same time these days. As much as you want to wait for him every night, draw him a warm bath after a long day of practicing at his dance studio for hours, you can’t. Because you'd be passed out by the time he got home. The only time you’d be able to see him is during mornings when both of you are getting ready for work, one or two kisses on the cheek and it’d be another long hours for the both of you to see each other again.

And you miss him, quite a lot actually. For being such a clingy and affectionate partner and all your texts for him being all “Baby, I miss you :(” you highly doubt that you would be able to survive a full week without at least feeling his presence.

Jimin misses you too, of course. But as much as he feels bad for not coming home early as usual, and as much as he wanted to see you home and eat dinner with you like before, his practicing/working hours needed to be extended for some time because this new choreography for this K-pop boy group is not as easy to master and he feels as if he running out of time. You’d understand though, you know how hard he’s been working and all you want to do is take care of him as you’d like. 

This Friday was one of those rare days. Jimin was able to finish everything he needed to do in his studio ahead of schedule and returned home with a takeout bag from your favorite restaurant. Just a little something to make up for the time you hadn't spent together in the previous weeks.

It’s 9pm and you were really tired. Your back hurts, your legs hurt, even your fingers hurt from all of the typing and note-taking you were doing the whole day. But at this point, all you really want to do is flop your now weak body on the bed, let your heavy eyelids close and drift you off to sleep, giving little to no care about changing from your work clothes which you are probably going to regret later on. You could say that today, specifically, has been a little rough on you. Your boss’ assistant turned out to be absent due to some sickness and because of that, you were the one who was assigned to take over most of her work. You thought it was just that, but during lunch, you accidentally bump someone and spill your mango juice on both of you. They were nice about it, saying that they had a spare shirt to change in their locker. However, you had to deal with the fact that your favorite dress shirt got a huge yellow stain that looked like someone had peed on you.

You thought it was just that, but it happened again. You then accidentally spilled the same mango juice on three of your papers, which you frantically fan with a thin notebook until someone offers you their mini hairdryer. It didn’t dry all the way, but it was enough to make the yellow splotch go away. Your overall summary of your day was just a pure mess, and you were just about to curse at the universe for making you suffer like this. 

Again, it’s 9pm and you were really tired. 

You wrap your hands around the doorknob, lazily pushing the door with your shoulder as you let out a sigh. A very familiar voice of a man immediately echoed through the apartment and you look up, only to see your favorite person, whose lips and eyes were formed into an upturned smile. You felt as if the heavy feeling in your body had been evaporated. 

You’d never expect to see Jimin at this hour being home earlier than you. He was placing some take-out boxes on the table and from what you’ve observed, it’s from your favorite restaurant. His brown hair was slightly ruffled and it looked like he’d just been woken up from a nap. You thought he looked adorable like that, his large, sleeved shirt that made his cute hands look like paws as he looks over to you with puppy eyes and that oh, so cute smile on his face. His crooked tooth peeking out a little. 

You immediately drop your things and tightly wrap your arms around his waist as if you hadn’t seen each other in a decade.

“Jimin!” you squeal, never letting go of his waist and you softly inhale as the smell of fresh laundry mixed with his scent hits through your nose. Your favorite.

“You really missed me that much, huh?” Jimin chuckles, his words slightly sounding heavy as he’d just woken up an hour ago. Bringing his right arm to place on your back, he pulls you closer to him.

“It feels like we haven’t seen each other in weeks,” your voice comes out a little muffled as your face is buried in his chest. You feel like crying, this week really has been pretty bad for you and finally getting to spend some time with your favorite person in the whole world has only been the good thing that’s happened. You try your best to let out a quiet sniffle, but Jimin heard it. 

“Oh my god, are you crying?” He immediately says, his voice laced with concern. “Baby..” he gently grabs your face to make you look up at him, his heart sinks when he sees you red-eyed and it’s clear that you were crying. 

“I’m sorry, today was just terrible, and,” you pause to sniffle, “I’m glad I came home to you.” you finished. You see Jimin looking at you with concern, “I know baby, I know.” he brings your face close to his chest again and embraces you tightly, placing his chin on top of your head as he sways both of you.

“I missed you too.” Jimin clarifies. “Let’s eat now, I’m hungry. Thank you for this.” you let go of his embrace, quickly helping set up the table and both of you take a seat, You start unwrapping your food and so does he, you take a huge bite and sigh in relief because finally, you haven’t eaten since lunchtime. You mentally thank god for having such a sweet boyfriend who never gets sick of you and your clingy-ness. Or maybe he is, he’s just good at hiding it. You thought. 

It’s 10pm and both of you are laying on the bed, your head comfortably rests against Jimin’s chest as his right arm tightly wraps around your shoulder for support, you could still smell his body wash as he had just gotten out of the shower after you. You’d trade everything if it meant you get to cuddle with him like this forever.

“What are you doing?” Jimin asks, looking over to your phone, curious to see what you’ve been watching on your phone because he noticed you’ve gone quiet and all he could hear was some music playing over and over again. The show playing on your shared TV had been long abandoned but neither of you feel like turning it off.

Jimin sees a woman, dancing to a song to what he guesses sung by an American artist named Doja Cat. “Oh wow, she’s good,” Jimin observed, being a dancer himself, he found the choreography pretty impressive, and if he were to learn it, he thinks he might even do it better. Or should he say, eat it up?

You start humming along with the song, suddenly, a light bulb in your brain lit up as you let out a gasp. Looking up at Jimin, he looks at you with curious eyes. “You think you can do this dance?” your lips form a smile.

“Who do you think I am?” he jokes, “I’m a dancer, of course, I can.”

“Do you wanna shoot a Tiktok video?”

“What do you mean, like, we dance to it?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Plus, I think you’d look hot.”

Jimin’s lips tugged in a smirk, “Hot?” this earns a laugh from you. “Yes! I think I’ve gotten a hang of it though, it’s pretty easy.”

Spending time with your boyfriend is and will always be enough to charge your energy battery. Even if it meant forcing him to film and dance to this random video you found while mindlessly scrolling through Tiktok. This was exactly what you and Jimin needed after those long stressful weeks, especially after you had a bad day today at work. Jimin had always told you how dancing is like therapy, and for once, you agree. Because this is so fucking fun.

“How did you know all the steps already? I’m still struggling a little,” you pursed your lips at him.

“Okay, well, try to follow my moves,” he repeats the dance but slowly, so you could easily mimic his movement. You start getting a hang of it, and you can’t help the heat flowing across your cheeks as Jimin gives you praises and you think if he’s like this when he’s actually teaching a student.

But right now, you’re his student.

Luckily, it didn’t take you long enough to master this dance so you immediately press record on your phone and dance along to the song, but as you were dancing, you mess up one move, “Ahh! No!” you let out a giggle and Jimin does as well.

You couldn’t care less about messing up, since this was just purely out of fun, plus, you’ve always thought he’d look sexy dancing to this song.

Your phone finishes recording and you quickly grab it as it shows the preview, showing both of you dancing and you cringe at the sight of you dancing and notice how your moves were slightly delayed and undetailed, unlike Jimin who moves as if he was the one who choreographed this dance. It was clear who was the real dancer between the two of you, he wasn’t even giving his full best, and yet, it still leaves you stunned and blown away. Regardless, you were definitely right about Jimin looking sexy while dancing to this song.

“Damn, look at you move!” Jimin teases as he watches the video over your shoulder, “You can tell I was struggling,” you said in between giggles.

“You did great babe, you look cute.” he nudges you, rolling your eyes in which earns a chuckle from him.

“I’m gonna upload this so our friends could see how cute we are.” you quickly type in your caption: “Roped him into dancing to this song with me 😌 @ParkJimin” you hit post and you wait for it to load and show up in your feed.

“We’re that couple, huh?”

“We’re that couple.”

The following morning, you wake up to the continuous ding! sound echoing throughout your shared bedroom, you could’ve sworn that it was just a part of a weird dream you were currently having, but no, that sickeningly annoying sound was no other than from your own phone. As your brain begins to realize what was happening around you, your red eyes immediately shot open, quickly bringing your hand over to the bedside table to grab your phone, you try to move quietly as you realize that Jimin was still sleeping peacefully beside you. You quickly take a quick glance at him, making sure your shuffling didn’t wake him up.

You open your phone to see about 500 notifications from TikTok.

You sit up as you quickly unlock your phone, confused as to why you suddenly have that many amounts of notifications when all you do in that app was scroll through your For You Page for hours until you find that one funny video that will make you sob from extreme laughter. Did someone hack your account perhaps? Is it a virus? You try to rack your brain but you were still too sleepy to remember anything from last night, and your body is also, pretty sore.

The moment you open the app, it hits you.

You made a TikTok with your boyfriend and it blew up.

It had 10 million views, 3 million likes, and 100 thousand comments.

What.. the fuck? How?

You quickly tap on your video and went straight to the comments, you were immediately met with comments from people thirsting for Jimin, your boyfriend. Your eyes widen as you scroll through them, some of them were straight-up sexualizing him, and a lot of them were comments about how he was too pretty for you, and how odd that you guys are together. Some were even arguing that you guys are probably siblings. What is wrong with these people?

Instead of feeling angry, you felt your heart sink as you scroll more and insecurity gushes through you. You were never the type to feel upset over anything like this, but lately, you’ve been feeling very sensitive and you never even thought that this one video of you guys dancing will have an impact on people like this. You only posted this for fun, so why were they so mean to you? And what do they know about your relationship to judge you like that, plus the audacity to say nasty stuff about YOUR boyfriend? Are you really that ugly? Should you tell Jimin? Should you just delete it? What if people start blowing up your DMs? What if-

“Baby?”

You immediately turn your head to see Jimin who was now awake, puffy-eyed, and pursed lips as he looks up at you, his knotted eyebrows mimicking yours. “What’s wrong? Why were you looking at your phone so intensely?” he innocently asks. You don’t say anything and just showed your phone to him, his eyes immediately squint from the brightness and the blurriness, realizing he still can’t see what you were showing to him, he swiftly turns to grab his eyeglasses from his side’s bedside table, he puts it on. All he sees are comments, but he’s confused. “What is that?”

“Our little TikTok video blew up, and people are being mean for some reason,” you answer.

“Huh? Wh-what do you mean?” he’s still confused, the drowsiness was still preventing him to be aware of what’s currently happening. “It went viral, I mean,” you look through the comments again with a scowl on your face and Jimin sits up, scooting closer to look over your phone. Suddenly, the realization hits him like a truck. “We’re famous?!” is what his first response was.

This made you laugh, “More like, you’re famous,” you hold up your phone to his face, “Everyone is hating on me. Look at these.”

You see his eyes quickly scan through the screen, a divot slowly beginning to form between his eyebrows as he begins to scroll. Suddenly, he grabs his phone from your hand, his thumbs were moving very quickly and you realize that he was replying to one of the comments, you saw his finger tap the send button. “Hey!” You grab your phone from his hands.

user1: There’s no way this pretty guy is with this.. whew anyways 😳

user2 replied: right like..

user3 replied: omg fr hes too pretty for her, look at the way he moves too

user4 replied: why u guys so mean theyre cute :/

user5 replied to user4: naur the girl ruining the video with her dancing lmfao

user3 replied to user5: BYEEEMFMGM

user2 replied to user5: FRR DOE LMAOOO i want a seperate video of him dancing woman he fine as helllll😩

YN replied: lol ok at least I get to suck his dick <3

Your eyes widens at his comment and you let out a gasp, “Jimin!” you slap his shoulder, to which he laughs. “What? It’s true! I’m just telling them who really owns me.” he rubs his shoulder, “That hurt, by the way.”

“Who really owns you?” this made your eyebrows rise and your mouth formed into an amused grin, you let out a laugh.

“Yeah, baby. I’m all yours. Always has been.” he clarifies with that shit-eating grin he sports everytime he acts all cocky and flirty around you. You playfully roll your eyes, trying to hide the fact that it still has an effect on you, it’s one of the things that made you fall for him, anyway.

“Now,” he grabs your phone once again and places it on the bed, but this time you don’t react. You watch him bring one of his legs over yours and sits on your lap so his legs were on either side of yours. A smirk visibly formed on his pretty puffy lips.

“We’ll deal with those people later, they don’t know what they’re talking about. For now, let me show you how beautiful you are to me.”

“Oh and,” he adds, “You look really sexy when you dance.”

“Oh, really now, Park Jimin?"