#time on canvas: 7 hours
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medicalunprofessional · 1 year ago
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what is wrong with you?
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sweetlady555 · 8 months ago
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QUICK SYNASTRY OBSERVATIONS^_^
Venus 1H Synastry is nooo joke aside from the strong very obvious chemistry and attraction, if you or them identify as straight yall could literally turn gay for each other 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🤣
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Moon 1H Synastry is NAWTTT for the avoidants 😔!!! House person could really depend on moon person for validation and theres so much hidden things in this relationship like secrets and resentment </3 this could depend on the entire chart though!!! the good cute side though is that you both could lowkey have feelings for each but never telling each other because you both just know…
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Mars 1H Synastry is lowkey so attractive like aside from the strong physical attraction, mars will literally do anything to please or meet house persons needs or desires 😭 i told this guy who had his mars in my 1h that i really liked his paintings and if he could make one for me and that boy had his gloves and canvas out the next hour😭🤣
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Mars 8H Synastry not gonna lie i know some of yall be loving mars in the 8h synastry but this synastry placement irked me ouwwttttt overtime😭 as house person in this situation mars person was FEINING for me he was a real freakazoid like the freakiest of them all he was basically FERAL and i was chill with it for a few months but it seemed like thats all he wanted to do and its like can we just talk tonight❤️? Mars will not understand this because theyll percieve almost anything house person does as provocative and sexually enticing but this could go for both of you guys so idk🥴
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Pluto 7H Synastry is cute at first because pluto will be so infatuated and interested in house person, youll notice pluto person will be the first to look at your stories without even following you sometimes and its like aw they must rly like me imma let them be :) but behind the scenes theyre checking your social media almost 24/7 looking at all your interactions online and probably will lowkey start stalking all of ur friends too 😭 the pluto person will do this without house person knowing (if theyre sneaky enough) feeling the need to anticipate the house persons actions or feelings … “i just wanna talk and conversate cause I usually just stalk and yk masturbate and I finally got the courage to ask you on a date so if you say yes, let the future fall into place, cunt” (she by tyler the creator resembling pluto 7h synastry👀👁️)
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North Node 2H Synastry is lowkey cute in a way bc this is a “i gotta get rich” after looking at house person once😭! north node will literally see house person as this rare beautiful diamond that they wont wanna lose and they will let house person know about this too! but this is just the good side of this placement bc this could also lead to self worth issues feeling like u guys arent worth each other leading to insecurities showing out in this relationship🤬
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Uranus 10H Synastry is lowkey a shocker to house person from my experience when it came to a certain career path, in my case fashion, uranus really changed my perception on it 😭 showing me the true reality of the fashion world and its like uhhh idk if i wanna do this anymore☺️! but at the same time uranus person could really be inspiring to house person because of how unconventional and unique they are! i also noticed uranus person could really influence house person to be unconventional and unique aswell! house person could go thru a lot of sudden changes with uranus person when it comes to their career and how they end up being percieved in person or online if this relationship ends up being public.
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Sun 2H Synastry is nice to have with someone because sun person will motivate house person to improve in any area of their life they will be on you too (for good obviously)😖😩 Sun person will wanna see house person thrive financially and just in general giving house person opportunities for this. There is potential jealousy on both sides mostly house person because of achievements, wealth and values literally can be anything 😣
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appleblueberry-pie · 1 year ago
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YOU ARE EVERYTHING.
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Where: You were Satoru's young caretaker when he was a child being raised by the clan. You became everything he ever wanted, and when he needed you most, you were taken away by the people that made him who he is. He takes it to heart and sought out for you when he becomes an independent adult. (7 year age gap)
With you, he was nothing. With you, he wasn't a weapon. A gun with its only purpose being to fire its trigger when it was pulled. With you, he wasn't a clan member, riches covering every inch of his floors and face. He wasn't the fear forced into those he faced, whether he liked it or not. He wasn't the balance of the planet he lived on. With you, he wasn't secretly scared. He wasn't silent. He wasn't silenced. He wasn't numb. He wasn't a thing. He wasn't an it. He was simply nothing. And being nothing with you made him become everything he could've ever hoped for.
He was a child, but he wasn't treated like one. And being his caretaker in such an....intimidating "home" made you sad for him. He was a blank canvas. He could've been rude to you. He could've spoken your ear off, threw things at you, berated you, cried, hid, smiled, anything. But he seemed so empty, alone, even though he was everything nature could've made him.
He was tired. You knew he was. A child shouldn't look at you the way he did when he first met you. So, in return, you gave him everything he deserved in hopes he'd realize that the way things are for him isn't how it is for everyone. And that he deserves a chance as well. At life, at living, loving, knowing and learning. So you cared.
I mean, it was your job to do it. It's in the name damnit. But that's not what they wanted you to do. You were just his baby sitter. Watch him for 5 hours a day, and they'll train him for 11 and then he sleeps for the rest. But with those 5 hours, you knew it could be more than just sitting around in his room or garden all day. So you attempted to incorporate some fun in every once and a while to try and get him to warm up to you.
You believe he was too used to people being there just to check on his well being; if he was living and breathing. So you gave some conversation crumbs. "Are you alright?", "Do you feel okay?" and the most difficult one, "How do you feel?" He would be a little taken aback by this last question(his face was still, but he would hesitate to answer). But he would answer, nonetheless. It felt like great progress knowing that he wouldn't flat-out ignore you. This was a great first step, in your opinion. And from there, you would continue talking to him.
Asking him how his day was during his lunch time. Offering to walk him around his place of living if he was bored of staying in his room. Asking if he wanted to wear something more comfortable if his traditional clothes bothered him too much. Making(one-sided) conversation while you cleaned his room. You would talk, but eventually, you would see him watching you talk as you cleaned.
About a few weeks later, he would finally warm up to talk back to you. Asking you questions about your little stories you'd tell him about your personal life. What would be provided during lunch that day, what he'd do once his break was over, asking how the weather would be. He'd also make requests that weren't the usual. Which includes the business his family would deal with that he's not usually provided with, if he could go with you while you did laundry across the hall, if he could stay with you during your break time, and....if you could help him with his assigned homework. He began to ask you to stick around while he did mundane tasks, and you realized how much of an impact you've made on his life just by being around and asking him to be present while you were there.
It took a month for him to become attached to you. You warned him multiple times that he shouldn't be so close to the women that are supposed to help around the house, and only help around the house. He didn't care and just wanted to stay by your side 24/7 when he realized how sweet affection could be, especially from someone as pretty and kind as you. You often snuck him little sweets from the kitchen, helped him read his favorite books, and you let him clean his room with you so that you two could spend more time together. You could tell he would always look forward to spending time with you and would nearly complain to his family when he had to go. Those 5 hours became less of a mindless bore and more of a mental exploration of what love and care truly is.
You were promoted to one of the head-maids in the house when his family realized how much easier it was to manage him when you were there to do it instead of the other women. He would comply so much more easier and obviously had a brighter look on his face when you came around to solve things that he was making hard for everyone else to deal with. Now, you were there when he woke up and went to sleep. You helped with his clothes and helped serve his lunch and his dinner. You made things easier for him to bare in the house. Which was your goal. You wanted him to be happy. And happy is what he finally was.
Days flew by with you there. Nights were softer and more beautiful when you were there towards the end of his day. Food tasted better, his training was easier to do and he felt something.
Something in his chest when you were around. It felt weird, but good at the same time. You often caught him rubbing his chest when you laughed at his sassy attitude and would see his ears turn pink. You'd tease him about him being shy and would pinch his cheek, which made his ears and neck turn red, which would make you laugh harder. It was nice having a friend for once, he would think.
But maybe he shouldn't have gave in to his desires. Maybe he should've pushed you away like he did when you first started interacting with him. Maybe he should've ignored his chest when it increased its beat when you came around. Because maybe then, his family wouldn't notice how much of an impact you've had on his life. Maybe they wouldn't separate you two since you guys loved being around each other so much. Maybe he should've ignored you when you told him with a sad face that you would only be around until tomorrow to pack your things.
If only he saw the way his own face dropped when those words slipped out of your mouth. The way his face when to horror, to sadness, to that stone cold look he's had for the longest time. You wanted to caress his face to soften the hard tension that resided in his forehead and cheeks. You wanted to hug him like he let you do when he wanted to cry so badly, but wanted to be a man. Well, a man is what they made him the moment they took away the one person that mattered to him.
When you left the clan house, you took his heart with him. But his devotion always stuck deep, deep in his stomach. And it wouldn't leave. He had never felt as angry as he did when you finally were escorted by car away from the home and his father had the nerve to tell him it was "for the best". He never clenched his fists so hard. Never wanted to wipe the tears off of his face so bad. But he didn't, in case you came back and wiped them off for him. Like you always did. But they dried on his face and remained until he washed his face in his bathroom alone. Too big for an 8 year old like him, but another person's presence would've been enough for him to ignore the empty, unneeded space.
And he remained that way. Alone. For years and years to come. And his yearning for you and your special care and love has been on the back of his mind as he continue to learn and grow, and he eventually became the weapon he was meant to be. He promised himself that he would never forget you. And he never forgot. He always remembered the warmth of your hands. The aura of your cursed energy, and how it felt when it lightly tickled his skin when he sat close to your side. How calm it made him feel. He never let himself forget, in hopes that he'd find you again one day. Little did he know that his efforts to remain in touch with the memories he had left wouldn't be done for nothing.
He couldn't believe his eyes. It was too dark. Too dark to see, but it was clear as day. That hair. That skin. That nostalgic scent and that energy. He ripped his blindfold off and felt his heart ache as it beats faster. "Whatthefuck." He muttered under his breath. It was cold and it certainly couldn't be comfortable like this. How long have you been here? Why were you here? Who did this to you? Was it really you? Was he dreaming?
He was informed of a missing sorcerer that hasn't been found in the past few weeks. Someone had hid you well with high security surrounding the area. No one could get in, so they obviously brought in their best weapon, him. He got through the "security" in a matter of seconds and reached you without so much as a blink of his eye. But you?? Why you? Is this what's been going on when he's been gone? You haven't gotten the strength to protect yourself so you go missing and let some nothings kidnap you and ruin your life?
He feels anger bubble in his stomach. Surprise and happiness surge his heart. The horror and confusion makes the rest of his emotions unbearable to handle. He doesn't know what to do or say. You're blindfolded, gagged, tied up and in thin clothing. From what he can see, they haven't done much but roughed you up and neglected you of things like food and water. Everything else seemed taken care of. Were they waiting for someone to bargain you back? The thought makes him grit his teeth and he'd rather not think about it. When he begins to undo your restrictions on your wrists and ankles, you let out noises of resistance and he tries to soothe you to tell you he's there to help you.
He removes your binds, your gag, and blindfold. You couldn't even hold yourself up, so he impatiently just teleports you back to his hotel room that was provided to him by the higher-ups for this mission. You immediately grow weak in the knees from the random moment of time-splitting transportation and drop to the floor, but he catches you. "I got you, I've got you. Let's get you on the bed, okay?" You're shaking in his arms and it takes everything in him to just not bombard you with questions and throwing past information on you to get you to remember him.
All you knew was that this random man that is intimidating the shit out of you with his cursed energy transported you to a hotel room after being tied up in a dark room all fucking week. A group of religious sorcerers out of nowhere asked you to join them one day when you were minding your own business at a flower shop. You declined and the leader stepped forward and dealt with you accordingly. You put up a great fight and his little family was going to step in, but you just couldn't get to him. So, he finished you first and kept you in a random dark room for 'safe keeping'.
But who was this? What was next after being kidnapped? Was he going to hurt you? Hurt you in ways the others hadn't? You hoped that for once in all of the time you had been held captive, that you'd finally catch a break and be given the necessities you needed to survive and be happy.
You blinked your eyes open, which was hard because the light from the ceiling-to-floor windows were nearly blinding you. The man had a tight grip on your arms and he continued to ask you questions about your well being that you couldn't understand at the moment. You scramble onto the bed and finally gain the sight and courage to look up at him. When your vision finally cleared, you were immediately flooded with memories of the past when you look into those familiar, tongue-numbing eyes.
You stared up at Satoru Gojo quietly for the first time in about 19 years.
.......That's right. It had been about 19 years since you last spoke. Years since you last gave up that life of following those dumb rules and took it upon yourself to teach yourself about the things they wouldn't tell you. To be better than they claimed you were. The byproduct of the people who nearly ruined your life was standing in front of you. No wonder you didn't like his energy. He had so much cursed energy oozing out of him that it made your muscles tense in a way it hadn't before. But that look in his eyes said something else entirely.
".....?" He wanted to say something to you badly, but you looked so scared. You averted your gaze before clenching your teeth. "Where...where am I?" You pathetically croaked out the words. You hadn't had a drink of water in so long. Satoru immediately rushed to the one on his night stand and opened it for you, giving it to you. You eyed the bottle, hand hesitantly reaching out. But you took it anyways, your drive for a drink overtaking your paranoia.
Most stress in your body faded when you drank the delicious mineral water and drained it in one go. Once you finished, you heaved a sigh in relief, the empty bottle hitting the ground. "You're in my hotel room. It wasn't safe where you once were. So, I just took you here."
You don't know if the man in front of you is still the boy you grew to love. But what you did know is that for the time being, you'd have to put your trust in him. You aren't healed, and you don't want any sorcerer government of any kind to know about your possible return. You'd have to ask him for help.
Satoru was more than happy to help you in any way he could. For so long, he was searching for you. His heart nearly broke into pieces when he kept searching, kept searching, and you just wouldn't be there. Not outside his door when he woke up. Not there when he would cry himself to sleep some nights with pounding headaches. And not there when he plainly lifted his head to the sky for forgiveness. He needed you. And here you are, needing him. And that look on your face was all he needed to know that this was his chance at redemption. To rebuild what once was broken. And to eventually gather warmth from being in your arms once again.
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bunnwich · 4 months ago
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Devourer👑(Scar!Leona x Yuu) 01
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Leona got everything he wanted, except for one thing. After 7 long years of being king, Yuu comes back into his life. As Yuu finds themselves in his nightmare, will they be able to "find " Leona and wake him? Or will they both be devoured?
Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. They/Them pronouns. Yuu majors in alchemy at NRC.)
Words: 5k, 3rd person Notes: A darker AU based on Leona’s Chapter 7 Dream. Part 1 of ??? Not sure if I will continue this AU but it was fun as an exercise to write a bit of more of a darker and sinister Leona for once. LMK if you like this sorta thing?
CW: Murder, Slight Dark themes??, Pushing of physical boundaries.
Tagging: I will be tagging in comments!
--
From the moment he took the throne after his brother’s death, whispers filled the kingdom, unease and ridicule trailing him like a shadow. He remained in the heart of the people as a scar of a prince on the divine oligarchy’s legacy. A black stain of spilled ink over the Sunset Savanna’s entire proud history. Once seen as a prince with little promise, he had sat as a king for seven long years now, ruling with an iron fist and a sharp tongue.
The “when” was foggy now, a few months, a year ago? Leona, as they used to know him, had personally recruited them to head an experimental “agricultural development program,” aimed at alleviating the famine gripping the kingdom. Yuu supposed he found out about their internship and majors sometime after they graduated. The years after Night Raven College had been hard and their old school life seemed almost idyllic compared to the world outside. After their friends scattered to the winds to start their own lives, Yuu had been left behind to pick up the pieces of a shattered life. Alchemy, the study of magical plants, was one of the only ways to make them feel competent in a world surrounded by people often more powerful than themself.  They had gotten quite good at it, but it felt surreal to be bestowed such an “honor” from a king after so many years. 
They hadn't seen Leona Kingscholar in nearly a decade after all. --
It was rounding the third hour of a meeting, and the afternoon heat was blistering. Yuu was slumped in their stone chair, mind starting to wander, eyes lulling dangerously closed. After a brief silence, a single voice broke the once-quiet discussion of the royal budget, and their trance.
“Your Highness! We cannot afford to execute this plan! This…aid program to provide outreach to the Outlands.” The council member never even bothered to look over at Yuu themselves. Even when he was implying their very existence at this council was an unwelcome one.
Seated around the oval table, each other council member avoided Leona’s piercing gaze. However, Yuu’s eyes flicked to the man seated next to them. The king was draped lazily across his chair, his expression one of equal parts calculation and boredom.
Oh? Their eyes widened, the elders rarely stood their ground with him.
“Hm? And why not?” Leona’s voice was low and menacing as his emerald eyes narrowed, deep voice cracking through the entire throne room. He was dressed in his standard black dashiki suit, its sleek fabric adorned with shimmering gold accents that seemed to catch the light with his every movement. The suit’s high collar stood proud, a dark canvas for the multiple beaded and gold necklaces that dripped over his chest.
"Your Majesty, diverting even more of our time and resources to the coastal neighborhoods is a mistake.” Councilman Griza, a giraffe beastman, braver than the rest, spoke again, his voice shaking only slightly. “Those…people have shown time and time again they are a threat to the capital. Offering aid will only embolden them, send mixed messages. Especially with how things have been as of late..." His malice made him braver it seemed, his resentment of the outlanders barely concealed.
“How convenient.” Leona sneered, slouching forward. His voice was a slow rumble, dangerous and intentional. “Of course, they’ve been aggressive. Anyone would be if they were historically treated like pests—starved, shunned, discarded.” He stood, palms slapping against the table, his claws scraping the stone discordantly. “They’ve been cornered, can't expect them not to bite.”
Each of his movements was a steady prowl as he circled the long table, his brown sash flowing across his shoulder. The councilman flinched as Leona suddenly stopped behind him, looming like a dark cloud over the man. “I think sometimes you all forget, I know what it’s like to be cast aside. And…to hunger for something denied.” His eyes scanned the table’s occupants and Yuu made sure to look down before he could make eye contact with them. 
They knew their place, as the youngest and arguably least qualified…they tended to keep their mouth shut unless their opinion was asked.
He went on. “...Starve someone long enough, treat them like the dirt beneath your feet, and then when they lash out, suddenly they’re the problem? How noble of you to twist the narrative, Griza.”
Another councilman, Lord Danga, a zebra beastman, cleared his throat nervously. “With all due respect, my King, our resources are already stretched so thin this year. The Sunrise City’s people must come first, our people. Surely you can see that?”
Leona leaned forward, his sharp green eyes locking onto the man, his claws still tapping rhythmically against the back of Griza’s stone chair. “ Oh? Our people?” His voice was low and venomous. “Tell me something…Lord Danga. When you hoarded grain last season for your own settlements and let three nearby jackal villages go hungry, were those not ‘our people’? Or did they suddenly stop counting?” He shrugged.
“I—”
Leona cut him off with a sharp glare. “...And now you all want to sit here and preach to me about where my mercy should begin and end?”
An elephant beastman, emboldened by frustration, stood up. "It’s not about your mercy, Your Majesty. It’s about strategy! Strength! If we appear weak to those in the Outlands, those people will take advantage of us and our generosity as they have been the past few dry seasons!” He slammed his fist on the table.
Leona scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. “Do you know what really makes a kingdom weak?” He leaned more of his weight against Griza’s chair, the legs scraping loudly across the stone floor, as he suddenly pulled the old man and his seat backwards.
The giraffe beastman in question froze and nobody spoke, even breathed. Yuu found themself barely able to swallow.
“Fear.” Leona hissed.
“Short-sighted, foolish, hypocrites who think power means hoarding everything for themselves.” He spoke slowly, his voice lowering with menace. “You all aren’t protecting this kingdom. You’re choking it.”
Griza stiffened below him, hazel eyes downcasted. Beneath his breath, he muttered something Yuu couldn’t hear. 
“What was that?” Leona’s voice was sharp enough to cut.
“Hmph.” He tried to keep his lip stiff. “I... I only meant that... your father would have-”
“Go on. Finish that sentence…�� Leona’s growling tone was dark, and dangerous, and his eyes glowed with a barely restrained fury.
The councilman’s lips quivered openly now, but he remained silent.
“...”
“I see. A lesson needs to be learned.” Leona exhaled sharply, his patience visibly thinning. “I don’t need comparisons, and I certainly don’t need your approval to do what’s right for my people—all of them.”
The room fell silent. Leona’s soft chuckle echoed through the room, cold and mocking. “Weak, huh?” He laid both hands on Griza’s shoulder, digging his claws into his white council member robes.
The man squealed like a stuck pig, trembling under Leona’s hand. There was no escape.
“Let me show you what real weakness looks like.”
Before any of the councilmen or Yuu could react, Leona’s fingers clenched and his knuckles turned white. He muttered a familiar incantation and the man stilled in his grip, before his body seized violently. Sand spilled from Leona’s fingertips, snaking around the old man’s face, frozen in fear as his panicked eyes darted to his peers. 
It was over in seconds, he didn’t even have time to scream. No one did.
“You see,” Leona said, his tone casual as “Griza” crumbled into a lifeless heap of sand in the pulled-out chair. “True weakness is being so afraid of the past that it gets in the way of the progress of the future.” His hand made an exaggerated flourish.
He turned to the remaining council members, clapping the sand from his palms. “You call yourselves leaders, yet you sit here staring at me with your mouths agape…like frightened prey.”
He cleared his throat, sliding his claws through his dark hair casually as he paced back toward his seat. “…The coastal neighborhoods will continue to be eligible in our restoration project through the dry season.”
No one dared speak, except to echo one word.
“Yes…”
Leona nodded with finality. “Good.” He moved toward the throne’s platform, the weight of his authority filling the room as he climbed the steps, taking his rightful seat. “You’re all dismissed.” He waved.
The council members scrambled to bow before filing out, leaving Yuu alone with their new king, too stupid to move. They always heard you shouldn’t run from a predator. 
While Leona stared satisfied at the pile of sand drifting from the empty chair, they forced their weak legs to work again, finally sliding from their seat at the table and retreating toward the throne’s steps. As Yuu stood rigid at the edge of the dais, their hands clasped tightly in front of them, palms sweating as they tried to still the faint tremor that betrayed their nerves. 
The room felt impossibly quiet now, the air heavy with humidity and the unspoken aftermath of what had just transpired. A few feet away lay the remains of what was once Councilman Griza—a man whose leering gaze and oily words had made Yuu’s skin crawl on more than one occasion.
Now, there was nothing left of him but dust.
Their time assisting in infirmaries for their college internship taught them that death usually smelled like something: decay, burning flesh, blood but...here a man lay, as if he had been ripped from existence.
Nothing. 
Yuu couldn’t bring themselves to look away from the dusty remains, though bile churned in their stomach anyway. They should have felt horror. Or grief. Anything other than this cold, detached emptiness and macabre curiosity. But Griza had been a contemptible man, a social-climbing parasite who had delighted in undermining Leona at every opportunity. Was it so wrong not to mourn him?
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant echo of footsteps as the council members continued to flee the room, their fear a tangible presence in the air. Yuu couldn’t blame them.
Their fingers tightened on the fabric of their own white robes, trembling creeping back into their hands. Drawing on every ounce of composure, they dipped into a shallow bow at the steps, the fabric of their clothing brushing against their knees. "Is there... anything else you require of me, Your Majesty?" Yuu finally asked, their voice soft but steady. Their gaze dropped to the floor as they clutched the folds of their robe like a lifeline. 
Heart pounding in their chest, each beat was a sobering reminder that they were still alive—still here, unlike Griza.
Seeing them still there, Leona’s low chuckle rippled through the room, smooth as silk yet sharp enough to cut their composure.
They straightened cautiously, their gaze lifting just in time to see the king rise from his throne. When he moved, it was slow and deliberate, his footsteps echoing against the polished stone floor as he approached them.
"Anything I require?" he drawled, amusement coloring his voice. "How polite of you."
Before Yuu could respond, his clawed fingers curled under their chin, tilting their face upward. The warmth of his touch seared against their skin, forcing them to meet his piercing green gaze. Yuu’s breath hitched, their composure slipping for the briefest moment as his smirk deepened.
"You saw what happened just now," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft, almost a purr. "And this is your response?" His sharp black nail tapped on their chin, thumbing the divot below their bottom lip.
Yuu swallowed hard, trying not to think that this was the same touch that just turned a man to ash. The weight of his scrutiny pressed down on them like a physical force. His eyes searched theirs, sharp and unrelenting, as though he could strip away every carefully constructed defense they’d built. He studied their face like a puzzle he intended to solve, his smirk deepening when his eyes flicked to their hands, still pulling at the fabric of their robes tight.
“Tell me.” he started, leaning closer, the warmth of his palm seeping into their skin, a stark contrast to the cold knot forming in their stomach. "What do you really think?"
Yuu’s pulse thundered in their ears, their mind racing as they searched his face for some trace of the man they once knew. Wishful thinking. His proximity was suffocating, his presence an overwhelming force that left them no room to breathe.
No, this wasn’t the Leona they remembered—the lazy boy who had once scoffed at the pomp and circumstance of royal life.
The man before them now was a king, his sharp edges honed to a deadly point by years of bitterness and isolation. He wore his title like impenetrable armor, his every movement, and word laced with the weight of his new authority.
“I—” They looked up at him.
His hair, once unkempt and free-falling, was slicked back from his forehead, threaded with faint spirals of grey that hadn’t been there in his youth. The heavy makeup around his eyes only deepened the shadows beneath them, giving him a look far older than even his thirty-three years. His gaze seemed to be shadowed with exhaustion that no amount of sleep could cure.
Yuu swallowed hard, their throat dry. They wanted to laugh, to make some cutting remark about personal space or his newly acquired dramatic flair. But those days were long gone. They were no one of consequence to him anymore, just another servant standing before a terrifying king. One who could crush them as easily as he had Griza.
Still, they couldn’t bring themselves to lie outright. They forced a weak, bitter laugh, the sound surprising even them. “Well…sir. I can’t say I ever shed any tears for Councilman Griza," they admitted, their voice quieter than they intended. "And I suppose I'm a little biased on the success of the restoration plan." They shrugged.
Leona’s chuckle was low and rich, sending a shiver down Yuu’s spine. His grip on their chin loosened, his hand falling away only to settle on their shoulder, still leaving char marks on their jaw. His claws lightly grazed the fabric of their clothing as he prodded them toward the throne.
"No one would," he said, his tone tinged with amusement. "The man was a perverted old bastard."
Yuu allowed themselves to be led further by their king, their steps measured as though they were walking a tightrope with him. The weight of his hand on their shoulder was impossible to ignore, a silent reminder of their wildly unbalanced power dynamic.
He stepped back, gesturing for Yuu to follow as he made his way to the throne. With a lazy grace, he dropped into the large seat, his arms draped languidly over one of the armrests as though the events of the day had taken no toll on him at all.
"C’mere." he said as casually as he might have back in school, motioning to the small space beside him. "Sit. I won't bite."
Yuu hesitated, their stomach twisting as their gaze flicked between him and the space left on the cushioned seat. 
Leona’s gaze never left them, the weight of his command impossible to ignore. Slowly, they moved over, beaded sandals echoing in the large empty room. They started to lower themselves onto the left side of the throne, their hands gripping the armrest as if anchoring themselves to reality.
There was barely room for the both of them. Yuu sat down cautiously, making sure to leave at least a few inches between both their legs. They looked down at the colorful beaded bangles on their wrists and adjusted them as they settled in.
Leona leaned forward slightly, his smirk sharp. "Now," he said, his voice low, "No bullshitting. Tell me what you truly think of what I did."
Yuu’s breath caught, their pulse pounding in their throat. They met his gaze, their own expression carefully guarded, They inhaled deeply, steeling themselves. They knew the wrong answer could cost them, and so could the truth. It was a dangerous game, and they were far from certain they could win against him. 
One thing was clear—there was no turning back now. He intended to play with them.
The answer was simple. He wanted them all to witness it. That’s why he did it.
"I think…" Yuu began, their voice measured, "You’re trying to prove something. To the council. To the kingdom. To yourself." The truth left their lips easier than they thought possible.
Leona’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smirk didn’t falter. "And what, exactly, do you think I’m trying to prove?"
Yuu hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on them. They chose their next words carefully, heart racing as they stared into his sharp green eyes.
"That you’re…strong enough to lead," they said finally. "That you deserve to be here."
For a moment, the air between them was charged with unspoken tension. Then, Leona leaned back, his smirk softening into something that almost resembled a genuine smile.
"Interesting theory," he said, his tone unreadable.
Yuu couldn’t tell if that was a good thing—or if they’d just sealed their fate. They took a steadying breath, relieved that Leona seemed somewhat satisfied with their response. His sharp gaze, however, told them the conversation was far from over.
“One more thing,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “There’s something else I want to know your thoughts about.” One of his brows quirked upward.
Yuu straightened slightly in their corner of the throne, their posture still cautious. “Your Majesty?”
“You seem restless, little mouse. Tell me…what else is on your mind?” His voice was low, almost a purr, but the demand was razor-edged. “No sugarcoating it either. No filter. Honest thoughts about everything.” He held a palm in the air between them, but it felt like a trap.
Leona’s eyes tracked Yuu’s every move as they absorbed his words, seeming to just notice how they sat slightly off-center, leaving space between them and his leg.
 As if any physical distance could ever shield them from his intense scrutiny.
Yuu exhaled a breathy laugh, the sound strained. Their head spun from the abruptness of his request. In the time since their arrival at Leona’s behest, he had spoken to them so sparingly, and never this directly. It was almost as if they were strangers all over again.
“Everything?” they asked, stalling for time. “That’s a lot to cover.” They hesitated before adding, softly, “I mean-” They struggled on where to begin. “It’s… good to see you, Leona. I mean…Your Majesty.” The correction felt clumsy, a verbal stumble that reminded Yuu just how much had changed. The man sitting beside them was not the same person they’d once known. The thought tugged painfully at their chest.
“Not to be uh- rude but…you do look tired…” they ventured cautiously. “I heard the Sunrise City folk have been organizing more protests. Challenging the authority of the palace.” Their voice softened. “It can’t be easy to deal with.” They diverted his question slightly, bringing up recent events.
“I mean…” Yuu’s gaze drifted to the pile of sand that had once been Griza, then back to Leona. The question tumbled out before they could stop themselves. “H-how are you…feeling?”
Leona’s expression remained impassive as he studied them and their words. No doubt he noticed how their eyes lingered on him, searching for traces of the man they’d once known. 
A man he himself knew no longer existed.
He let out an irritated huff, his eyes flicking briefly to the pile of sand too. “It’s becoming more of an annoyance than an actual threat,” he said, his tone dismissive. Then his gaze returned to Yuu, sharp and unyielding. “...You really want to know how I’m feeling?” 
Yuu’s ears perked up at the question, hearing the doubt in his tone. It was the most candid he’d been since their arrival. His guardedness, the impenetrable walls he’d built around himself, seemed to crack, if only slightly.
“Oh.” Yuu blinked, startled. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course! You can… talk to me about anything.” Their words were soft, formal, yet tinged with sincerity as they nodded.
Leona scoffed bitterly, the sound carrying a weight of frustration. “...Ever since I became king, everything I had before is gone. No more days of slacking off, no more carefree moments of not giving a damn. Now, it’s just this—” He gestured lazily around the grand but empty throne room. “—the kingdom and its endless turmoil.” He paused, his expression unchanged, but his emerald eyes burned with emotions left unspoken.
“And now, I don’t even have the one thing I truly wanted.”
Yuu’s breath hitched as they watched him watching them from the corner of their vision, their carefully maintained mask slipping. “But…Your Majesty, isn’t this what you wanted?” They gestured to the ornate throne room too, its vastness a testament to his new status. “To be king?” They relaxed slightly as they spoke, a whisper of the old melancholic Leona slipping through in his words. For a fleeting moment, he felt less distant.
Leona’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile, wrinkles creasing around his darkened eyes. “What I wanted? What I really want…” He leaned closer, his voice low but searing. “...is to go back to when I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted. When I wasn’t stuck in this…damn throne room, surrounded by…traitors and sycophants. No one I can trust or talk to, to…be by my side.”
The honesty in his tone made Yuu’s chest tighten. 
“You of all people should know that,” he said, his gaze piercing as a crooked smile tugged at his mouth.
They had wanted to keep their distance, but Leona's words landed heavy in the silence between them, the soft weight of his confession pulling their heartstrings. There was a rawness to his tone that unsettled them. As if their prior words had stirred something deep inside him, memories they had once shared, secrets only they both knew.
Leona’s broken smile felt like a ghost, haunting them both.   
“I’m sorry…” Yuu looked down, their voice barely above a whisper. They wanted to…to empathize with him, but the memory of Griza’s death still hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the man he had become. “I do know, Leo-” The name slipped from their lips again before they could stop themselves. “I mean…Your Majesty.”
Leona’s scoff was softer this time, almost wistful. 
"I guess...things were simpler back then, huh?" Yuu gave him a nostalgic smile as the coolness of the back of the throne soaked into their robes. The few inches between the two of them felt like a cavern now. “I…don’t envy you. Being king must be…” They struggled to find the word, a tightness in their own chest. “...lonely.” Their voice dropped. 
Yuu hesitated before speaking again, the silence between them like still, uncharted waters. “...What can I do to help, Your Majesty?” They dared to ask again, creating a ripple they weren’t sure if they wanted to cause. As they met his gaze, they knew they could no longer hide the sadness they felt for him, for both of them, at how things turned ended up.
He breathed out.
“I never asked for this. I never really wanted this, ya know.” Leona said, his voice flat yet laced with an unmistakable pain.  
“I know…”  Yuu felt the full weight of his gaze settle on them, searching, pressing his grief onto them. His eyes flicked over their face, taking in every subtle shift of their expression, the sadness they thought they had hidden beneath a veil of stoic composure. He saw them. And they knew he saw them—mourning for what both their lives once were.
It was a silent accusation, a subtle reminder that the walls they had worked so hard to erect were not as impenetrable as they thought. And yet, there was an unsettling tenderness in his eyes that made Yuu’s breath catch, slipping like a dagger under their ribs.
“But, there’s nothing you can do, even if I wanted ya to…” he said, his voice quiet but firm, the words weighted with resignation. The tension in the air only thickened, a heavy silence; screams muffled with years of unspoken words and unhealed wounds.  
Yuu’s eyes burned. They felt the sting of tears gathering, but they blinked and fought to keep them at bay, clawing at their bracelets on their wrist once more. They were unraveling at the edges, and for a fleeting moment, they feared the years of their trained professionalism would slip if they sat next to the miserable king any longer. 
They couldn't break character.  
"You're right, I’m sorry," Yuu confessed, wiping at their eyes with a hasty swipe of their arm. Their voice cracked as they spoke, an unintended tremor in the words. “I guess I should go, continue my work then, sir?” They stood, hoping to escape the suffocating intensity of this moment between them. “Your Majesty…” They bowed again, then stood there, waiting. 
But, Leona didn’t dismiss them.  
Before they could take another step, the king’s arm shot out like a whip, taking their wrist with surprising force. His touch was firm but desperate, pulling them back down onto the throne with him.  
Yuu’s breath was taken from them, and before they could even process what was happening, they found themselves falling and plummeting—straight into his lap. The impact left them breathless, their heart pounding wildly against their ribs. Leona shifted his body, catching them easily and wrapping his arms tightly around their waist, pulling them flush to him, their back pressed to his chest. His chin came to rest on their shoulder, his breath warm and shaky against their skin. Without words, he buried his face in the crook of their neck, nose tip tracing their pulse point. 
His smell was the same from all those years ago, cinnamon, citrus, star anise. Yuu could practically feel it, the tension and desperation pouring off him like an electric current. It was all they could do not to scream, for both of them.
“S-stay,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, crackling with emotion. “I don’t want cha to go.”  
Yuu’s body went rigid, heart hammering; a frantic rhythm in their ears. The warmth of his body, the weight of his arms around them. It was all so achingly familiar, yet the desperation in his grip felt foreign. This wasn’t the Leona they had once known. His loneliness clung like a heavy shroud, smothering them both in the savanna heat. There was something darker, more urgent beneath it all now, more intense than anything they remembered—a weight, a suffocating pressure. His loneliness seeped into them, and it clung to their chest like an immovable boulder. 
They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t even move.  
“Your M-majesty?” Their voice trembled, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through the facade they had carefully crafted. They froze, unsure how to react, caged in the snare of his arms like a helpless animal. 
“I thought…” Yuu stuttered, still breathless, their voice barely a whisper. Their sweat caused their clothes to stick to multiple points on their body. “I thought there was nothing I could do t-to help?” Their body reacted to his touch against their neck, sending involuntary shivers down their spine. The tingles ran from their chest into their legs, and they couldn’t suppress the way their body burned under his invasive touch.  
Leona’s grip tightened, pulling them even closer to him. He inhaled deeply near their ear, his breath shaky against the curve of their neck. They knew he could feel how stiff they were in his arms, the way their body quivered with a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else. 
They knew he could feel their hesitance, but still, they stayed. 
And that seemed to be enough for him. 
“...You’re the only person in this fucking place that makes me feel like….myself,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading. He whispered it as if it was the world’s most important secret. “That’s how you can help.”  
Yuu’s chest ached. They wanted to empathize with him, comfort him, and understand. But, there was another weight in the room that couldn’t be ignored. A man’s remains still lay near, a grim reminder of what Leona had become in their years apart. 
A king broken by his choices, a man who had spilled blood. Devoured his own remorse and morals long ago. And yet here he was, like a child clinging to their robes, desperate for the comfort of a bit of human touch. 
Yuu closed their eyes, torn. Every fiber of their being screamed to pull away, to remember the man he had killed with their own eyes. But the ache in their chest grew, the heaviness of his loneliness, clawing at them. It was too much to resist indulging in. They knew it was wrong, toxic even but—
The desperation he felt for them was...intoxicating. 
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they whispered, head light, their voice barely a breath. They closed their eyes, bracing for whatever would come next, but still, they waited, unsure if they had just stepped into a trap they would never escape from.
Leona’s body stiffened at their passive response, and a soft, almost satisfied hum escaped him. 
Oh? So, he hadn’t expected them to stay on his lap, to offer any kind of comfort, but here they were—allowing him to have what he apparently so desperately wanted.  
Slowly, Leona tilted his head, the outline of his lips grazing the skin of Yuu’s neck with the gentlest of touches. His grip remained tight, as though trying to anchor them both to this fleeting moment, afraid it would slip away if he didn’t. 
“Say my name,” he whispered, his voice low and full of something almost frantic.  
Yuu gasped, their body relaxing despite themselves. It somewhat disgusted them that they wanted to give in to him. The tension in their limbs began to loosen, and they instinctively pressed themselves closer to him, their body betraying all those emotional boundaries they had worked so hard to build.
"Leona," they murmured, their voice barely audible, a trembling whisper, just for him. 
"Leona..." They repeated it as if saying his name was the only thing that could ground them both in this chaotic and messy moment.  
They sensed his body react at the sound of his name, reverberating in the space around them. His chest shuddered behind their back, his grip on Yuu’s waist tightening. His claws gripped their robes to almost discomfort, trapping them even closer to him.  
As he exhaled shakily, it was as if a sense of relief washed over him. Yuu felt the tension in the rest of his body release beneath them. “Again,” he whispered, broad nose tracing the shell of their ear. His voice was croaky, almost pleading.  
Yuu’s heart raced, the warmth of his thighs soaking into theirs. Their breath quickened, caught somewhere between fear and longing, sweat beading on their forehead. They didn’t know how they had ended up here, sitting in the lap of the damn king after he murdered someone before their eyes. Then, offering him comfort with nothing but his name, and the weight of their body. 
But here they were, and there was no turning back.  
“...Leona,” they whispered a third time, sealing their fate. The name escaped their lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for the boy they once knew, the boy they had once admired, to come back. To claw his way through the cruel king he had become.
--
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gi4hao · 1 year ago
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the idiots you date — x. minghao
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roommate!minghao x gn!reader
word count: 1k
genre: fluff but slightly angsty (mention of a past toxic relationship)
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“you shouldn’t work for a company that doesn’t respect you”
“yeah, and you shouldn’t date guys who don’t deserve you, yet here we are.”
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minghao’s face bears signs of exhaustion that you’ve learned to recognize months ago. signs which started to appear exactly when he took on this new “big corporate job” as you often call it, simply because you’re not quite sure to understand what it is.
you’ve finished your dinner an hour ago. you used to wait for him to come home, but that was when he wasn’t working overtime most days of the week.
“they needed me to finish some urgent reports, i didn’t really have a choice,” he tells you before you can even ask anything. his tone is like a permanent sigh, but you know it’s not directed towards you.
sat at the kitchen table, you remain silent, fiddling with the rings he took off before washing his hands. the lights are dimmed, making the dark circles under his eyes slightly more prominent.
“how was your date?” he asks as he takes his plate out of the microwave, probably wanting to change the subject. but you doubt he’s still interested in your date anecdotes, especially since this one was your third of the week.
although he comes to sit right next to you, you carefully avoid his eyes when you reply:
“okay, i guess? the guy was nice but had terrible takes on most topics we talked about. well, ‘we’ is kind of a stretch because i was doing most of the talking. i think he was just here to eat good food and make me pay for most of it.”
“so… not okay, then”, minghao corrects you, and the silence that follows speaks louder than any word would have.
you’ve been single for almost a year now, and your last relationship was not exactly a model of good and healthy communication.
living alone after the breakup was a depressing prospect, and minghao was in need of a roommate to avoid letting his job drive him insane: a perfect match for two long-time friends like you two.
there was always a certain closeness between you, but living together has made it more intimate, and consequently harder to ignore... which is why you decided to ask for the help of various dating apps in hope to get minghao out of your head.
“yeah, not okay…” you sigh, mindlessly sliding one of his rings on your finger.
your gaze lands on the painting hung next to the fridge. one of minghao’s, which you insisted should be put up in your apartment; swirls of paint meeting in rosebuds and milky tulips. you can still see where the paint was spread across the canvas by his fingers.
with a tinge of sadness, you realize minghao hasn’t drawn anything in months. his paint-covered clothes were all replaced by dull suits that make him look like the people he used to feel sorry for.
“what time do you start tomorrow?” you ask, pouring him another glass of water.
his lips press into a thin line; you’re not sure whether he’s holding back a sigh of annoyance or just mentally preparing for an answer you’re not going to like.
“7. there’s a meeting i need to prepare for.”
“and when you get to the office at 7, are other employees there? or just you?”
“don’t start,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing his plate to go put it in the dishwasher. “we’ve already discussed this, it’s a dead-end.”
he’s right, this conversation has never ended well. but your eyes keep coming back to that painting, to everything he’s slowly turning his back to. the sadness ebbs away, giving way to a rising anger:
“no, i will start actually,” you state, walking up to him. “you’re unhappy, hao. you shouldn’t work for a company that doesn’t respect you.”
“yeah, and you shouldn’t date guys who don’t deserve you, yet here we are,” he replies, slamming the dishwasher shut. but his voice sounded more cutting than intended: “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said that.”
there are a thousand words on your lips right now, but few of them would be reasonable to say out loud. meanwhile, minghao is looking at you like you’re a ticking time bomb.
“but you said it. so now i expect you to either hit me with a miracle solution or kiss me.”
you said it without really thinking, basically shrugging as you know he will never take you seriously. the best outcome would be for him to never speak about your love life ever again.
but his reply makes you instantly freeze: “what if i did both?”
a rush of warmth spreads from the pit of your stomach, radiating through your entire body as his hand comes to meet your cheek, silently asking for confirmation that this is something you want.
your lips crash against his before he can even start to lean in, and the feeling of his skin so close to yours feels so unreal you expect him to push you away any second.
but instead, he matches your eagerness to the point where you’re scared you might lose your balance.
“i hope you like that solution,” he breathes out, leaving one last kiss on your nose.
in that fleeting moment, you reunite with the old minghao, the lively one who makes his own decisions and owns up to his actions. the one you fell in love with years ago.
“absolutely”, you chuckle, your hands meeting behind his neck. “…so i guess i can tell that guy we won’t go on a second date.”
“you better,” he earnestly tells you as he starts to take his black blazer off. “working from 7 to 9 will never be as painful as watching another idiot take you on a date. from now on, i’ll take care of it.”
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-> rbs and feedback are always appreciated!
masterlist here!
429 notes · View notes
drunk-fantasies · 2 years ago
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+18 CONTENT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
🎨PAIRING: friend!sunghoon x fem!reader
🎨SYNOPSIS: posing for your best friend’s painting’s wasn’t something new for you or him until you asked if he could paint you naked
🎨GENRE: smut, fluff
🎨WARNINGS: explicit smut, both sunghoon and yn are kinda a perv, masturbation, oral (both receiving), fingering, handjob, marking, mild swearing, piv, protected sex
🎨WORD COUNT: 5,8k
🎨TAGLIST: @novacontreras, @beomgyusonlywife, @satan-223, @enhaz1, @tobiosbbyghorl, @kshoshi, @woniewonn, @mimizelle-luni, @meiskra, @leeheeheeseung, @parksunghoonsgf, @uuzhanggggggg, @deobitifull, @enhamysunshines, @sunghourly, @danielleismyname, @starggukies, @hellaboredd, @rapmonie2047, @asyleums, @stariszn, @tinkw1nks, @4imhry, @moonlighthoon, @girlwholovekpop, @19-yunalyn
There was something about you people found extraordinary. It could be your mesmerizing eyes, remarkable facial features or just that intense gaze that made many knees bend. Though you never really particularly enjoyed the attention you were getting, yet something was thrilling about intimidating people by just the way you looked at them. It gave you a sense of power, a feeling of being unstoppable wherever you went.
What you did enjoy though was how many students of the Art Department asked you to model for their paintings, offering you irrational money, just for you to stand in one place for a few hours. Those offers were always pretty tempting, but none were enough for you to agree. After a few chances you had given them you realized none of them were able to portray you good enough. Unlike Sunghoon, your best friend. Ever since you met him on the first day of uni, you couldn’t refuse anything he wanted. His paintings were terrific. His style, the way his brush strokes danced on canvas, not to mention he was able to capture your features in such a captivating way, just as good as your mirror could or maybe even better. The unspoken truth was, you wished so badly he looked at you like you looked at him. His gaze was always focused to paint you well, to mirror every strand of your hair perfectly just as every crinkle on your clothes. While you always stared at him with admiration and passion, under false colors of modeling. But when it came to him, nothing was an act. Your feelings burned inside you, fire spreading from your heart to every part of your body, whenever he scanned your face and position to guide you how to pose. He never failed to keep it professional, never touching you inappropriately or making you uncomfortable. And the way he was such a soft-spoken person made it even harder for you to not catch feelings. In contrast to initial shyness you noticed how kind his heart was. Despite his cold look and complete composure you were able to get to know his playful side, which outside of the Art Department’s studio continuously put a smile on your face, even during those hard days. Both of you were rather busy with their respective assignments and uni work, making it pretty impossible to meet regularly. But it only made you wait for the next time he would ask you to model for him even more eagerly.
Your phone buzzed with a notification. Finishing the last sentence of your essay you took your phone from your pocket and read a message from Sunghoon.
🤍: do you think you could be here a little earlier? i need to get something done and need to finish it by 7
you: no problem :) give me like ten minutes
You knew the way to the studio he always used to the point you could get there with your eyes closed. The excitement of seeing him again rushed through your body and you wondered how this recent work turned out. He never let you see the final product until he would be finished with it completely, to the last spot. You entered the studio not bothering to knock anymore and spotted Sunghoon preparing all the utensils he needed, apron already wrapped around his body while the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Not daring to say a word you watched him while he was too busy mixing paints to notice you. His black hair got a little longer, now almost falling on his shoulders, while he neatly picked the right colors.
“Y/n?” His voice brought you back to Earth. “Glad to see you. Your clothes are on the couch,” he smiled warmly and pointed to clothes you wore for this work.
Without a word you took them to get changed and couldn’t stop thinking about how it turned out. Last time he told you there was nothing much left, just some details of your neck area and some touch-up of your hair. That’s why with anticipation you waited to see the final result. You tried to recreate the hairstyle you had as precisely as you could in a reflection of a small bathroom mirror. When you came back to the studio he was fully ready to start.
“Ready?” he asked and raised from his stool.
Nodding you let him guide your pose in front of his easel. His fingers slightly raised your head by your chin and positioned your head as he pleased. Taking an alone strand of your hair, he curled it on his finger, imitating the shape from the last session. Fixing your shirt he took as step back to check and said: “Okay, you look perfect, it won’t take long.”
Two thoughts couldn’t leave your mind now: “Did he know what effect his words had on you?” and “Will he also capture the blush his compliment created?” It wasn’t hard to keep the pose he wanted you to remain as all your muscles tensed at his gaze and touch. Taking looks at you from time to time his hand created wonders on the canvas, just like always. Everything he painted looked even more beautiful than in reality. The most obscure sceneries or hideous faces were turned into the most fascinating and beautiful ones.
“Have you ever posed?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence that surrounded you.
He never had anything against talking during your sessions, unless the conversations lasted for too long or were too engaging. For some unknown reason, this question almost made him drop his brush.
“What?” He chuckled and spoke after you repeated yourself. “I feel better on this side of the easel,” he said now more calmly.
How you wished he ever accepted anybody’s offer to portray him. Or for him to at least paint his self-portrait. Just like many asked you to model, he got this request quite as often. His features were delicate but still in a manly way. You adored looking at him just like he adored painting you, but none of you had the guts to ever admit to that, leaving many missing opportunities.
As much as you wanted to tell him how beautiful he truly is, your throat didn’t let the words out of your mind. You spent the rest of this session quiet, not daring to say anything else.
“Okay, I’m done,” he announced and you raised your eyes from the palette he held in his left hand. “Do you wanna see?”
“Can’t believe you’re still asking that question,” you said with a beam.
Taking his apron off, he stepped back and you admired yet another piece he created. Every was different and better in its own way, but this one was something else, capturing your features exhaustively.
“What do you think?” His voice was quiet, almost in a murmur that tickled your ear.
“It’s… beautiful. Can’t believe you could become any better, but you never fail to prove me otherwise.” He smiled at your compliment and stared at the fully covered portrait.
“I think it could use one more strand,” he suddenly said and held a brush in front of you.
Staring at it and then at him you took a step back in shock. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not a painter, I’m gonna ruin your work!”
“You’re not gonna ruin anything,” Sunghoon grinned.
He placed the brush in your hand, and held it gently yet firmly in his, while his other arm wrapped around your waist to bring you closer. Your mind went blank at sudden close proximity. You’ve never touched each other, apart from him when he guided you. And here you were, back pressed against his chest, feeling his breath hit your back while your palm was placed in his. With fully relaxed motion he painted a wavy lock just above your left cheek, enhancing your cheekbones.
“Now it’s perfect, don’t you think?” The nonchalant tone of his voice drove you crazy. Things you would let him do stood nowhere near his detachment.
“Yeah,” you managed to breath out at the loss of skin to skin contact with him.
“Thank you once more. Are you sure there’s no way I could repay you with?”
He always asked that question. And you always said you couldn’t take anything from him with a clear conscience, even though there was something in your mind he could do.
“I think I know,” you said before thinking about it.
“Oh? I’m listening then,” he was shocked at first but also eager to return a favor you’ve been giving him for a long time now.
Hesitating you finally said: “Paint me.” Your words made him frown and chuckle, but before he could argue you continued. “And I want to keep it. I want it for myself.”
Not sure if he will agree to this, you waited for his response.
“Okay, I will paint you. Can you come over to my place this weekend? I have all the stuff needed and it’s closer to your place than uni,” he suggested and you nodded, confirming the date and hour. “Okay then. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
You left him alone in the studio and he stared at the canvas for a while, wishing he could convey both your beauty and his feelings for you at least a little better.
Days passed and you seemed to not be able to think about anything else, Sunghoon occupying your mind for whole days. Mainly thoughts of his gentle touch on your waist and hand were replaying in your head. It drove you crazy, the way he had an affect on you, probably bereaved in obliviousness.
But you weren’t the only one going crazy at the moment. He tried to focus on his other paintings but his mind was full of you. His feelings for you were already deep and passionate, but the moment he felt your body that close to his, and how it perfectly fitted his number one priority was to make you satisfied with whatever painting you wanted.
But was that stupid portrait the only thing he wanted to satisfy you with?
Whenever you showed you how to pose he had to compose himself and his filthy thoughts of what he truly wanted to do with you at that moment. He wanted to bring you pleasure nobody would ever do, show you his feelings, his passion you ignited in him. But at the back of his head, he knew his dirty fantasies about you would only stay as fantasies. Because in no world a girl like you would spare a look at a guy like him. At least that’s what Sunghoon thought.
Frustrated at his loss of focus he untied his apron and threw it on the ground with a light thud. He looked at the canvas he tried to fill in with his ideas, but all the faces he tried to paint were yours. Every page in his sketchbook was dedicated to you. Even in his phone he had a seperate album of photos from your sessions, that he took under false pretenses to have a good reference. But his absolute favorite one was the one from the only time when you wore a dress. A tight one, to be precise. He didn’t choose it, all he said was for you to pick an outfit yourself and he regretted that decision almost as soon as you stepped into the studio. It was a tight black dress that showed all your curves off. It hugged your body so perfectly all he wanted was to tear it off it, to see it bare, with his own pair of eyes. But that fantasy remained as one, as he tried his best to stay calm and not let you know of the boner you caused. Keeping it professional he tried not to be obvious with his stare, only looking at your body when he really had to.
He watched that photo with a mind full of memories from that day, that were still alive and fresh, even though quite a long time passed already. Sighing he laid on his bed and helplessly reached to his pants where his dick was already hard like a rock. He pumped himself few times, now basically fucking his hand, while trying not to think about how beautiful you would look with your plump lips or feminine hand wrapped around it.
You on the other hand weren’t very different from him. Dirty thoughts and unfulfilled desires flooded your mind mercilessly. Fantasies of him were no longer satisfying, leaving you hungry for him and his body. Your fingers were deep inside you as you tried to imagine it was him pleasuring you, murmuring sweet and dirty things straight into your ear. But it was all your imagination, he wasn’t here to please you, and all he wanted was to repay you, nothing more. Of all the people, why did it have to be him that seemed to be completely uninterested in you? While all you could think about was to give him yourself, give him your body, let him use it as he wanted. Did he not see how crazy you are about him? Is he testing you?
Is he testing you?
The thought repeated in your head. You stopped pleasuring yourself at the confusion about that one sentence. Maybe he was, but how about now testing him?
You thought for a long time about how to test him and his true feelings for you, but nothing seemed to be rational. You knew that your Saturday’s session would be a great opportunity but how to use it for your own good? You already tried posing in a tight and seductive dress, yet it completely left him unfazed, sparing you only a few glances while taking care of the canvas. It truly broke your heart, the thought of him being completely unattracted to you while you would go on your knees for him.
One last thing you could do was a completely crazy idea you had already thought about, but at the same time seemed like the only option, which was posing completely naked. Being totally nude in front of anybody was a huge deal for you, even though you fantasized about him devouring you in your own glory. But the thing was, you couldn’t expect what his reaction would be. What if he wouldn’t like it at all and would refuse? What if he would laugh at you and your desperation? All those scenarios scared you to your core and almost sent shivers down your spine. But the worst one would probably be him just doing his job and not questioning anything, just doing his job as coldly as always.
Sunghoon waited for you impatiently, though he didn’t have any expectations for today. At least that’s what he tried to convince himself about. After he prepared his easel as well as canvas, he went to the bathroom to check his hair once more and reapply new perfume, hoping you would like it. He even washed his apron so that not even a hint of deepest paint stains were visible on the material. He rolled up his sleeves and went to the studio he arranged in his apartment. It wasn’t big, but rather small and cozy. And the view that spread outside the big window many times was his main inspiration. Or maybe it was until he met you and painted you for the first time?
His mind started wondering why would you want your portrait just for yourself. He wasn’t blind, it wasn’t only him who was obsessed with you and he knew for sure you were well aware of your looks. But at the same time you weren't a selfish person, but rather timid and humble enough to not take compliments that well. That’s what truly made him so drawn towards you. Noticing how everybody wanted you for your looks made him look at you rather shallowly at first. Thinking he had a brush with a girl of a vain heart his surprise was pretty huge when he got to know you. Never had he met such a sweet soul like you. Doubts about your vainglory vanished with almost the same moment you had let him paint you, making you his favorite and practically only subject to portray. Ever since he looked at you like the most precious creature, that wasn’t able to hurt anybody or queen over others. Then why all of the sudden you wanted a portrait of yourself? Was it really for you, or for somebody else?
With a mind preoccupied with concerns and nervousness he prayed you wouldn’t wear anything too revealing. His thoughts were resolved as soon as he saw you. Opening the door for you he noticed your neat and pretty demure choice of clothing, consisting just of a shirt and a pair of jeans. His gaze fell on your exposed neck wrapped by uncontrived necklace and collarbones that protruded through your skin proudly.
“Will you let me in?” you asked, noticing him zoning out yet again. Coming back to reality he smiled warmly, eyes glued to yours. He welcomed you with a gesture and you took off your shoes.
Even though you knew each other for quite a long time now you never visited him at home. Being his introverted self he always stated that his apartment was his sanctuary, his oasis where he didn’t like having visitors at. That’s why you were extremely honored when he suggested meeting at his place.
„Would you like to drink something?” he asked and went behind the kitchen island to take a glass for him and potentially you.
“Water please,” you said and enjoyed the view of his back facing you.
His broad shoulders were enhanced by his slim waist that had an apron wrapped around it. His hair perfect as always, seemed a little shorter than last time you saw him. You wondered whether dropping a bomb would be better than waiting, but what would you even wait for, honestly? You knew what you wanted by now, all those days of thinking only about this day made you sure you wanted to expose yourself to him, both emotionally and physically.
Finally turning around he handed you your drink and watched you drink it.
‘Do you have any concept in mind? Any color palette you want the work to be in? Or do you want me to suggest something?” he asked, leaning on the kitchen island looking at you.
It’s now or never.
“Actually I do have some idea,” you said and tilted your head, creating a moment of suffocating suspense.
“Oh? Well, I’m listening, I wonder what you came up with.” With arms crossed on his chest he straightened his back. He showed you to his studio, and if not for what you had planned to say you would pay more attention to.
“For the color palette I was thinking nude,” you said a little too quickly.
He frowned slightly and observed your clothing. “Okay, but do you have something to change into? The colors of your outfit wouldn’t really suit the nude coloring.”
“Kind of…” Your gaze trailed off to the dried up paint stains on the easel and a mat that covered the wooden floor.
“What do you mean by ‘kind of’?” he chuckled.
“I can do this,” you thought to yourself, closing your eyes for a moment.
You turned around to face him. You stepped as close as your feet let you, almost as close as the last time when he held you. To your surprise he didn’t take any steps back, but looked at you from above, a faint smile still decorating his face. Your eyes traveled from his eyes to neck and his lips, only to finally whisper: “I want you to paint me naked.”
Waiting for his reaction you noticed how his smile slowly faded away.
“Okay,” he simply answered, his calm voice piercing your heart like a dagger. “I’ll prepare the base while you get ready,” he said, already taking care of the new canvas and mixing the right colors.
You watched his back as he silently prepared his utensils. Is this it?
With a completely unbothered expression he turned around after what seemed like eternity.
“Aren’t you going to get undressed?” he asked, pointing to your body with his brush.
“No.”
“I thought…”
“I came here because you wanted to repay me, right? Do your job fully Sunghoon and worry not only about preparing your stupid canvas but focus on preparing me,” you spat, knowing it sounded a little bit too harsh.
He came closer to you with his head tilted, with thought that maybe his deepest fantasies were shared with you. Your gaze screamed just one thing and he couldn’t believe he finally realized that they were saying the same thing for a while now. What a waste of time.
“What do you want me to do, Y/n?” He brushed your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear softly.
“Undress me. Paint on my body, mark me before eternalizing me on your painting.” Your voice got weaker and weaker as his face got closer with each of your words.
“Is this the only thing you want me to do?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting yours with a faint brush.
“Love me Sunghoon,” you breathed out.
Instead of pulling you in such a desired kiss, he pulled away taking almost a full picture of your form. His hands firmly placed on your waist slowly traveled up to the buttons of your shirt to painfully slowly unbutton them. Your eyes never left his, getting lost in their depth, while he was focused on devouring the moment he wished to last forever. Soon he gently let it fall down on the floor, leaving you in your bra.
“You’re so gorgoeus, Y/n,” he whispered just above your ear.
“Show me, show me how beautiful you think I am,” you demanded.
His eyes darkened and he started taking steps forward while you backed away. You hissed at the feeling of a cold wall hitting your sensitive skin but soon his hot breath warmed you up. His hand once again got a hold of your waist and he raised your head by your chin with the other. You looked not only beautiful, but vulnerable and desperate for his lips to finally fall on yours. Sunghoon couldn’t stop himself anymore, connecting you in a slow and sensual kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck bringing him closer and he cupped your cheek endearingly. The tension in the air made it impossible for you not to melt in his electrifying touch. The kiss started to get heavier, as he started sucking on your lip. Taking a cue of him brushing his tongue against your skin you parted your lips. Not wasting time he pushed his muscle in you and you almost moaned at the anticipation. His hand guided your head as he pleased and like a docile doll you let him do whatever he wanted.
He tapped your thigh and you wrapped them around his waist. Holding your body in his arms he left the studio, the main reason for your visit long forgotten as now his steps were taking you to his bedroom. Gently placing you on his mattress he broke the kiss to leave wet marks along your neck and collarbones, earning a breathy whine from you. Rubbing his back continuously you felt how wetness formed inside of your panties. Sunghoon groped your breasts firmly, giving them a good squeeze before you helped him take your bra off by raising your upper body. He let your tits free but not long after his lips attached to one of your nipples, while his fingers pinched the other one. Tangling your fingers in his thick locks you threw your head back in pleasure his tongue was giving you.
“Sunghoon,” you moaned, making his dick get even harder. Groaning he continued marking you, just like you wanted him to, preparing you for a portrait in colors of nude and purpure.
His fingers rested on your abdomen and traveled down to the waistband of your pants but you pulled him up to feel the warmth of his lips on your one more time, already drunk by the way they sucked on yours. You tucked on the first button of his shirt and he gave you a small nod, letting you undress him. He raised and took it off, revealing his defined muscles and slightly shiny skin.
“Done staring?” he chuckled.
“You’re beautiful, Sunghoon,” you blurted out, still admiring his whole manly silhouette.
Smiling at your compliment he hovered over you, lips brushing yours with no intention of kissing you. Instead he got lower and lower, not breaking eye contact with you, driving you completely crazy. He unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants. Raising your hips you let him take them off along with your completely drenched underwear. He smirked noticing how desperate you were at your core, making you cover your face with your palms in slight embarrassment. Later you got to know it wasn’t a good idea, as he took you by surprise by licking a long stripe from your whole to sensitive clit. Arching your back, your hand found his head, pulling his hair in pleasure.
His tongue did wonders on your folds and you couldn’t contain your moans anymore, chanting his name like the most powerful spell. The way your voice cracked in whines of bliss he was causing, made him want to waste no time and just pull his pants off to fuck you, so that you would scream his name instead. But his number one priority was to give you the best experience you could think of, savoring your skin inch by inch, taking his time with you. Hugging your thighs he placed them on his shoulders, bringing you closer at the same time. Your taste on his tongue made him lose his eyes as he detached his lips from your pussy, only to wet his fingers.
Watching the scene unfold in front of you, your head once again fell backwards, knowing what to expect next. His finger slowly entered your hole, curling inside at the perfect angle. You let out a choked moan at the sensation of his finger inside you and his lips sucking on your clit. He started pumping his digit in and out of you at a moderate pace, that already left you breathless. Just when he added another finger and increased the speed of his pumps you felt how close you were.
“I’m so close.” You squirmed under his touch and he kept his tempo and intensity of his sucking. Pulling on his hair harder you felt vibrations from his groan and soon released around his fingers. He pumped them a few more times before pulling them out and ostentatiously licking them clean. Breathing heavily you covered your face, knowing that after all of those moans and other sounds you produced your skin would be red from intense blush.
Sunghoon waited for you to calm down and couldn’t stop wondering if this was all you came here for. Even if you did, he was completely fine with that, pleasuring you was something he dreamed of after all. But to prove his concerns wrong you managed to calm down a bit and pointed to the edge of his bed. “Sit,” you ordered, not caring about your tone anymore, urge and desperation to give him your head bigger than your exhaustion.
With slight hesitation and confusion he sat and with slightly parted lips watched as you kneeled in between his thighs, adding to the hardness of his cock. With your eyes glued to his, you ran your palms up and down his legs, getting dangerously close to his crotch with every stroke. His chest raised and his breath hitched as your fingers delicately brushed on his length, feeling how desperation grew inside his boxers. Unbuckling his belt and undoing the buttons of his pants you pulled them down, so they rested near his ankles. His boxers were already full, begging to be discharged but feeling quite in the mood for some teasing you slowly palmed him through thin material. With his mouth still slightly opened he watched as you started leaving chaste pecks on his clothed dick.
Though your teasing didn’t last long as you couldn’t wait to feel him just like he did. Hooking your fingers on the waistband of his underwear you pulled them off and now they joined his pants on the ground. Trying not to stare too much at him you left a few long kisses on his reddened tip still rubbing his muscles. You swallowed it and sucked, earning his head falling backwards. His hand landed on the back of your head and he slightly pushed you down. Without further ado you sank on him fully, hollowing your cheeks for double pleasure. Your nose pressed against his pelvis you gagged around him and cookwarmed him for a while, his hand now only for decoration, as it didn’t apply no pressure. His eyes rolled back when you finally bobbed your head vigorously, eager to get as much reaction from him as he did from you. And he had no intention of disappointing you. His low moans and groans soon filled the room and bounced like your head did on his shaft.
“Shit, I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he admitted though no hint of embarrassment was audible in his voice. Keeping your rhythm you waited patiently to swallow his hot load and bob your head a few more times to ride his high.
He leaned on his hands and heaved a sigh of content, with a genuine grin. Resting your head on his thigh with closed eyes you felt how he cupped your cheek and rubbed your skin softly. Looking up at him you noticed his smile. It wasn’t cocky, nor fake, but full of emotions he felt he held in for too long now. Patting his lap he invited you to sit there. You climbed there from the floor with his help and soon you were wrapped securely in his strong arms. None of you spoke, at least not yet, only looking for answers in each other’s eyes, in complete silence. Both your chests raised and lowered in heavy breaths, too scared to say something. His touch was just like that day in the studio, when he held you close to himself. It said what he was scared to say for this whole time he knew you. If only you realized his feelings sooner you wouldn’t waste time to test him. You remembered all those sessions you admired him and wondered if he did the same while you weren’t looking.
“Y/n?” Sunghoon called your name and you looked at him more attentively. You noticed how he struggled to put his thoughts into words so you interrupted him.
“Sunghoon, I love you. For the longest time now. And it’s okay if you don’t,” you said, hoping and knowing at the back of your mind that his answer is going to satisfy you.
“After what had just happened you still have some hesitancy about it?” He revealed his teeth in a chuckle.
Leaning in, you connected your lips once again, linking them together in a slow and passionate kiss. Not controlling your movements anymore and letting your emotions and feelings take a lead, your hands traveled all along his back and abs, while he just made sure you’re not shifting too much on him. But soon his control was taken over by his desire. Flipping you around he laid you on your back and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer. He groaned lowly against your lips as soon as his tip brushed against your hot and still wet core.
“Do you have condoms?” you asked bluntly, breaking the kiss.
Nodding he reached to the drawer of his nightstand. Rolling it on his length he positioned himself between your legs looking straight into your eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking for any sign of hesitation from you, but you nodded your head surely.
“I want you so bad,” you let out a whiny whisper.
And who he is to deny you the pleasure when you ask him so politely, while he lusted after you probably a lot more.
Pushing himself into your hole, you dug your nails into his skin, and he hissed at both the feeling of your walls around him and you scratching his back. Your eyes rolled back once he started thrusting into you, at a moderate pace. Lips brushing against each other, not daring to look at each other. Instead he buried his face into your neck, leaving a few sticky kisses on your favorite spots.
“Faster, please,” you whined and momentarily he picked up the pace but soon you asked once again.
“Then help me a bit and go on all fours for me, baby,” he whispered to your ear and pulled away to face you.
With shaky legs you moved obediently to the position he asked you to and moaned when you felt him entering you a little bit more harshly this time. Getting a firm grip on your waist he controlled your movements and thrusted much faster and deeper, reaching the spot he couldn’t with his fingers before. Not being able to hold your balance on your hands anymore you fell on his pillows, ass still high. He threw his head back at the sight of your arched back and asscheeks bouncing with his every thrust. His bedroom soon was filled with your moans, his groans and the sound of his balls slapping your clit.
All yours and his desires coming true, the painting got long forgotten, much important stuff occupying your minds.
The immense pleasure made you feel dizzy, clenching around him from time to time.
“If you don’t stop clenching around me, I’m not gonna last long,” he panted, trying to keep the high pace.
“I’m gonna cum too,” you moaned with a shaky voice.
Feeling the familiar knot in your stomach you released around him as his cum filled the condom. With last thrusts he pulled out and watched how you collapsed fully, hair completely messy, just like your breathing. He laid next to you, trying to catch his breath, looking at you from time to time. Turning around, your eyes met. He opened his arms invitingly and you nestled up to him with a beaming smile. His warmed-up skin, breath fanning your face and a few loving pecks on your forehead made you feel like you could fall asleep here and there. And just before you dozed off, you heard how he whispered straight to your ear: “I love you, my forever muse.”
a/n thank you for reading! it’s my first longer fic on this blog so let me know what you think!
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saffusthings · 4 months ago
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chapter 1: invisible string
ceo!oscar piastri x reader
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summary: the one where a familiar face finds its way back into his life.
word count: 1.5k
prologue | one | two
Oscar Piastri’s mornings rarely deviated from routine. By 7:55 AM, he was already seated at his desk, a black coffee steaming beside his laptop. The office was quiet at that hour, a calm before the day’s storm of decisions and deadlines. Logan Sargeant, his much-needed assistant, would arrive a few minutes later, armed with heap of updates and a sharp wit that perfectly balanced out Oscar’s practiced neutrality.
This morning began no differently—until it did.
The silent glide of the glass door to his office pulled Oscar’s gaze upward, habitually anticipating Logan’s usual entrance. Instead, his assistant strode in accompanied by someone unexpected.
A woman.
Her presence alone was no reason to give Oscar pause. After all, it was no unusual sight to find Logan accompanied by a project coordinator or intern, animatedly bringing them up to speed on deadlines and deliverables in the time it takes him to reach Oscar’s desk. But it wasn’t just her presence.
It was her.
Oscar’s breath caught. It was the woman from the street, the one whose face had haunted his thoughts, lingering like a half-remembered melody.
She looked different today. The casual coat and scarf were replaced by an outfit that balanced practicality and elegance: high-waisted jeans paired with an oversized cardigan that hung effortlessly from her shoulders. Her sneakers looked comfort, but there was an undeniable confidence in her stride, something understated that seemed to set her apart from the morning rush outside.
Her hair, loosely tied back, revealed the soft angles of her face. But it was her expression that held him—the same warmth, the same unassuming radiance that had drawn him in days ago. She was laughing softly at something Logan had said, the sound muffled by the glass but vivid in Oscar’s imagination.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” she said, her voice carrying the kind of familiarity that made Oscar’s chest tighten inexplicably.
“Yeah, thanks for the ride,” Logan called back, holding the door open.
She turned to leave, but as she stepped out into the hallway, it almost appeared as though through the glass panes, her eyes met his.
For a moment, time splintered. The world outside—the chatter of pedestrians, the rumble of passing cars—blurred into insignificance.
Did she remember him? 
Logan breezed into the office, oblivious to the silent exchange. “Morning, boss.”
Oscar blinked, forcing his thoughts back into order. “Morning,” he replied, his tone neutral.
Unbothered. Unaffected.
Logan dropped a stack of folders onto the desk and promptly launched into updates about upcoming meetings and deadlines, running a quick hand through his wind swept hair. But Oscar only half-listened, his mind circling the same questions over and over.
Who was she?
And more pressing—what was she to Logan?
The casual ease of their conversation, the familiarity in their tones, gnawed at him. It wasn’t jealousy—he barely knew her—but perhaps it was curiosity, sharp and insistent. She had been a fleeting moment in his life, a brushstroke on the canvas of his day. Yet now, seeing her again, she felt less like a fleeting detail and more like a piece of a larger picture he was somehow missing.
“…and the year opening strategy presentation’s at three,” Logan finished, tapping the top of the stack with a grin. “You good, or do I need to grab you another coffee?”
Oscar leaned back in his chair, schooling his expression into something unreadable. “I’m good,” he said evenly, though his mind was far from settled.
Logan raised an eyebrow but said nothing, retreating to his desk just outside the office.
Oscar glanced toward the window, the city below churning with the tide of bustling crowds. Somewhere out there, she had vanished into the crowd once again, leaving behind only questions and the faintest whisper of a smile in his memory.
For a man who thrived on control and precision, it was maddening. Yet, he found, he didn’t mind it too much.
Strange.
He would find out who she was. For now, he let her linger in his thoughts, a ghost of an image in the back of his mind. As the day wore on, he found himself replaying every detail of their brief encounter—her eyes, her smile, the faint hesitation before she walked away. He told himself it was irrational to feel this way about someone he barely knew.
And yet, for the first time in years, he welcomed the distraction.
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Oscar hadn’t yet mentioned her to Logan—not directly. There was something about her presence in his thoughts that felt unsettling, as if acknowledging her more than he already had would make her too real, too significant. But despite his best efforts to maintain a professional distance, he found his mind turning to her at the most unexpected moments, piecing together fragments of the brief interactions that had lingered with him.
It started innocuously enough. Logan was in the midst of finalizing the acquisition contracts for a new warehouse just outside of Woking when Logan’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his trousers. The American man spared it a brief glance, followed by a soft chuckle, before he silenced the device without a second thought.
“Everything alright?” Oscar asked, pretending to focus on the pile of papers in front of him, his voice casual but attentive.
Logan gave a quick, absent smile, clearly distracted. “Yeah, just Y/N,” he muttered. “She’s reminding me about dinner plans tonight. She wants to try out this new Thai place-”
Y/N.
He made a mental note of it, but his face remained impassive, as though he hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary. He simply nodded and allowed the conversation to move on.
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The next mention came days later, during a mid-morning coffee break.
Oscar was reviewing some figures when Logan, deep in thought, started talking again—almost absentmindedly.
“She was up all night studying for an exam,” Logan said, shaking his head with mild disbelief as the contents of the coffee pod drizzled into his cup. “Still managed to make me breakfast before driving me here though. These weird breakfast cup thingies? I don’t know how she does it.”
Oscar’s attention snapped up, a flicker of something unidentifiable sparking in him. “Does… She drives you often?”
Logan flashed a grin. “Only when my car’s in the shop, or when I’m running late. Which is… often,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.
The final drip-drip of the coffee machine signaled his drink was ready. After flinching at trying to pick up the hot cup too soon (yet again), he reached for a sleeve, slipping it around the cup.
“She’s... you know, always looking out for people. That’s just how she is.”
There it was again—her name, and this time, a glimpse into who she might be. The image that had been so fresh in his mind—of her slightly flustered but simultaneously undeniably put together—was being slowly replaced with something more complicated.
A blurred image gradually coming into focus. The information drifted to the back of Oscar’s mind.
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A week later, when the office was quieter than usual, Logan dropped another unexpected piece of the puzzle.
He had just finished briefing Oscar on the updated HR memo of the month when he leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head and with a satisfied grin.
“Oh, by the way,” Logan added, his tone nonchalant, “thanks for letting me leave early tomorrow. Y/N’s presenting her thesis- no- her research project, and I promised I’d be there.”
Oscar’s brow furrowed, though his expression remained neutral. “Research project?”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah, she’s in her last year of law school. Top of her class. She’s like, ridiculously smart—though she’d never admit it. Always in the middle of, like, a million things. Honestly, I don’t know how she manages it.”
A law student. A brilliant one, if Logan was to be believed. 
“That’s impressive,” Oscar said quietly, his voice edged with a genuine admiration he hadn’t expected to feel.
Logan, not noticing the shift in Oscar’s tone, nodded enthusiastically. “She is something else, man.” He stood up, adjusting his jacket. “Anyway, I’ll make up the hours next week. I’ve got to get going. Need anything before I go?”
Oscar didn’t respond at first, his mind still processing the new pieces Logan had unwittingly shared.
Y/N. Law student. Brilliant.
It was almost too much to piece together—a woman who, to Oscar, had started as a fleeting memory on a crowded street, and was now sticking to his thoughts like warm taffy. Her smile, that awkward chuckle, those eyes—he couldn’t quite reconcile the image of that woman with this person Logan described.
And yet, the more he learned, the more he wanted to understand her. To know how someone so seemingly unremarkable had the ability to turn his world upside down.
Oscar found himself leaning against his desk, staring out the window at the city that had always seemed so predictable. The view of glass and steel before him no longer felt like enough.
Y/N.
Logan’s friend. A law student.
I guess you do learn something new every day.
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mikareo · 1 year ago
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౨ৎ⋆ ˚。⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k
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⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 
contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!
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Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.
However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.
Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.
He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.
And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.
“Do you like it?”
Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.
“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”
“What do you think?”
You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.
“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”
You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”
“Did you touch my painting?”
Oh boy, he’s in for it now.
A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”
Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.
“I guess you caught me red handed?”
There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him. 
You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened. 
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”
“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”
Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.
The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before. 
“Anyways, to answer your question—”
Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.
“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”
Yeah, he doesn’t believe that. 
“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”
Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.
“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”
Yep. Tripped.
“—which led me to you!”
You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.
He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”
“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”
Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”
You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes. 
“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”
She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail. 
However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired. 
“That’s actually perfect!”
What.
The.
Fuck?
“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”
The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does. 
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”
“Oh.”
All you have to say is ‘oh’? 
“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”
You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize. 
He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality. 
God, he’s so bad at flirting. 
“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”
He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.
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You’ve left your entire bag this time. 
He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense. 
It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too. 
Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together. 
He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.
You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin). 
He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind. 
A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.
‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”
As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will. 
It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. 
Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear. 
‘Hello. You know me.’
Perfect. 
In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.
‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’
‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’
He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you. 
“Cat got your tongue?”
Where the fuck did you come from?
Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan. 
“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”
He’s so bad at this. 
You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.
“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”
Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?
“I’ve got nothing to do today.”
—because he’ll gladly let you do so. 
The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often). 
“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”
“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He smiles to himself.
Yes, you do.
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He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again. 
“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?” 
This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution. 
Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years. 
The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?
Wrong. He’s a chicken.
“Here. This might help you cool down.”
Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his. 
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”
You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”
And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world. 
As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings -  to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color. 
It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of. 
To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his. 
He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?
How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand… 
…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand. 
Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.
He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same. 
Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions. 
“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”
Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this. 
“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?” 
“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”
“Nice.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“Yeah, nice.” 
Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence. 
“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.” 
He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.
He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—
“What am I to you?”
Oh.
Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now. 
What the hell is he supposed to say to that?
This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea. 
Why can’t he think of anything to say?
His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. 
This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything. 
“You’re my mom’s student.”
Anything but that.
“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”
Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one. 
He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?
“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.” 
Oh God, he made it worse.
“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?” 
How the hell are you so fast?
Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.
“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”
You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands. 
“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”
“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”
“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”
Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”
If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces. 
You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared. 
“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger. 
“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”
“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”
He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.
“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”
“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
“Are you being serious, right now?” 
Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in. 
“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”
His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression. 
“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”
You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”
As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free. 
“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”
You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”
“Grey.”
He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”
His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.
“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”
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He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 
The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 
“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 
“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”
“Cycle?”
What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?
“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”
Suguru hates him.
“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”
Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”
“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”
“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”
Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 
It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 
Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 
You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 
When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know. 
It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 
Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 
Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 
The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?
Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?
Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?
What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?
“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back. 
“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 
His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 
Did he just…
What did—
There’s no way.
Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?
He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.
Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 
Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 
‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’
He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.
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An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?
He’s counting.
The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 
Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 
Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 
Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 
He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 
“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 
This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?
You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”
“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”
The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 
He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 
“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”
“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”
“You love your art, and I love you.”
He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.
You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…
…and then a tear falls. 
One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 
Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 
“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”
You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 
“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”
Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 
Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 
His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—
Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 
“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!
“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”
“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”
The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.
As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…
…a kiss. 
“I love you.” You whisper.
“I love you more.” He replies.
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This is a fancy-ass venue. 
Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it. 
It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster. 
He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are. 
With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching. 
“She’s talented isn’t she?” 
Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.
“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”
Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.
“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”
Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?
His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”
His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.
There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”
Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”
Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was. 
“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”
“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs. 
“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”
With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room. 
Holy shit. You’re breathtaking. 
Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.
The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates). 
Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—
“Cat got your tongue?”
Speak of the devil.
“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”
You said the same thing when you first met.
Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 
The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”
As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.
Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him. 
“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”
“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”
You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it. 
He sees himself. 
Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life. 
He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular. 
"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"
Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"
Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.
"I'm painted in black and white."
Oh?
"You're painted in color."
...Oh.
"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."
He loves you.
He loves you so, so much. 
A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.
There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.
"I love you."
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jilliantheartisttwerp · 2 months ago
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Aroace awareness week day 7!!
FREE DAY!!
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I thought abt drawing Fresh! Ink and got intimidated at first, then I was like: "oh ya yk what this dudes got done sick colors" so I drew him
Total time for Fresh! Ink ALONE was about 7 hours, total time in the canvas was about 11, I'm just glad it came out so great, and OMG I LOVE HOW I DID FRESH INKS HANDS, someone on Roblox recommended it while I was drawing it lol
Alternate version under the cut
Again so sorry this was late I just wanted it to look cool
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Also forgot to post the sketch when I first posted this so here it is haha I was so proud of it, I'm gonna fineline it irl and use the sticky notes as an outline or something and put it in a scrapbook
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twig-tea · 4 months ago
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2024 BL/GL/QL Round-Up Post
Since I did this last year, I thought for posterity I'd post another reflection on everything I watched that completed in 2024. For me, that means anything that started in 2023 but the last episode was in 2024 is on this list, but anything that was still be airing after 31 December 2024 11:59 my time (EST) is not on this list, even if the bulk of the show did air in 2024.
A few stats:
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[The image is TL;DR for what follows lol]
I watched ~150 discrete pieces of new QL content in 2024 (series/films) that I tracked [It gets complicated with specials and split seasons but I did my best to be consistent]; plus 10 things that I would consider "adjacent". For contrast, I listed 110 pieces of discrete content in 2023; that's a 45% increase year over year!
This clocked in at an est. 900 hours of new BL/GL and adjacent content (up from ~600 in 2023--which also tells us that the content I tracked was a little longer overall because that's a full 50% increase in terms of hours spent).
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The new content I watched came from 9 different countries [same as 2023]: (Cambodia [1], Philippines [2, down from 3], Hong Kong [1], Japan [32, up from 18 in 2023], Korea [20; was 19], Myanmar [2, up from 1], Taiwan [12, up from 6], Thailand [75; up from 56], Vietnam [4, down from 7]), China [5], and then 3 joint effort productions from Thailand/Korea [2] and Thailand/Taiwan [1]
This means just under ~47% of the content I watched on this list is from Thailand [close to the 50% in 2023]
So many more shows had multiple or varied distributions this year, but like last year ~85% of my content was on 3 platforms: YouTube [38%; down from 40%], GaGaOoLaLa [30%; up from 23%] and iQIYI [17%; down from 21%] Note: I'm in Canada and my access routes are sometimes affected by that.
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As unbelievable as it sounds with all that, I did actually drop shows this year! I dropped 9 shows, which is I think more than I've dropped in my entire previous 20+ years watching queer asian media combined (that might be an exaggeration but I do really hate dropping shows); 4 Thai, 3 Filipino, 1 Taiwanese and 1 Japanese (listed at the very bottom of this post if you want to be messy). I didn't track any dropped shows in 2023.
And if you're wondering how many shows there are in the world in total, I am aware of an additional 11 shows I just did not have time to even start (2 from Cambodia, 4 from the Philippines, 3 from Thailand, and 1 each from Korea and Myanmar). That does not include the vertical short reels that I didn't track this year--see @ellsieee 's tracking post for these--as well as several GL shorts from JPC media YouTube channel and Sastra film app YouTube channel that I just have not had time to try or even keep track of, though I do peek in on them to see if there's anything that looks particularly good, and I do always link these folks in my GL round-ups.
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All of this doesn't include re-watches or catching up on old shows, or non-QL queer media, or non-queer media (the hets sometimes do deserve rights); but does include films as well as shows.
I hope you all appreciate that with this much content, and with my general brand of being unable to make decisions, I really struggled to narrow down a top 10 list. What follows is the best I could do lol
Top 25 QLs I'd Recommend From This Year:
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[Links are self-indulgently to what I thought was the most relevant post I'd made this year relevant to that series/media, mostly spoiler-free pitches]
She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat S2 (Tsukutabe) [GL]
Love in the Big City
Love For Love's Sake
Tadaima Okaeri [anime]
Ossan no pantsu ga nandatte ii janai ka (Oppan)
Marahuyo Project
Knock Knock Boys
Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo
Love is Like a Poison (Doku koi)
Ossan's Love Returns
Twilight out of Focus [anime]
At 25:00 in Akasaka
Cooking Crush
Cherry Magic [anime]
Cherry Magic Thailand
Takara no Vidro
Soul Sisters / Twin Rabbits [GL]
Perfect Propose
Unknown the series
Paradise of Thorns [film]
Blue Canvas of Youthful Days
The Secret of Us [GL]
Mr Mitsuya's Planned Feeding (Mitsuya-Sensei)
The Time of Fever
A Man Who Defies the World of BL S3
I tried to put these in some kind of order but honestly if you asked me to rank them the numbering would change all the time and I would combust. The ones I liked best are closer to the top of this list. I also debated back and forth on whether Paradise of Thorns counts as QL so many times. But in the end I decided the main character was queer and queer romance of a sort was at the heart of the drama, so I've left it in this list even though technically it should probably sit with the 'adjacent's.
Worth noting that though only ~20% of the content I watched was from Japan, ~45% of my favourites were from Japan.
+5 notable pulp offerings worth mentioning:
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Bagan Beginning (Myanmar)
City of Stars (Thailand)
Gym Affairs (China)
To the Ex Who Hated Me (Korea, GL)
Under the Oak Tree (Vietnam)
I think I'll do a top 10 GL post separately since we had enough content to warrant a top 10 (yay!) but this is already long enough. I just want to take a second to acknowledge that this year was so much better than in 2023 when I didn't feel like I could recommend any of the new GL shows. Thank you content creators for better and more GL in 2024, please keep that energy for 2025!
Bonus: Not a QL but worth calling out:
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How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies (Thai film)
I saw both this and Paradise of Thorns in theatres during the Toronto International Film Festival and they were both so powerful! Extremely different tones but they surprisingly hit on similar themes, and very beautifully filmed. HTMMBGD was a complicated film filled with very rounded and complex characters, and I still think about it all the time. Very excited for more folks to have access to both of these soon.
Sidenote: The fact that I watched 45% more shows in 2024 than I did in 2023 and still managed to keep my rec list to 30 (*cough1cough*) does seem to back up the general feeling that though we had more content, we didn't have a proportional rise in good content. I do want to crunch those numbers in another post.
Double Plus Bonus: Best Older QL Content I watched for the first time in 2024:
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Life as a Girl / Joshi-teki Seikatsu (Japan, 2018; I'm so sad I missed out on this one for so long due to misinfo, it is fantastic! Thanks to @so-much-yet-to-learn for helping propel me to this one)
Iron Ladies (Thailand, 2000; thank you for the rec, @happypotato48)
Nacchan's Secret / Himitsu no Nacchan (Japan, 2023; thank you @furritsubs for making this watch possible)
Can I Buy Your Love From a Vending Machine / Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasuka? (Japan, 2023; thanks to @nicks-den for making this watch possible)
I Fell In Love with the Villainness (Japan, 2023; watched because of a convo with @pilanthitasanilaphat)
Doi Boy (Thailand, 2023; this one I had on my list and just had to work up the energy to watch, but it was a beautiful film and I'm glad I did)
BL Metamorphosis (Japan, 2022; another thank you to @furritsubs)
Dear Dad (India, 2016; thanks to @neuroticbookworm for the rec!)
Salty Blue / Kakenuketara, Umi (Japan, 2023, thank you again @nicks-den!)
[I can't believe I forgot this at first] The Miracle of Teddy Bear (Thailand, 2022, thanks for going on that journey and writing great meta with me and for calling me out for forgetting @lurkingshan!)
There is so much good content in the world and despite my best efforts I haven't seen everything! So grateful to the fansubbers and people who write about past shows so that those of us who missed them the first time still get a chance to see them.
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In terms of my output based on all this input, I continued not lurking this year, and have enjoyed it very much; see my Top 10 posts from 2024 here as well as the content I linked in my recommended shows above--going through the process of adding those links really highlighted to me how much more I've written this year, and how much more motivated I am to write about shows I love. It's no surprise I had dedicated posts for most of my top shows! To highlight a few specific projects this year that I'm proud of, I participated in the Love in the Big City Book Club read and watch-alongs organized by @lurkingshan, which was such a fun project that I am grateful for, and I started my GL Odds and Ends posts (tagged with #gl recs) that I am still feeling out but am really enjoying seeing the impact whenever someone watches a show because they found out about it through one of my posts. I also made an appearance on several episodes of @the-conversation-pod and had an incredible time trying out different things in a quarterly 'Dispatch' and having some really rich conversations with @bengiyo and @shortpplfedup. I love this corner of tumblr that we've carved out for ourselves as a QL watching community, and I just want to say to everyone I've interacted with in 2024: Thank you, and wish good things for you all in 2025!
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Full list of 2024 shows under the cut for anyone curious! [Mostly in order it completed but may be slightly off--if a special aired immediately after the final episode I only list them as one thing and count the airing of the special as the end date, for example].
Bagan Beginning
Love Senior the Series
After SunDown
VIP Only
Twins the Series
Last Twilight
Night Dream the Series
My Universe
Bake Me Please special episode
Sahara Sensei to Tori Kun / Mr Sahara and Toki-kun
Love for Love's Sake
7 Days Before Valentine
Happy Ending
PitBabe the series
For Him the series
Cooking Crush
The Sign
Chaser Game W
Playboyy the series
Perfect Propose
Ossan's Love Returns
Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna S2 / She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat
Cherry Magic Th
Dead Friend Forever
Sukidoya / Although I Love You and You / Sukiyaken kedo dou yaroka?
Healing Thingyan
Love You in Every Multiverse
Cherry Magic (anime)
Please Teach Me
Anti Reset
Jazz for Two
Blank the Series
A Secretly Love
To Be Continued the series
Love is Better the Second time around / Koi wo Surunara Nidome ga Joto
City of Stars
Sea You Soon
Human Too
Man Who Defies the World of BL s3
Gray Shelter / Gray Currents / Grey Current
Gym Affairs
1000 Years Old the Series
Love is Like a Cat
To the Ex Who Hated Me
Lady Boy Friends the series
Deep Night the series + Special Episode
Unknown the series
Memory in the Letter
You are My Star
Lonely Girls
Boys Be Brave / Roommates / I Can't Confess
Blossom Campus
Two Worlds
VIP Only special episode
Pray In Love
I Fell In Love with My Male Best Friend
Friend With Benefit
Stay By My Side special episode
23.5
You Made My Day
Living With Him
City Boy Log pt3
Anti-Reset special episode
The Time of Huan Nan
Xiao Xiang Yi Jiu
Inverse Identity
At 25:00 in Akasaka
Only Boo!
Tadaima Okaeri
Love Bully (Club Friday)
Blank the Series S2
Marahuyo Project
The Two of Us
Blue Boys
OMG Vampire!
My Stand-In
We Are the series
Ossan no pantsu ga nandatte ii janai ka / Oppan
Wandee Goodday
Under the Oak Tree
The Rebound
Love Enemy
Love in the Apocalypse
Bad Guy
My Marvellous Dream is You/ Dream the Series
Century of Love
Knock Knock Boys
Be Your Star
Meet You at the Blossom
BOYTOY
The Secret of Us
Ayaka is in love with Hiroko / Ayaka-chan wa Hiroko-sempai ni koi shiteru
My Love Mix-Up!
This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans
Love Sea the series
Cosmetic Playlover
City Boy Log s4
Sunset Vibes
Mr Mitsuya's Planned Feeding
Takara no Vidro / Takara's Treasure
Paradise of Thorns
I Hear the Sunspot
The Time of Fever / when your temperature reaches my fingertips
4 Minutes The Trainee
Twilight out of Focus
Happy of the End
The On1y One
Live in Love
Heaven'sxCandy
The Two of Us s2
Addicted Heroin
I Saw You In My Dream
Monster Next Door
Our Golden Times
Affair
First Note of Love
Battle of the Writers
Reverse 4 U
Unlock Your Love
Chaser Game W s2
Let free the Curse of Taekwondo
Uncle Unknown
The Hidden Moon the series
Love in the Big City [the series]
Smells Like Green Spirit
Red Whisper
Eccentric Romance/PT is Love
My Damn Business
Apple My Love
Dominant Yakuza and Wimpy Corporate Slave
The Nipple Talk
Kidnap the series
Every You Every Me
Jack & Joker
People Come Later
Blue Canvas of Youthful Days
The Loyal Pin
Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru 2
Love is Like a Poison / doku koi: doku mo sugireba koi to naru
Bad Guy My Boss
Haunted Hearts
Seoul Blues
The Renovation
Love Sick 2024
Love in the Big City [the film]
Spare Me Your Mercy / Euthanasia
Soul Sisters / Twin Rabbits
My Hot Butch Roommate
Whisper Me a Love Song / Sasayaku you ni koi wo utau
Boys' Christmas
Bonus: FuFuKnows bi-weekly shorts [every other week they post a short film, almost always a QL storyline; there were 23 in 2024]
And those QL-adjacent shows I mentioned [these are all adapted from QL media or starred QL actors or were part of a QL franchise but did not have a canon queer romance at the core of its storytelling]:
The Spirealm
Close Friend 3 - Soju Bomb
How to Make a Million Before Grandma Dies
Man Suang
High School Return Of A Gangster / I, a Gangster, Became a High Schooler
Kimi to Yukite Saku: Shinsengumi Seishunroku
Hoshikuzu Telepath
A Balloon's Landing
Peaceful Property
My Strawberry Film
The shows I dropped:
Time the series
Beside You
Sugar Dog Life
The Whisperer
Kiseki in Tokyo
Q18
Sky Valley
The Fate Trap
Dear Miss Becky
And as a shout-out in penance, the shows I had on my list to get to but haven't yet watched:
A Blue Sky (Cambodia)
Ending Friend (Cambodia)
Pretty Boys (Philippines - requires an access fee on VivaMax+)
Oh My Boo (Philippines)
The Perfect Heartbreak (Philippines)
Where I found You (Philippines)
My_ the series (Myanmar)
What's In My Bag (Korean GL - requires an access fee on Vimeo)
Complicated (Thai)
Club Friday: Hot Love Issue (Thai)
2nd Chance (Thai; not to be confused with Second Chance, this was a smaller 3-episode short series from this year)
Thank you for reading!
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torueater · 1 month ago
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⋆ ꩜ ⋆ pairing: artstudent!gojo x artstudent!reader
synopsis: artstudent!gojo doesn't believe in prophetic dreams and all that--in fate (though it does make for a fun love story). he finds himself confused when there's been a recurring face in a few of his recent moments of unconsciousness. of all the background characters, one seems to stick -- he's even more surprised to see that the face in said dreams isn't just one he'd seen in passing when you show up to class as a new transfer.
wc: around 3780 (❁´◡`❁)
content: no explicit content (save for some kissing), art student satoru, art student reader, implied fem reader
a/n: 2nd fic on here !! this was supposed to be a drabble, ended up being extended a little (sort of has drabble vibes still I think). idea came while doing a painting! ᓚᘏᗢ
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ArtStudent!Gojo's first attempt at a portrait without direct reference pulls from a face that’d only shown up in a couple dreams of his. The moonlit memory lingers in his mind, one face in particular latched to his hippocampus akin to how a tic would to flesh. How it’s so vivid this time now that he’s out of the state of unconsciousness is beyond him but reaching for the closest medium -- charcoal and his sketch pad feels like muscle memory. Like an incessant itch. This is the first time he can actually remember what dream-girl looks like, he won’t be stupid enough to wait till the image gets a chance to slip away like wisps of smoke in the air.
Charcoal smudges against slender, too-dexterous fingers, tips dusted in black. They press into the material to make rough strokes on the cotton fibers to map out the shape of a head, a nose – gentle slopes, a slightly rounded tip. Ridges and smooth dips of lips he remembers looking too soft even in his mind’s eye. He wonders how they’d dip under the press of his stained fingertips. Satoru doesn’t need to think, feels like sketching her comes as easy as breathing.
It’s rough. It’s rushed – like the image’ll slip from his mind if he takes too long to give it a proper form--the creases between his knuckles are black and temporarily messy with charcoal but… it’s almost angelic looking. Sublime, even. A radiant mirror of whoever the mystery girl is. Even with the image put to paper, he can’t piece together who the face is, where he’d seen her. Logic and a bit of searching tells him it’s possibly someone he’d seen in passing. More than likely someone in a crowd, even a face in a movie that had somehow become a fragment in his memory. There’s the possibility of it meaning someone new is about to enter his life but that one seems more farfetched than anything.
The image clings to his thoughts for the better half of 2 days, pressing into the edges of his mind before ultimately being shoved deeper into the recesses by the weight of more important things he had to worry about. An upcoming exam. A mixed media piece he’s yet to complete even with the nearing deadline. Unfinished sketches to add to his portfolio. He’s been slacking a bit, he knows that much. Knows it won’t take much to get back on track, but still.  
There are far better, far more important things to think about, to ruminate on than a mystery girl he had the deep sated urge to keep in a physical form. Not forgotten though. Never that.
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ArtStudent!Gojo knows better than to do this shit ever again. The reminder to never ever put his assignments off till he’s all filled with nerves and needing to rush to get them done well is properly cemented in his mind from this point on. He’d damn near crammed assignments into any bit of free time he thought he’d have. Free time his ass. Up till yesterday, a 7 hour energy, his canvas, thick paints and an array of brushes had been his only companions. Paint to fabric, precise even strokes, darkness of the night not stopping the zone he’s settled into. Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids and he’s only aware of having knocked out when the morning sun greets him, bowed into his now dried canvas. “Shit!”
The smudge of paint on the canvas is one thing but he barely has enough time to brush his teeth and to wash the wayward blot of paint off his forehead before he’s bolting out his dorm – nine minutes to get to the art room. The sun is on high by now, colours of the day too bright and sharp for how little sleep he’s running on. His limbs feel all heavy, half groggy as he runs – shoulder knocking into someone else’s hard enough to make them stumble, “Fuck--sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, half hearted, barely looking.  A quick flash of her hair, momentary glimpse at her features before he keeps moving.
By the time he makes it to class, the thought is already fading from his mind. He sketches for today, graphite scratching against a Strathmore sheet, switching between mediums for more variation. Black smudges colour pale fingertips, angular cheekbones streaked with the same darkness here and there from moments when he absently rubs at his face or leans into his palm. Only now, settled into the rhythm of his sketching, one singular thought creeps back in from earlier. Huh. He hadn’t gotten a good look but the girl from earlier sort of resembled—
He cuts the thought off with a quiet huff, tilt of his mouth miniscule. As if.
Even the idea itself is stupid. Maybe the hair colour, sure. The side profile, possibly, if he’d gotten a proper look it would be clear. But it’s entirely unlikely. Not that he can be too sure with the rush he’d been in. 
But like…maybe?
The side profile—even from that small glimpse—had been fairly similar to- Nope. He cuts the thought off again with a shake of his head, thumb pressing into the grain of the paper to smear out a too rough line. Mind’s just playing tricks on me. He’s not even sure why he’s still thinking about ‘Dream girl’ as he’d coined her. Real creative there.
It’s only 2 days after that where they’re meeting a new face, where he wonders if his mind is playing a game. He’d been halfway through a sketch, hunched over a fresh page of his pad. Just until you’re actually introducing yourself – figures it’d be rude to not have his attention on you the first time you’re meeting. 
ArtStudent!Gojo at least tries to gaslight himself into thinking that you don’t look like the girl he’d sketched twice already, flipping back to the page in his sketchbook, glancing between it and you (more the side of your head from how you’re now sat) as you’re briefly introduced to the class. Smile shy, glancing around to give a polite wave–-No way. It does look like you. Maybe a slight difference, a beauty mark somewhere he couldn’t have guessed, the shape of your brows. But besides that? Yeah…it checks out. It’s nothing dramatic, no slo-mo, no cinematic gasp from a live audience. Just you sat in your seat near the front, sketchpad pulled out to catch up on the exercise.
Like sure, he’d hoped to see the person plaguing his thoughts, had joked about it here and there. But to have it coming at him full force and out of the blue like a stray baseball to the face – it’s a bit much.
He’d caught the words transfer student from the professor and not much else. If you’d just transferred, how’d he even know your face well enough to have him dreaming of you? More than once at that? 
Flipping to the 2nd fresh page of the day, he lets the charcoal map out the familiar shapes of features he hadn’t drawn in days. Third sketch’s the charm right? It’s easier to get the details almost spot on now that he’s seen you. The placement of the mole on your face, the tilt of your lips when you smile. 
He obviously doesn’t bring up the dreams and sketching stuff. Of course he doesn’t. It kind of seems creepy when he thinks on it with a clear head. ArtStudent!Gojo is anything but shy, and he does what he does best in the whirlwind of confusion – acts completely normal. Turns on that effortless charm of his and makes conversation despite the internal mess. You’re as nice as ever and you two are easy friends.
The mystery solves itself soon enough, you having transferred from another course on campus, the likelihood of seeing you not that small with how close the two buildings are. Maybe he’d seen you on his way to class some time. Makes far more sense than this being some fate-driven meeting between you two. How insane would that be? 
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ArtStudent!Gojo has colour steadily rising up the snowiness of his skin when he’s found himself sketching you again in the comfort of a now empty art room. At least it’s supposed to be empty -- clearly it’s not with you stood behind him scanning the portrait with a grin. Another one of you, number #4. 
“It’s like you’ve been studying me.” You’re really, really fucking impressed. A bit in awe. All the angles are right, he’d captured your essence almost perfectly. “Is this the only one?”
He tries to think of a way out of this, an excuse. Maybe saying it isn’t you would work? He knows it won’t because he’s unfortunately apparently blessed with the artistic gift of modern-day Rembrandt and it looks exactly like you.  You disregard the lack of response, biting back your rising grin. “Mm, you missed my earrings, though.” You dip a little more into his space, fingers pressed over his lengthy ones, guiding the pencil over to one ear, tracing the shape of a hoop, then the next. “There we go. Now it looks like me.” 
You surprisingly…don’t find it weird? Maybe because he’s overly pretty and crazy nice and you don’t get a future stalker vibe from your new snow-haired art buddy (you hope so at least). You’d been friends for about a week or two and you feel like you’d come to trust him far too easily, but he hadn’t exactly made it hard. He’d offered up the sketch and an awkward apology that you’d just laughed at. A request for a portrait in colour is your idea of a better apology. And he agrees, obviously.
Gojo thinks he needs to get a grip. He really, seriously needs to get a grip on himself. It’s been what, 2 months at this point? 2 months and some change at best, and yet he folds so easily to the shape of you. All things you. You smiling at him, you laughing at his stupid jokes and not calling him corny. Not all the time at least. The way light catches in your eyes, the way you handle oil paints like you’re Jan van Eyck himself. You’re so talented, so so talented and kind and he thinks he loves really likes you a lot! As a friend. You guys are friends! #Artbuddies and all that. He at least tries to play it off to himself as an appreciation for beauty, to things that pique his interest. What’s an artist without appreciation for beautiful things, right? He’d grown up on this! Poets bleeding their everlasting love into stanzas, artists pouring their emotions onto blank canvases in a cacophony of colours. Giving love lots of like comes easy to him because he just has so much to give (to you). 
Okay. He’s not one to act like a spade isn’t a spade, he knows he has a big ol’ crush on you. The self-gaslighting doesn’t work no matter how hard he’d tried and at this point he finds more use in not deluding himself any longer. He liked you in a not-friendly way, so what? People developed crushes all the time. A crush was fine and it’s not like he’s in love love with you.You’ve given no sign that you feel the same, he doesn’t want to get in too deep.
But you make it so hard. Gojo thinks he may be going a little bit crazy. Thinks he should’ve known he’d been doomed from the start. Completely, irrevocably doomed.
And boy…is he a sucker for it. He’s always been one for the arts, for the idea of romance in poetic forms. One for sappy rom coms, for love letters. For good love stories. To think he’d find himself in one slowly unraveling itself. 
It’s the way you exist so effortlessly-- so damn easygoing, completely unbothered by the fact that he’s accidentally (debatable) turned you into his muse. As if this is the most natural thing in the world. Not creeped out but reveling in it, in his attention. Like it isn’t weird at all that his hands know the angles of your face better than his own at this point. It’d never gotten to the point of being creepy, he’d never crossed any lines. You’re over often to sketch together, something about company ‘allowing the creative juices to flow’ or something along those lines. He doesn’t care for the justification, he thinks he’d let you in even if you’d shown up unannounced.
The designated space for art in his off campus apartment is surprisingly spacious, ceiling length windows shielded by equally long curtains that are pulled aside to give a clear view of the ambience of the city at night. Your weight is ever-present against his side, tucked close and watching him sketch. He doesn’t make you feel like a nuisance so you don’t see the point in moving. He’d gone again and left an assignment for last minute and here you were being so great and keeping him company. It’s realism this time, a landscape of some sort that he’s doing finishing touches on using acrylics. It’s nice to see him in his element, funny to see him smear paint on his chin when he forgets he’d used that same finger to quickly blend a spot on the canvas. Just the lightest streaks. “Always messy. Y’got paint all over your face.” An exaggeration of course, there’s a few spots of colour but it’s nothing crazy just yet. A hum is his answer, brushwork still precise. “Messy? Nuh-uh, these are the marks of a true artist.” What was better than telling people you’d just been painting when they see the colours on your flesh, right? Real artist he says, drawing a small laugh from you. Sure. 
A hand reaches for his chin to tilt his face to yours, thumb swiping over the streak that doesn’t even shift on his skin. Part of you wants to mom him and just lick your thumb to swipe it off but you think against it, “Dried too quickly. It’s not even budging.” You scrub at it again, completely oblivious to his loosened grip on his brush, his attention fixed solely on you as his thoughts drain at the simplest touch. He snaps out of it when you glance up at him, quick to think of something witty to bridge the silence, own thumb dipping into paint the same shade as that of the blue on his cheek. “It’s okay. We’ll just match.” It’s not that you don’t register what he says but he’s swiping a matching streak along your cheekbone before you can even lean away. “Gojo!” “What? We’re matching! Artist buddies?” Retaliation comes in a line of yellow on his cheek, scampering away from his side because it’s war from that point on. 
You’re up and running. One quick—failed—dodge on his part (then yours) and there’s more yellow on his jaw, a green stripe across your forehead. It’s messy, you’re both messy with paint. It’s chaos, stupidly fun.  You’re smearing blue fingers near his mouth, spread near his lips. 
You’re a squealing mess as you try to dodge him once more you fail, thick corded arm banding around your midsection, free hand moving to smear red on your mouth like lipstick. A contrast to the blue near his own mouth.  You suck in a breath, ribs hurting a bit from all the laughing, hands lifted in surrender above where he has you held. “Okay, okay! Truce, white flag!” Your weight presses backward into his chest without thinking too much, catching your breath, still giggling in between. “Truce. You said we’re artist buddies.” Yeah, artist buddies.  
ArtStudent!Gojo is so talented, so smart and such a good friend to have…but so very dimwitted at the worst times. You’re not sure if you’re the one to blame here but you’d made your interest clear enough, no? The coming over, touchy nature, always smiling at him? Not crazy clear signs but come on, you were trying here. The sign is as red as ever and basically calling out to him (right now for example!).
Your head tips back onto his chest to look at him and gosh, he’s right there. As handsome as he usually is, heart an unsteady drum against the confines of your ribs that suddenly feels ridiculously loud. Cerulean pools flicker to your red-smeared lips, your own dipping to his ultramarine pair. His gaze is momentary but it’s more than enough for heat to pool in places past the underside of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Has your heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with your little horseplay from before. You cock a brow in question.
ArtStudent!Gojo is a little tired of dancing around whatever it is between you two, head dipping before he can let himself think too much – ridding himself of the wholly uncharacteristic cowardice of inaction in regards to romance (seemingly only brought about by you.) It’s light, a bump more than anything, too blue lips against your red. It’s all clumsy, quick and not well thought out – he pulls back before you can decide to do anything about it but suck in a breath and that alone has him still like he’d been zapped. 
“Fuck.” His hold loosens on you at a comically fast pace, paint-coated fingers hovering midair, palms outward as if physically keeping himself from reaching for you again. As if in surrender. It’s far too easy to stumble over his words, to be a blushing loser around you and only you. He’s quick to act, something of an apology forming on his lips. “I wasn’t thinking. Shit, no -- I mean-- I was but I just wouldn’t kiss you like that—” Wait, that’s not good either, clearly isn’t from the lift of one of your brows. Poor choice of words. Poor, poor choice. He swallows thickly, waving his hands, licking at his bottom lip as he thinks, making a face at the sort of earthy tinge of paint on his tastebuds. He usually had way better game than this, really. “Y’know I don’t mean I wouldn’t kiss you. I wasn’t planning on doing it now. Like – paint in the mouth?” The earthy tang fills his mouth again as if reacting to being mentioned. “But you were all close,” And pretty, “I thought—I thought maybe, but I wasn’t sure—"
“Gojo, shut up.” You’d chuffled, clearly amused. Heat licks at your skin where he’d touched, lips remembering the imprint of his on yours, even if momentary. “Huh?” He looks borderline panicked, it makes you want to laugh some more. 
“I said shut up.” If the words hadn’t stunned him to silence, the curl of your colourful fingers against the back of his neck would have done the trick, mouth on his before he can spiral into a longer monologue on not kissing you without asking, and boundaries. Nice of him to apologize though, makes the kiss a little more deserved. 
Unlike his it’s less clumsy, less unsure. A proper kiss (sort of). The angle is awkward, your head is tilted up and your neck hurts a little, but it feels so good to be kissing him again, a little neck pain isn’t much to think about.  “Mmh..” His reciprocation comes right before you can pull back, knees bent as much as they need to to keep you from craning your neck, lips melding together. The contact is visceral, lips not exactly hungry but intentional. Firm, movements of his mouth feeling too practiced against yours. Soft sighs and breaths mutually exchanged into each other’s mouths -- blue and yellow mixing in his ivory strands as you tug, brings him closer to your own mouth as if you aren’t close enough. 
You pull back soon enough, hands still in his hair, his world properly shifted on its axis. Fabric of his existence permanently altered. 
For all that sweet, smooth talking charm in his arsenal, he’s awfully quiet right now. 
“Uh.”
Real articulate. God, he should just die.
The grin that spreads on your mouth is slow as if trying to keep it down, swiping at his now purple mouth, gaze moving from there to his hair. The patch painted a reddish green from your fingers. You’re so close. Soooclose and so pretty and you smell like you and look like you and--
The little call of your assigned nickname for him has him glancing down again, swallowing as his head tilts. “Can I just..” He doesn’t know how to ask exactly, isn’t sure if it’s necessary, you’d been kissing just moments ago. “I’m g’nna kiss you again. Yeah?” The press of his mouth down on yours is a welcome familiarity, he doesn’t feel the need to pull back when you breath in again this time around, nerves evaporated for the most part. Fingers with swipes of paint are firm cradling your face, dipped into your height, head tilted to slot his mouth against yours properly like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. Swipes his tongue into your mouth, gets a good taste of paint. Jeez.
A muffled giggle against his mouth breaks the tense air, hands still in his hair sliding down to his nape. “..Look at what you started, Satoru. Paint everywhere.” His own thumb swipes at your matching purple, lips soft to the touch. Finally aware of how they’d feel under the press of stained fingertips. Go figure. Yeah, he’s a little in love with you, he’s sure of it now. Not friendly love. A sappy, gross, ‘fuck, I’m so screwed’ kind of love? Yeah, maybe.
“Oops.” He doesn’t feel sorry in the slightest, doesn’t think he can after the escalation caused by the childish paint smearing. Another kiss-quick and light- pressed to the corner of your mouth, a soft hum against your skin. “We look like idiots. Try to avoid swallowing by the way.” You’re sure your teeth are a little purple – you think they are since you can taste paint every time you speak. Gross. “Let’s hope it washes out well.”
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extra:
You've been scrubbing at your lips for the better half of 5 minutes at this point. Soap on its own, fingers as the tool. Then soap and a cloth. The paint is at least not crusty on your skin – you don’t appreciate the purple tinge around your mouth or the barely held back laugh from the man next to you sporting a similar stain, though. “At least we’re matching again.” 
You suppose you are.
You both have purple tinged mouths over the weekend.
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additional a/n: jan van eyck - painter renowned for his revolutionizing of oil painting, 2. rembrandt - dutch golden age painter really good at portraits.
ᓚᘏᗢ
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medicalunprofessional · 1 year ago
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just a game!
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chosos-prettyprincess · 1 month ago
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cant stop thinking about burnt out artist!choso who finds his muse and suddenly life makes sense
Artist!Choso who had been stuck in a terrible art block for the past couple of months. Anytime he tried to paint or draw anything, he wouldn’t know what to draw or would eventually get a headache from trying to figure it out. He had ended up spending multiple nights, practically ripping his hair out and wanting to smash his canvases from how he was struggling with his art block.
Artist!Choso who spent months not painting or drawing, getting too stressed out anytime he even looked at an empty canvas. It got so bad to the point he had to pack all of his art supplies away into his closet before he smashed a hole in his wall from the frustration bubbling up in his chest. He even considered deleting all of his social media because he was tired of seeing a bunch of painting videos on his feed, those videos and pictures only stressing him out even more.
Artist!Choso who was out getting coffee one day, trying to take his mind off of how bad his burnout and art block was when he saw you. The perfect little thing ever. You were cute, incredibly cute, shorter than him, enough so that it made it him feel so way. And when he heard your voice? God, he felt like he was melting.
So, despite being a reserved person who didn’t like being around strangers, but he wanted, no NEEDED, to talk to you. Sucking up his social anxiety, he forgot his coffee and made his way over to you. He swore his heart was going to explode out of his chest when he saw that you were already looking up at him, with those wide, innocent eyes of yours. He felt like his soul was getting cleansed just by being in your presence.
Artist!Choso who hesitantly slid into the seat across from you. He fiddled, nervously, with his hands underneath the table as you flashed him that sickly sweet smile of yours and introduced yourself. Your voice was so smooth and sweet like honey, he felt like he could listen to you talk for hours, even if he didn’t particularly care for what you were talking about.
Artist!Choso who practically blurts out, “Can I paint you?” without a second thought, somewhat cutting you off when you tried asking him what his name was. He watched the way your face flushed, your mouth opening and closing a few times as you tried to formulate a response to his question. When you finally nodded your head yes, he quickly pulled his phone out, handing it to you for you to put your number in his phone so he could contact you sometime about painting you.
Artist!Choso who went home after that interaction, and instantly pulled out all of his art supplies. His fingers were itching to paint and whenever he started, he felt as though he couldn’t stop. In the span of 3 days, he painted 7 different paintings. His room a complete mess, as well as his face and arms. He had used up about half of his paint at this point. His body practically itching to just draw something, anything even. He even painted a picture of you off the top of his mind, having to redo it multiple times because it just didn’t feel like you, it always felt off.
Artist!Choso who didn’t even realize that you had been texting him, telling him that you were free the next few days if he wanted you to come over so he could paint you. It wasn’t until you had tried to call him, that he finally got broken out of his creative itch and had answered you.
“Hello?” He answered, sounding as though he had just ran a marathon with how hard he was breathing into the mic, having to balance his phone awkwardly in his hands due to the paint covering half of his body.
“Sorry, for calling you, you just weren’t answering my texts..” Your sheepish voice came out over the phone, the sound of your voice like music to his ears, soothing and soft. He instantly felt guilt flood his body from how worried your voice sounded.
“No, no, no, don’t apologize. I’m sorry for not answering you, baby. I just got distracted with my paintings.” He hummed out in response, quickly shutting down any attempts at you trying to apologize to him for something that wasn’t even your fault.
He hasn’t even realized that he had called you baby until he was met with complete radio silence from you on the other side of the phone and it finally clicked what he had called you.
“Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to call you that, sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” He instantly apologized, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable around him, especially for him calling you baby despite barely knowing each other.
“It’s okay… I don’t mind all that much.” Your sheepish voice admitted, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. You were glad the two of you were calling each other and Choso couldn’t currently see your face right now. You didn’t want him to see just how flustered that nickname had gotten him. “Uhm… I’m free tomorrow if you want me to come over.”
Choso paused for a moment at that proposal. Had he missed something? Why did you want to come over tomorrow? Did you two plan a hangout and he had been so caught up with painting that he had forgotten?
You had apparently picked up on Choso’s hesitation and over thinking, and quickly added on, “So you can paint me? If you still want to of course!” Not wanting to be too over pushy about him painting you like he had asked when you first met three days ago.
“Right, shit, sorry. I’ve been kinda distracted. But.. yeah, you can come over… tomorrow, that works.” He mumbled out, stumbling over his words a few times as he looked around his apartment, just now realizing how giant of a mess there was. There was multiple paint splotches on the walls, the floors, everywhere. He had canvases just thrown around, open paint canisters and multiple dirty paint brushes laying around.
Artist!Choso who frantically starts cleaning up his place like a neat freak the second you hang up the call, needing to get to class. He instantly got to organizing things, keeping out only the essential things he would need for painting you tomorrow. Everything else, he just tossed in the hallway closet, needing somewhere to hide his messiness.
He even got on his hands and knees to try and scrub the floor of the paint stains (new flash: they did not come out). He even cleaned out from underneath his bed, not sure why he did, and threw his laundry on the wash, wanting his clothes to be clean and smell all nice tomorrow.
Artist!Choso who by the end of cleaning of his apartment, was a tired, sweaty mess, but hey, at least his apartment was squeaky clean. It almost looked as if he had just moved in. However, in the process of doing all of that, he had completely forgotten about his phone, again, leaving you on delivered when you texted him asking if he wanted to go out to lunch before hand so you could repay him for painting you. 
Artist!Choso whose heart practically jumped out of his heart at the idea when he finally looked at his messages, quickly agreeing and letting you know that he could come pick you up if you had class beforehand. He felt like a lovesick boy, desperate to do anything for you to make you comfortable and stick around. I mean, who could blame him, after he saw you, he was finally able to paint again.
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lillaydee · 2 months ago
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Shhh!!! Part 8
Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader
A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...
She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...
Tag List:
@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove @liciafonseca
Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.
Dividers by the awesome @saradika
Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!
WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.
SERIES MASTER LIST
Part 7
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Joel froze. He didn’t say anything back to Tommy. You were weirded out by the silence, so you turned around and gave Tommy a beaming smile yourself, asking him what you could get for him.
“Oh, I’m just here to get the coffee that changed my brother’s mind about fancy coffee. He seemed content with crappy coffee all his life until he had yours,” Tommy smirked at Joel, whose face had now turned bright red.
“Oh, you must be Sarah and Ellie’s Uncle Tommy! It’s nice to finally meet you! They talk about you all the time!” you held out your hand for him to shake, and he took it, kissing the tips of your fingers gently as he confirmed his identity. You didn’t see Joel’s jaw clench watching his brother easily flirt with you.
“Let me just get your order. You Millers must have an iron stomach! Six shots of espressos are no light feat!”
You turned around and immediately began preparing his order, completely unaware of the silent argument going on between the two siblings. Joel keyed in the price of an americano with the extra espresso shots, holding the reader out aggressively, stopping just before it hit the younger man squarely in the nose for him to pay.
“It’s okay, Joel, it’s on the house. Maybe he can wipe tables for a few hours,” you joked.
“Nah, he has places to be, he’s a busy guy, right Tommy?” Joel widened his eyes at his brother, though his stiff body posture visibly softened at your gentle tone.
“Actually, I could use a change of pace. Sure, I can wipe tables, you got a rag?” Tommy’s smirk widened as his brother’s face turned an oddly darker shade of beet. Joel tossed a rag to his face, signalling for him to move aside so he could serve the next customer.
“Best leave them to it,” Bill’s voice chimed in, “Not enough space in the truck for all of us,” he said, pulling a chair and sitting down himself, gesturing for Tommy to sit with him.
Tommy took a sip of the coffee you handed to him as soon as he sat down. He offered Bill a hand to shake, “Tommy, I’m Joel’s brother,” he said.
“I know who you are, I know who your brother is. Seen you on that show,” Bill grumbled. “You guys do a good job,” he said, “Been doing DIY all my life. You know what you’re talking about.”
“I hope so,” Tommy said, eyes watching Joel smile more than he ever had outside of his family time. “Learnt everything we know from our old man. Sure wish he was still around to see us, you know? We grew up lacking, he worked so hard for us, and I think our biggest regret, both mine and Joel’s, is that our parents didn’t live long enough to enjoy our success,” Tommy held his head down, fingers fiddling with the strap on his watch.
Bill nodded, eye softening a bit hearing Tommy talk about his late Papa.
The two chatted a bit, Bill learning how Tommy and Joel knew you, and Tommy learning a little bit about your family. The man was not as much of a grump as he seemed to be, Tommy found, actually reminded him of Joel a lot. It was clear how much Bill loved you, cared about you.
After a while, the two stopped chatting, eyes fixed on the truck, both you and Joel working seamlessly together. Tommy felt as if he was watching some sort of a TV show where the hero resembled his older brother, except this guy was smiling way too much.
“Is Lily seeing anyone?” he chanced a question at Bill.
Bill glared at him for a second, as if deciding if the question was intrusive, but ultimately deciding it wasn’t, seeing where the man was coming from. He had been wondering about this Joel guy since he appeared this morning, clocking his shy body language whenever you were near him. And as for you, there was something he saw in your smile when you saw him that morning. Being in the service industry, you had a smile at the ready, one you used for everyone, a generic smile you turned on effortlessly. But your real smile, you saved for a select few people in your life. The one you gave this Joel guy was definitely the second one. More so, in fact. Extremely genuine, but you didn’t hug the man or kiss him hello. You were usually very physical with people you deemed your friends. So the fact that you served this man your genuine smile, but refrained from touching him told him something.
“Who are you asking for?” Bill asked Tommy instead of answering.
Tommy laughed, “Just curious, is all,” he deflected, still watching his brother laugh with you in the truck, glancing at Bill, who was also watching the scene unfold. “Known that guy all my life, never seen him smile and laugh like that with anyone who is not his immediate family,” he told Bill, who raised an eyebrow at him.
The guy from the next truck came by, talked to you about something, and you beckoned to your uncle, who hurried over to see you. Joel came out, his own coffee cup in his hands, sitting down himself.
“You know, this is good coffee,” Tommy seemingly conceded, taking another sip from his cup. Joel nodded, couldn’t help himself from agreeing with his brother, eyes closing once more at the warm, bitter, sweet liquid warming his insides.
“But it’s strange,” Tommy continued, “It’s good, but I didn’t close my eyes as if my world was put right again after a sip. I’m wondering if it’s not the coffee… but the person who brewed it instead,” he finished, his eyes twinkling.
Joel’s head snapped around, checking if you heard Tommy’s accusation. But try as he might to retort, he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything. He could feel his cheeks turn red as his younger brother’s grin got wider and wider.
“Oh man, I’m right, aren’t I?” he smacked his brother in the shoulder. “What are you waiting for? Ask her out!”
Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “She’s a friend, Tommy. She’s the girls’ friend. I can’t risk ruining their friendships.”
“The way the girls kept talking about her at the cabin? I think they know. And what’s more, I know they approve.”
Joel hung his head, hands playing with his cup. He looked at the truck, seeing you and your uncle arrange the order that Tony’s brother put in. He had volunteered to help, but the order was urgent, so Bill would do a faster job, seeing as he was a lot more used to helping compared to him. The guy could actually use the machine and make fancy coffee with you.
“It’s not about that, Tommy. I’m not ready for that kind of thing. I don’t know if I even have it in me anymore. You want me to reel some unlucky lady into a relationship when I don’t know if I can do that? I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s just cruel.”
Tommy wanted to say more but decided not to. He didn’t want to push Joel into anything like this, knowing his aversion to having a romantic relationship. He had tried. Oh Lord, how he tried. But Joel was a stubborn man. And perhaps, his love for Laura was too great, maybe he was afraid of losing again. Tommy had no idea what it was like to lose a wife, to become a single dad at 22, heck, he didn’t even know Laura that well. He was in the army when Joel met Laura. He met her maybe five times, but it was clear to him that Joel was besotted with her. And when she died, it was as if his ability to love another woman, aside from their Mama and Sarah, and later Ellie, died with her. Joel refused to even talk about her. It hurt too much, perhaps. Maybe Laura was the great love in his life and he would spend his life mourning her. And everyone around him just had to make peace with that.
But then, what he saw this past week, and especially this morning, made him think there was hope yet for his brother. His girls definitely were hoping he would find someone. Both of them seemed to make their life plans around him, not wanting him to be alone. And what Ellie kept insisting happened over the two weeks before Sarah came home was not her imagination after all. He had only seen Joel with you for a little over an hour, and already, his big brother was the happy man he knew before his wife passed. More so, in fact. He seemed light, relaxed, happy.
His Mama used to voice her worries for Joel before she passed. Joel was quiet after Laura. He had an inkling that his Mama knew more than she let on, but she never told him anything. She was so worried he would just end up alone forever, and the last thing she wanted was for her oldest boy to be lonely. And then there was Sarah, she worried for her, wanting her to grow up with a female presence in her life other than a grandmother. But any time either of them suggested a set up or him going out more to meet new women, they were either met with silence, straight out rejection, or in Tommy’s case, hostility.
Tommy knew he was not one to talk. He hadn’t exactly had a serious relationship in years. He realized that he and Maria were a new development, but now that he’d met her, he also knew that he didn’t want to even imagine a life without her in it. And he wanted his brother to have that too.
But how could he help Joel, when the man himself didn’t want to be helped?
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A couple of weeks went by, and before they knew it, the meetings for the shoots over the next season had begun. The new episodes shot over the past year was edited and ready to go for airing, and Joel found himself dragging his feet to get to work. The prospect of another year of this, as determined as he may be that it was the final one, was too much to bear for him. Another year of long work hours, another year of being away from his girls. The idea that he would have to be away from home more than he would have liked hurt him.
Sarah was home, loving her internship so much she came home every single day with stories to tell. Ellie finished her summer course, enjoying the last couple of weeks of her summer holiday. He was positively sulking at the idea that he might need to leave the house before he could send Ellie to school and come back home after the girls were asleep, missing Sarah’s stories and Ellie’s homework time. Given how busy his schedule would be, he might even be away on weekends, so movie nights with the girls and Tommy might be a thing they had to forego for a while too. Even the thought of what was coming made his heart feel heavy.
But what weighed his heart down even further was the fact that Ellie would no longer be attending the classes at the rec centre. There would be no excuse for him to see you in the mornings. For the coffee, obviously. He had no idea how he was going to go back to bad coffee on set when he had been indulging in that luxurious cup he had been having for the past few weeks.
Of course, the idea that he wouldn’t be seeing you every day for the next year was something he wasn’t looking forward to either, but that was neither here nor there, surely?
He had learnt more about you from your time together, seamlessly chatting whenever the truck had a breather from customers. You even taught him to make his own espresso shots. He actually managed to make a simple latte and an americano for a couple of customers when you went to get something from Tony. But for his special cup of coffee, his payment for helping you out in the mornings, you had always indulged him. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He stayed once Ellie came out of class, wiping tables, joking around with you and Ellie, only going home when you close for the day. Heck, he had the free time, and spending time with Ellie as she earned her first cheques was something he wouldn’t miss. Ellie got quite good at making coffee, despite hating the stuff. She even managed a decent cup of cappuccino a few times, complete with the foamy art thing at the top. He couldn’t get the look of happiness that graced his little girl’s face every time she succeeded, and the proud smile and hug you gave her stayed in his head.
He couldn’t deny the influence you had on his girls. He knew Ellie spoke to you about things she didn’t dare tell him, private stuff, perhaps, and watching her interact with you brought warmth to his heart. He watched as you braided Ellie’s hair in one of those stick to the head braid things, the one he had attempted for years with Sarah but could never get neat enough, when she complained the bits that was not tied in her ponytail kept getting in her face. He was so tempted to take a picture, you sitting in the truck doorway, Ellie between your legs on the steps, smiling and laughing with each other as Ellie told you something that happened in class that day, but if someone knew what a big deal it was to have someone snap a picture of them without consent, it was him. So he didn’t. But the sight was so domestic, so intimate, he wished he had done so. Ellie’s own mother ditched her as if she was yesterday’s garbage and knowing that Ellie had you to turn to made him feel better. Even Sarah wouldn’t shut up about you, even though her time spent with you were now limited to weekends, texting and phone calls. Like Ellie, she had taken to telling you stuff she wouldn’t share with Joel as well, and the fact that you never told him anything showed him they were right to have chosen to tell you in the first place.
He liked you. He knew that. There were days when he was lying in bed looking at your phone number, daring himself to text you. But he didn’t know what to say. Laura was the only woman he had ever allowed himself to be that close to, and his relationship with Laura was… different.
But God, he wished he could find the courage to text you.  
Yesterday, on Ellie’s last day of work, Joel watched as you presented her with her final cheque, giving her a tight hug after, telling her to come over in the evenings if she decided to volunteer at the centre. Though the teenager had plans to do exactly that, Joel could still see she was sad that she wouldn’t be spending so much time with you. She took a selfie with you, silly faces for the photo, you pointing at the cheque in Ellie’s hand with a huge grin on your face.
Then, you turned to him and gave him a brief hug, thanking him for helping you out, telling him not to be a stranger.
Maybe he imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw a glint of sadness in your eyes.
How he wished he had the courage to get a selfie with you too, but given how the two of you met, he didn’t even dare ask.
And he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss your company.  
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“Okay, so there is a list of celebrities who had already expressed interest in the charity episodes, more than we need, actually, but those who we couldn’t fit in this season could always be on standby for next season,” Jimmy, one of the co-producers told the team, shuffling a bunch of papers on his desk, passing the list around.
“Next season?” Joel asked, “Didn’t Angela speak to you?”
Jimmy looked at Joel, confusion in his face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not renewing. This is my final run.”
There were murmurs of confusion going around the room.
Jimmy looked flabbergasted. Tommy kept his head down, but didn’t say anything.
“Well,” Jimmy managed to blurt out, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it then. Moving on…”
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“Angela, why hasn’t the team been informed about this being my final year?” Joel barked as he walked into Angela’s office, Tommy following behind.
Angela rolled her eyes, “Are we really back here?” she asked, her arms crossed on her chest as the brothers stood in front of her desk.
“I wasn’t kidding. I am not renewing. I was very clear about this.”
Angela opened her desk drawer, taking two envelopes out, depositing one in front of each brother. “Have a look, gentlemen, and tell me you want to decline that offer,” she said, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
Tommy picked up the envelope and took out the new contract, shuffling the pages for a bit before settling on one page, letting a whistle escape his lips, his expression impressed. Joel didn’t even look at his envelope.
“They tripled our pay,” Tommy said. Joel still didn’t budge.
“Tell me I didn’t do you justice. Haven’t I always taken care of you two?” Angela cooed.
“I don’t care about the money. I am done. I’m not signing,” Joel reiterated, turning around to leave.
“Tommy, knock some sense into your brother here, please. Imagine what you can do with that kind of money!” Angela told Tommy, exasperated at Joel’s stubbornness.
Tommy didn’t speak. He closed up the contract and placed it back in the envelope. He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head a little before letting the envelope fall on her desk.
“I’m not renewing either.”
Joel stopped in his tracks, his head snapping around to face his brother.
“What?” Angela gasped, her face now devoid of any colour, despite the layers of make-up on it.
“I’m with Joel. I’m not renewing. I’m done. One more year and then I stop,” Tommy cooly replied, hands in his pockets.
“If the amount is not enough…”
“It’s not about the money, Angela. We’re just… done.”
Tommy turned around and joined his brother, asking him if he was interested in having a drink at his place, which Joel happily accepted.
They spent the evening drinking by Tommy’s pool, taking advantage of the final couple of weeks of vacation time they had, Joel letting loose for the first time in a long time. He felt free. Tommy wanted to retire too. One less person to fight over this decision he had made. Their phones were blaring with texts and missed calls from the agent, so much so, they had to set her tone to silent.
“So, you and Maria…?” he tried.
Tommy nodded, “Yeah…” he wiped his face with his hand, happiness written all over his features. “She’s great, Joel. She makes me happy.”
“Angela knows?”
“Fuck no. She’s gonna make it a thing. Publicity, all that. I’m not putting Maria through all that. And you know what she’s like, she’ll whip up an NDA before I finish telling her about it.”
Joel shook his head, annoyance clear across his features.
Tommy raised his eyebrows at that, pouring another shot of whiskey for the both of them.
“You two… uh… still…?” he tentatively asked, worried Joel might not be drunk enough to share.
“Nah, stopped that like… a couple months before i officially adopted Ellie?”
“Can I ask why?”
“She’s changed,” Joel said, sipping his whiskey, taking the fuzzy slippers Tommy gave him to wear in the backyard off, lying down fully on the pool chair. “You remember what she was like when we first met her?”
Tommy nodded. Of course he remembered. Angela, the sweet, fresh faced, innocent young girl who just landed a job at the agency. The two of them were among her first few clients. They were more friends than agent/clients back then, all of them starting out, still learning the business.
Somewhere along the way though, she changed. Obsessed with money, even going so far as marrying someone she didn’t love just because he was rich. The man was a known playboy, notorious for openly having a new young girl in his arms on a weekly basis. As she got older, she began to worry his interest was waning, so she took it upon herself to look younger, keep his interests alive, all in the name of living a luxurious life. It was no secret she didn’t love him, only his money. She had lovers on the side for herself, not that her husband ever cared. He stayed with her because of her Hollywood connections, good for business, you know?  
Unfortunately for her, the man matured, fell in love for real, retired, and divorced her for the love of his life. And because of the prenup she signed, she didn’t get much in the divorce. She herself had become successful by then, so she went back to her single life, with plenty of money and a list of men she could call should she ever get… lonely.
She and Joel were friends for a long time, with benefits, of course. But he was always the man he was now, someone who refused to commit. The arrangement lasted until she got married, and resumed for a bit after she got divorced, only to stop completely when Ellie came into the picture. Joel didn’t like the way she tried to influence his decisions on Ellie, realizing that his formerly kind friend had changed. Everything became a question of image, and of course, money.
Joel just couldn’t find it in himself to ever be involved with someone like her. If not for the contract he signed, he would have said goodbye to her the moment she suggested having Ellie in his life was going to ruin his image. But now, he had one year left of this contract. He was not renewing, and Tommy was by his side. He had to stick with this for one more year, and then he’ll be free of her.
“What are you gonna do when the year is up?” Tommy asked.
“Ellie still has to finish school, after that, we’ll see,” Joel shrugged, giving Tommy his glass for a top up.
“Don’t punch me, but… will Lily be part of that life?” he smirked at his brother.
To his shock, his brother smiled, so widely, and blushed.
Oh, the drinks had gotten to him, Tommy thought.
Joel closed his eyes, laid his head back on the chair, a silly grin on his face, looking just the way Tommy imagined he himself did when the revelation about Maria came forth.
“God I hope so,” Joel heard himself say.
Shit. Stop talking.
“I like her, Tommy, I really do.”
Fuck, what the fuck was wrong with him? Stop talking!
“She’s so sweet, and kind, and funny, and smart, and she’s so nice to the girls, they love her, and she makes the best coffee in the world!” he exclaimed, gesturing to show how big the world was with his arms, spilling whiskey on himself.
Fuck it felt good to finally say it out loud.
Fuck, did he say it out loud?
He sat up, Tommy grinning at him like that cat from that book. Was it a cat?
“Maybe I should stop drinking, huh?” he feebly said.
“Fuck, no! I want to hear this!” Tommy teased, taking the glass from his brother and giving him water instead. “So we were right, you do like her?”
Joel hid his face in his hands, nodding.
“So tell her! What are you waiting for?”
Joel took his hands off his face, frowning a little.
“I don’t think she likes me like that,” he pouted, lying back down, arms over his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Joel sat back up, looking a bit forlorn now.
“She hates celebrities. We’ve been mean to her all her life. One stole her boyfriend. And I yelled at her. I fucking yelled at her, Tommy!”
Tommy wanted to laugh. When was the last time Joel was this relaxed? But this was the most he had ever gotten out of his brother, and he wasn’t going to let such an opportunity pass by.
“Well, maybe when you retire, you could ask her out. Technically, you wouldn’t be a celebrity anymore then, right?”
Joel’s eyes went wide, “Yeah, you’re right! I could ask her out then! I need to text her and tell her,” he slurred, fishing his phone out of his pocket, squinting a little at the screen when the brightness hit his eyes, deciding then he shouldn’t text you right away.
“Okay, let’s call Sarah huh? Have her pick you up? You’re in no shape to drive.”
“It’s just down the street, Tommy. I’ll be fine. I’ll walk.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you can walk a straight line to the bathroom, brother, let alone to your place. It’s a very long street.”
Joel laughed, standing up, swaying slightly. He downed the bottle of water Tommy gave him, going to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face, smiling to himself. He felt lighter. He may have been loopy, but he knew he was telling Tommy the truth. He liked you. and it felt good to finally say it out loud.
“Hey Joel,” Tommy called out as he struggled to put his boots back on, “I want you and the girls to meet Maria.”
Joel nodded, happy to see his brother happy.
“Friday night? That sushi place?”
“It’s a date,” Joel said, squinting his eyes a little as Sarah’s headlights shone in his eyes. Ellie came out and went into the back seat, waving at Tommy as she did so.
“Hey, since it’s a date,” Tommy said, walking to the car with his brother, “Why don’t you ask Lily to join us?” He bent down to Sarah’s open window, “What do you think, girls? Do you think we should invite Lily to join us for dinner with Maria?”
The squeals the girls let out made Joel’s efforts to bend himself into the mini much more difficult, but his heart was soaring at the idea that his girls were that excited at the prospect of having you join them for dinner.
As he laid in bed that night, hoping to God his first hangover in years wouldn’t be too harsh, he took a deep breath and held his phone in his hands, the texting app at the ready. Might as well do it now while liquid courage was still in his system.
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You placed the recycling in the bin, running a little as you went back to your apartment. The summer heat was still very much evident, even at night time, and you couldn’t wait to get back in the comfort of your AC. You were fishing for your keys in your pocket when Lucy tapped you on your shoulder, a meek smile on her face, a sponge cake in her outstretched hands.
“I need to apologize,” she said, a cringe accompanying the apology.
You felt bad for her, so you beckoned her inside, even cutting her a slice of the cake.
“I want to say sorry,” she began, “That day, I was hungover, I had a terrible first date the night before, and seeing Joel here…” she sighed, shame across her features.
“Hey, it’s no big deal, really… if you’re worried I would say anything, I…”
Lucy held her hand up, “No, Lily, I was rude to you. And I’m pretty sure I said some really bad stuff about him too. I just… I feel like I need to set the story straight.”
You nodded, letting her go on.
“See, I think I made him sound like some jerk or something. He really isn’t, Lily, there’s a reason I’m so bitter, after all,” she said, head hung a little, ashamed of herself.
“He’s a great guy. I dare even say that he’s the most gentlemanly man I have ever met. So polite, so gentle, so considerate. Compared to his brother, who, by all means was a great guy himself, Joel was just… on a different level, you know? I crushed hard on him. Everything I just said about him is true, and he’s good looking, humble, and a great dad to his kid to boot? Oh, I was in love with him before he even knew my name!”
You smiled, knowing that she was right. Joel was a great dad. You’ve seen him with his kids, they clearly loved each other a lot. And aside from his tantrums at the beginning, you knew him to be a great guy too. Everything she said about him was true.
“And the thing I said about his… bedroom… skills…” she added, carefully choosing her words, “I think his… lacking… was more due to the fact that he didn’t want intimacy, rather than his lack of a gift or talent, if you know what I mean…” she narrowed her eyes at you, head going down a little, as if trying to get you to read her mind.
Your head lowered with hers, face scrunched up, confused by her words.
“He’s packing, honey. Very much so,” Lucy blurted out.
Oh. Oh…
“So, he didn’t really need to try that hard, if you get my meaning,” she added, rather conspiratorially.
Uh… sure, whatever you say dear.
“So, when he reconfirmed the fact that he didn’t want more, I was heartbroken. He was perfect, he was actually a great guy, back then, at least. And he didn’t want me and couldn’t have made it clearer. I think if he tried to make it any clearer, he would have seriously injured himself. I couldn’t stay there and see him every day. It’s like being a diabetic in a candy store, and the shop owner wouldn’t let you buy any,” she sulked a little at her own words, making you snort.
She saw the way you were refraining from laughing and laughed herself. You burst into laughter, Lucy laughing harder than you at herself.
“So, I came to ‘warn’ you because I was jealous. I didn’t mean any of it,” she said, looking genuinely sorry for putting you in that position. “There’s a reason all his ‘exes’ are still on good terms with him, you know. He’s a great guy. Just… emotionally stunted, is all. And they all handled the NDA thing much better than I ever did,” she continued, taking another bite of the sponge cake.
“What about the NDA?” you couldn’t help asking. For someone who didn’t really bother with the gossip columns growing up, you were really curious.
“Ah,” she said, taking another slice of cake. “See, as I understand it, at least, the way it was explained to me before we, you know… had that experience in his office, he only made sure the NDAs go to people who were not deemed his ‘serious romantic partners’. Only his ‘friends with benefits’ receive them. And so far, most of those he slept with were given one, so when his agent gave me one, I knew right away that I was never ever going to be ‘the one’ for him,” she explained, taking another bite of the cake. “Damn, this cake is good.”
“Most? Did he ever not give anyone one?” you heard yourself ask, almost slapping yourself for even asking. Why did you need to know? You’re not interested, right?
Lucy nodded frantically, and you felt your heart drop further and further down every time her head dropped down. “One lady contractor, she was in that show on TLC a while back? Tess, I think? Yeah, Tess. They were seen together a lot, and there were rumours that they were an item. From what I heard, she didn’t have to sign one. They broke up when she moved to Texas.”
Okay, you shouldn’t listen to this anymore. So you changed the subject, asking her where she got the cake instead.
Before she left, she turned around and took you by the hand, making you promise her that you wouldn’t use her words back then against Joel. You gave her a disbelieving laugh, “Honey, I’m not with Joel. He’s a friend.”
“Okay, uhuh… sure… cause we all look at our friends the way you guys looked at each other that morning,” she smirked.
“Lucy, there was no look, I was just thanking him for helping me out,” you insisted, feeling your face and neck get hotter as you did.
“Lily, honey,” she said, “I may be a delusional, inconsiderate, untalented bitch who made you suffer through my horrendous singing at one point, and I was definitely hungover that morning, but I’m not blind. If Joel Miller had looked at you the way he would a friend that morning, I would not have come barging in here trying to make him seem like a limp-dicked, selfish man whore,” her eye brows were raised so high, her lips in a mocking pout at you, her hands rubbing your arms soothingly, as if she was sorry you were too thick to understand what was going on that morning.
With that, she took your face in her hands, pinched your cheeks and bid you goodnight.
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You laid in bed unable to sleep, wondering what the hell to do with the information Lucy just gave you. You could not deny what she said back then did give you pause about Joel.
Sure, you liked him. He’s nice. Funny, even, when no one else was looking.
And okay, if you squint, he may even pass as okay looking.
Oh, who the fuck were you kidding? He’s totally hot. So hot you found yourself feeling hot all over every time he looked at you. Like all the heat in your veins just pooled under the outermost layer of your skin. Not to mention the way your heart skipped a beat every time he smiled at you. It’s a wonder you hadn’t toppled over from cardiac arrest at this point.
You looked for him in the morning crowd, and that week he was away…
Your fingers itched to text him. You willed Ellie to send you pictures with him in it. You stared at that photo she sent you of herself, Sarah and Joel with sushi in their mouths. Even at his silliest, he looked dashing. You found out rather early that googling his pictures was pointless, he didn’t smile in any of them, always with that frown on his face. You watched YouTube videos of him from that show, but he didn’t smile there either. You missed his smile when he was away. You kept rereading the text he sent you asking you to teach him how to brew coffee, the only texts between the two of you, aside from the ‘hi’ he sent when he first got your number.
When you said goodbye to Ellie yesterday, you meant it when you said she could still contact you. She’s been telling you things, whenever Joel was out of the truck. Texting you at night and even calling you with Sarah to talk to you about more private stuff. You didn’t mind, of course, but on one such call, he knocked on Ellie’s door and told her she should go to sleep, it’s late, and you heard him say goodnight to her and Sarah.
You couldn’t stop imagining what he was like at home that night, in a more domestic setting. What was he wearing? Did he look as good as he did outside?
After hugging Ellie goodbye, you took a chance and hugged him goodbye too, heart heavy at the thought of not seeing him around as much. You made the mistake of taking a whiff of his shirt as you did.
Fuck, he smelled great. And now you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not that you ever managed to since he started hanging out at the truck.
If what Lucy said back then made you pause on being closer to him, that conversation you just had with her didn’t help either. You could not get him out of your mind. And that comment about his… physique…
Your phone chimed, making you jump.
Joel Miller: Hej
Your heart soared. He texted you. He actually texted you.
Okay, stay cool. Relax. He couldn’t see you.
You: Hei. What are you, Swedish now?
Joel Miller: I might be a bot drink.
You: You don’t say? How can I help you, Mr Miller?
Joel Miller: Yuo frre Frrday?
You: Uh… I’m gonna guess you’re asking if I’m free Friday? I’m working. Why?
Joel Miller: Sorry, fst fingers. Froday night. You free Friday night?
You: I should be.
Joel Miller: Call I kill you?
Joel Miller: Walt. Np.
Joel Miller: No.
Joel Miller calling.
“Hello?” you had to refrain from laughing.
“My fingers are too big to text.”
“I can see that.”
He chuckled. You could hear the slow, lazy drag in his laugh.
Oh yeah, he’s drunk alright.
“I was trying to ask if you would be free for dinner. Friday. With me. The girls, Tommy, and his new girlfriend.”
His voice was so calm, slow, relaxed, every word drawn out. God it made you feel things.
“You sure you want me there? Sounds like a family thing. I don’t want to intrude…”
“You’re not. Please? The girls would really love it if you joined us.”
I would too. Please say yes.  
You were quiet. He lifted his phone off his ear, checking to see of you were still online. You were.
“Hello? You still there?”
“Yeah, I am, I just… are you asking me this cause you’re drunk?”
“No,” he slurred, chuckling. “I’m really asking. I’ll ask you again tomorrow, if you don’t believe me,” he promised.
“Okay, ask me tomorrow.”
“But if I do, would you say yes?”
“We’ll see, Mr Miller.”
“Okay,” he said, unable to control the grin on his face. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Good night Lily, please say yes.”
“Night Joel.”
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Part 9
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ladykailitha · 5 months ago
Text
The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 14
Hey guys! Welcome back! So this chapter is getting a little heavy on the angsty side, so just a heads up.
Things have been going great for all the stories especially the Christmas one.
This will be the story that keeps its usual schedule next week. Every other posting day will be finishing up the Olympic Swimmer one. So be on the look out for that.
Also super long chapter!
Steve tries out some hobbies, Joyce pushes, and Steve gets depressed.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13
~
Steve would like to say he got right on the job search the next day, but he really didn’t. He woke up refreshed and feeling good about himself. After a run on the treadmill and big breakfast he had already talked himself out needing to.
But instead he decided that he wanted to learn new hobbies. He had the money and pretty much unlimited time so why not?
The first thing he tried felting. Yeah, he had a lot of money, but he wanted to start with something cheap in case he got bored with it.
Taking the kit out of the box, he already ran into a problem. The leather finger gloves were much too small. Like he didn’t have fat fingers or anything but they were much too tight to fit on even his pinkie fingers he turned them inside out to see if he could make them bigger somehow.
He only succeeded in ruining the finger gloves. He tried rubber thimbles as replacements but still the sharp tool would pierce even the tough rubber.
The kit sat abandoned in a corner of his hotel room until one of the porters saw it and asked if he could have it. His sister did the felting all the time and she was having trouble finding colors she liked.
So Steve let him have it. Three days later the porter came back with a bright yellow canary and a female robin. He proudly displayed them on his nightstand next to the phone and alarm clock.
Robin loved them, but refused to take the robin. She said they shouldn’t be separated at any price.
Steve loved her a little bit more when she said that.
The next thing he tried was painting.
That lasted all of six hours before they got handed off to Will. It was a beautiful oil, acrylic, and water color set, with all the paint brushes and pallet and metal wood-handled pallet knives.
It lasted that long was because that was the time it took for Steve to set everything up, including an old sheet Rosa let him have, start painting and promptly knock everything over. The water, the paints, the easel. Everything. He broke the easel, knocked a hole in the canvas, and smeared paint all over the apron he had bought just for the occasion.
Will was happy to receive the paints, but in turn he gave Steve a simple notepad and pencil and taught him how to draw.
Steve liked that.
It was just for doodling and making silly pictures so it didn’t make him feel like a failure. He went to the bookstore and bought a bunch of books on how to draw certain things. Animals, the human figure. He even found this great reference book on clothes sorted based on the English monarch who was in power at the time the were wore.
Which was all well and good, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.
One day while he was over at Will’s talking art and whether or not kneaded erasers were worth the pain they caused if you dropped, Ellie introduced him to a new hobby. Will was against the things, Steve was for.
Jonathan huffed, “That’s probably a class issue as Steve here can afford to replace them and Will can’t.”
Steve and Will stared at each other in complete shock, but had to admit that Jonathan was probably right.
“Yeah, okay,” Steve huffed, “that’s fair. I guess I really didn’t think about it because it’s not my money I’m spending.”
“Have you tried looking for a job?” Joyce asked. She didn’t like that someone was paying to keep Steve safe. As nice as it was, in her experience the well tended to dry up when you least expected it to.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Byers.” Which he had. Yes, he had been focused on trying to learn things that would keep his mind from atrophying, he had also been looking. “If they seen me coming they take down the sign or if they don’t get to it in time, they say it’s an old sign and that they forgot to take it down.”
Joyce’s shoulders slumped in sympathy. The rumor around town is that because Mr. Harrington was the landlord for a lot of the properties that the businesses were on, he had threatened to raise their rent if they gave Steve a job.
Something that all the adults promised not to tell Steve so that he wouldn’t get so discouraged as to not try at all.
But surely Clint Harrington didn’t own every business in Hawkins and she told Steve so.
“No,” Steve huffed. “But he’s friends with ones that he doesn’t. I’m going to try the mall next. Most of the them are franchises and have their main bosses outside of Hawkins.”
She let out a little sigh of relief. It showed that Steve was trying and actively thinking of these types of pitfalls.
Steve shifted uncomfortably. “What have you got there, Ellie?” he asked trying to shift the focus off of him for a moment.
Joyce was watching Ellie while Hopper was at work.
The young girl held up long satin strings of embroidery thread. She had three shades of pink, a white, and a red. She tied the ends to a safety pin that was pinned her leg.
“I’m making friendship bracelets for me and Max,” Ellie said proudly. “The pink is for me, and then I have these colors for her!” She held up blues and purples.
“That’s way cool!” Steve said scooting over to sit next to her.
Jonathan and Will shared a smile. Steve was lost to the shiny allure of friendship bracelets.
“I could teach you if you like,” she said with a smile. “I also have boondoggle!” She held up shiny plastic strips. “I make key chains and other things that need to last a lot longer than the thread.”
Steve really lit up, but then frowned when he saw out intricate it all was. “I’ll never be do anything that fancy.”
Ellie sat closer and pulled out a little paper that she had in her caboodle. “I couldn’t at first either, so I went to the library and took out a book on all the different ways you could plait and how to do boondoggle. Then I copied a couple of the pages I wanted to try.”
She handed it to him and pointed to the easiest. “That’s the one I started with and it will probably take a little bit to get the spacing right.”
Steve tilted his head. “Is this like braiding hair?”
“Yes!” Ellie said excitedly. “That’s right. I forgot you braid Max’s hair all the time. So then it will be easy for you.”
Soon they were off in their own little world.
Joyce watched with her arms crossed and a concerned expression. Jonathan spotted her and shook his head. He stood up and went to stand next to her.
“You’ve got to let it go, Mom,” he said gently. “You aren’t his mom and even if you were, he’s still an adult. As near as anyone of can tell, whoever is footing this bill isn’t in it to exploit Steve, just making sure he’s taken care of.”
Joyce breathed out through her nose as she tried not to snap at her son. She didn’t know that as a fact and Hopper’s reassurances weren’t enough. She hated having to take his word that whoever this was wouldn’t harm Steve. And that galled.
“It’s all the expensive gifts,” she tried to explain. “The car, the unlimited credit card, cash drops weekly, the gold necklace, the hotel. It’s just not right, it’s not decent.”
Jonathan shook his head. “What about all the non-expensive gifts? Things this benefactor thought Steve would like or get a kick out of? Like that little canary with top hat that he keeps on his dashboard? Or all the music tapes they send, thinking Steve might want to try something different. Hell, according to Steve until they left the country, they talked once or twice a day. That doesn’t sound like someone out to hurt him.”
She let out a shuddering sigh. Because Jonathan was right, that didn’t sound like someone trying to use Steve. “I know.”
Jonathan patted on her shoulder and then went into his room, probably to call Nancy. Another person like his mom who worried Steve was being taken advantage of. But even if he was, that was a lesson he was going to have to learn the hard way.
On his own.
Will had long since left to go hang out with Mike while Ellie and Steve made friendship bracelets. He made four. A black, red, and dark grey one for Eddie, a red, a brown, and a light grey one for Robin and two yellow, white, and black ones. So he could one each to Eddie and Robin.
“Those are really pretty, Steve,” Ellie congratulated him. “Those are some interesting color choices.” Spoken as though she was silently judging, but too polite to say so.
He blushed and held up the first one. “This is for my special friend, they are his favorite colors.” Then he held up the second. “And this is for Robin. The colors remind me of a female robin and the last two represent who I am now.”
Ellie blinked for a moment as she took in the information. “I can see that now. Thank you for explaining it to me.”
“I get my thread at Melvand’s,” she said serenely, “if you wanted to continue to make more, that’s where you would go to get your own.”
Steve kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Ellie.”
He didn’t stay much longer than that, now that both of the other boys were gone, Joyce was keeping too close an eye on him with Ellie. He knew it wasn’t the gay thing as she didn’t mind Will being around her. And it wasn’t being a barely legal adult considering she would gladly leave Jonathan to look over her.
Nope.
It was entirely because she didn’t know who Steve’s mysterious benefactor was. And the thought of this unknown, probably male, person might hear about Ellie later? Yeah, that’s where she drew her invisible line.
Which was bullshit, like with Robin’s mom, Eddie wasn’t going to prey on little girls. He was freaking out about Steve might be underage when they met in the club. But it wasn’t like he could tell Joyce that. She might revoke his time with Will and Ellie if she learned he had been underaged drinking that night. The night Eddie saved him.
Steve went up to his hotel room and flopped face first into his bed. He was tired. Tired of all the questions about finding a job and getting out from under Eddie’s thumb. Like Eddie was financially abusing him or whatever.
He just wanted to bring people to his hotel room and show them all the little things Eddie sent him just because he walked into a gas station and saw something cute he thought he would like. The keychain from Kansas City with his name on it. The bright yellow shirt that said “I don’t take no shit” and had the Iowan state bird of the American goldfinch. That one came with a little note explaining that it was a canary, but the black on the wings reminded Eddie of the deliciously tight black leather pants.
Steve blushed for hours after that one.
He wiggled onto the bed and crawled under the covers without having taken off any of his clothes. Maybe he could hibernate until Eddie got back in America.
~
Steve managed to bury himself under the covers before the porter with the felting sister ripped the blanket off from over his head.
He stared blearily up at the porter. “Martin?” He struggled to sit up, but flopped back down on the pillow in distress. “Just leave me alone.”
“It’s Marty actually,” the porter huffed. “The only people that call me Martin are my boss and my mom. You’re not either.”
“Marty, I just want to go back to sleep.”
Marty pulled the rest of the blankets and yanked Steve off the bed. He went with a startled yelp. He leapt to his feet to fight him, but he saw that Bob and Rosa were standing by his bed with looks of concern on their faces.
“I have the shower running,” Bob said, “you will get in there and at least clean off the sweat you reek of. Then Rosa will change the sheets. Marty will bring up some food while you are showering, then the three of us are staging an intervention, because this isn’t like you!”
Steve opened his mouth to refute that statement, probably something about how no one called the whole time he as sulking.
Bob pulled out a stack of messages. “I have thirteen messages, and that’s only because the answering machine is full.”
Steve looked behind him and sure enough the machine was blinking complete with a full tape.
“Oh.”
He meekly went and did as he was told. He was only going to do a perfunctory wipe down because they were waiting for him, but once he got under the water it felt so good that he began to thoroughly scrub himself down. Normally going without a shower for a couple of days really didn’t do much, but because he had barely moved to pee, he was covered in thin layer of sweat.
He washed his hair and got out of the shower. He dried himself off and put on the long robe Eddie had gotten him. He opened the door and was instantly hit with enticing aroma of chicken noodle soup. He moved out of the bathroom to the main room, lured by the scent of real food.
The sofa was full of the hotel employees so he grabbed his bowl of soup and spoon and sat down on the armchair curled up as small as he could make himself.
“You frightened us, mi corazón,” Rosa huffed. “You weren’t answering your phone, you weren’t ordering food. The only way we could tell you moved at all is that occasionally the cup in the bathroom would be wet or you would be on the other side of the bed.”
Bob nodded. “We were told to look after you, money was no object. That’s what we were told, but you turned out to be kind and generous and frankly better than ninety percent of the patrons here. You treat us like we’re human, so it became our pleasure to serve you. So when you weren’t opening your door to anyone or answering your calls, we knew something was wrong.”
“Sorry,” Steve muttered into his bowl. “I just got so tired of everyone trying to find out who is bankrolling my life style and telling me to get a job that I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”
“It’s none of their business,” Rosa huffed. “They’re just jealous that they don’t have this life. I know your papa wants to hurt and all this for you protection, but it seems to me your friends just see the money you...” she snapped her fingers. “What’s the word?”
“I’d use ‘splash around’,” Steve said with a shrug.
“Ehhh,” she knew it wasn’t the word she was looking for but it would have to do. “They see the good. Not the bad. They see new car, but they weren’t there to see you give up your old car. They see the fancy hobbies, but they don’t see your big room and no one to fill it with.”
“She’s right,” Marty said. “I don’t think even the girl that comes with your gifts from Eddie Munson quite understands the crippling loneliness and isolation you have to be feeling right now.”
Steve sniffled into his soup. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know how to impress upon them how dangerous this all is for me. Like the only ones that remotely understand are the Hendersons and that’s because my dad showed up on their doorstep. But even then I don’t think Dustin quite grasps the enormity of it all, but then he’s thirteen so...”
“The only reason your father hasn’t penetrated hotel security,” Bob said with a grimace, “is that the owner, Dr. Sam Owens hates business men like your father. Otherwise, his hold over this town would have extended to here, no doubt about that.”
“So this is what’s going to happen,” Marty said, “if you need to sneak out and just go for a drive to get out of your head, call Bob and he’ll arrange it. If you need someone to talk to ring up Rose or myself. We’re here for you. We understand that Mr. Munson is out of the country right now and it makes it harder, but we’ve got you, okay?”
Steve nodded and said weakly, “Okay!”
~
Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24
Tag List: CLOSED
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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 8 months ago
Text
Honey Cappuccino with Cinnamon
Kento Nanami x Barista! Reader SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY
You get a new patron in your cafe, a dashingly handsome, well mannered, well spoken, Kento Nanami.
wc: 13k, whoops
Content: Smut, Fluff, comfort, kind of a slow burn, kissing (ooooo!!), sex, brief fear/violence (but not sexual), small curse appearance, cunnalingus, reader is female, smoking, swearing no spit (r u guys proud or disappointed), bad ending
Ao3, Masterlist, Coffee headcannons. dont reproduce my work or post it anywhere else. i came up with it out of my head. Enjoy.
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You loved your morning openings, most people would have preferred to sleep in, enjoy their mornings at home, take their time getting ready for the day, all while the sun was settled in the sky. But you loved waking up in the misty dark, walking in the clean, morning air, and setting up the cafe before the sun found its way out of bed. The hour and a half before the cafe opened felt like you were the only person in the entire world, total serenity. You could make your own coffee, just how you liked it, luxuriate in the smells of last night's prepped pastries baking to perfection in the oven, work at your own pace while listening to an audiobook or a playlist that you chose. It was the time you looked forward to most throughout the week; your perfect hour of bliss. Uninterrupted bliss. 
The ringing of the door chime was your indicator to return to reality and remember that the cafe didn’t exist solely for your own personal enjoyment, but was in fact a buzzing success. From 6 AM opening to 7 PM closing the cafe would see anywhere between 300-700 customers a day. The large majority of them just stopped in, ordering, and leaving upon receiving their coffee and scone or whatever it was they wanted. A handful you saw nearly every day. You, of course, knew their names, you were a professional. But your first rung of memory was always their orders. 
The gentleman that comes on his bike with his canvas backpack -- a double espresso with equal parts hot water to the espresso. 
The woman who comes with her daughters every morning -- two blended caramel frappes for them, three shots of espresso over ice in a large cup for her. (she pours a protein shake over it and mixes it together. She’s been trying to get you on it. You tried it once, she's onto something.) 
The college kid whose eye bags have doubled in size since they first came in. -- Iced americano, one more shot than you feel is ethical each time. 
Three shot soy latte guy, small decaf mocha woman with a fresh set of nails every time you saw her, long pull espresso always in a porcelain cup for the older woman with the faded purple lipstick, etc. etc. 
The mental list of orders must have been a mile long but you kept them all in your heart. You have seen people before job interviews, between shifts, between jobs, on breaks, days off, first dates, break ups, going to work, coming from it, anything in between. Second only to your sacred alone time, was the way you got to know the people who continued to come. Your position as a customer service worker was not without the obvious dregs of complaints and entitlement from the comers and goers, who never asked your name or about your day, and always had something wrong with their drinks, but it was all overshadowed by the kind faces you recognized so well. And nothing could compare to seeing someone for the second or third time, knowing you had secured another person a favorite coffee shop where they could feel comfortable and know that this small, but vital, piece of their life would be taken seriously and made carefully, exactly to their tastes. You liked giving people that peace, a little taste of your own. 
This morning when you opened, you got into the cafe at 4:30. Early for the 6:00 opening but you wanted to enjoy the languid morning hours a little extra today, and you did. You took your time setting the pastry display, straightening up the table, setting up the self service bar. Before you knew it, there was only a half hour left before opening. The large drip brewers were prepped, ready to fill the cafe with the rich smell of fresh coffee at the touch of a button, the last batch of lemon scones were in the oven, you had just finished counting the drawer for the register and were about to spend the last twenty minutes before turning on the open sign in sweet, perfect silence, enjoying your own favorite coffee when the bell chimed.
“We’re not open yet,” your eyes stayed closed, prepping for the first sip of your perfect morning indulgence. 
“Oh, I’m sorry. The sign is on, I didn’t realize.” A rich, oaky voice filled the echoey cafe. 
You opened your eyes and turned to face the voice. The owner of the voice was a tall man, over six feet, a full, broad figure clad in a tan coat over a dark blue button up. The outer layer couldn’t conceale the way his shirt stretched over his chest, buttons meeting, but just barely. A queer looking yellow tie spotted almost like a cheetah or a banana thankfully covered the higher up, more stretched gaps. But what struck you the most was his face, hard lined cheekbones, long, slender nose, hard set jaw, thin but full rosy lips, a set of unique green lensed glasses resting over his eyes. He was stunning, completely beautiful, the kind of beauty that could strike a god down to earth for the chance of love. You felt your throat tighten, your mouth fall open.
“I-uh, Sorry.” And yet you still couldn’t figure out how to respond. 
He took a moment to look at you, then checked his watch, pulling up his sleeve for you to see the joint of his wrist. Behind him you could see the white neon light of the open sign shining through the front window. Your face heated, mortified at how unprofessional you were being, gawking at him. 
“Oh. I am early-- I’ll come back. I’d hate for you to star----”
“No!” you interrupted, waiting just a touch too long before continuing, “You’re barely early, excuse my flippancy, please come in. What can I get you?” 
You took your place behind the counter, he moved to the other side of the counter, he scanned the menu board above your head, turning his chin up slightly, giving you a view of the muscles in his neck. Your mouth watered. You brought your eyes down to the screen in front of you, desperate to quiet the thoughts in your mind. 
“I really would hate for you to start work early. Especially for my sake I can wait outside.” 
“Don’t be silly! I couldn’t have you out there waiting when I can help you now.” 
You absolutely could, and had, on many occasions done exactly that. Letting the morning rush wait until operating hours no matter how early they wanted to “just squeak in super fast!”. But you wanted to keep him inside, bring him closer, give him anything he wanted. Hell, if he turned out to want all the money in the register you probably would have at least considered it.  
The rich voice filled your ears once again, “A cappuccino, please. With just a bit of honey, please.”
Great order, and so polite. 
“You got it.” You plugged it into the computer, the total appearing on his side of the screen, “dry or wet?” 
He cleared his throat abruptly, eyes wide behind the thick frames, “uh…?”
You didn’t realize how it came out, “more milk or more foam?” 
He collects himself, “uh wet, then.” 
You nod, “any preference of milk?”
“Whatever you have is fine.” 
You started the espresso grinder, the whirring filling the soundless air of the cafe, “this is a cafe, we have like six milks.” 
He nods, “right. Um…whatever you use I’m sure is fine.” 
You mirror his nod, “oat is, then. Anything else I can get you?” 
“One of those croissants, please.” He gestured to the pastry case, ten perfect flaky butter croissants sitting beautifully. 
“Great choice.” You smile, “I’ll get your drink.” 
You turned back toward the espresso machine as he moved to start paying on his screen of the register. You were grateful to have an excuse to turn away from him, away from the magnetism of him, to have something to focus on and hopefully regain an ounce of your composure. 
Nanami collected his breath, grateful to have your sparkling gaze out of his immediate eyeline. It takes more focus than would normally be necessary to complete his payment. Fingers trembling over the ‘no receipt’ button, his eyes drifted up again. The large espresso machine in front of you hissed and dripped the fragrant, rich liquid into the small espresso cup underneath. 
“Is this your first time in?” Your voice rang like a bell in the empty cafe, you were pouring milk into a metal pitcher as you spoke to him, not missing a drop. 
So much ease, precision, the routine of skilled work over years of honing, everything was perfectly measured, foamed, and stirred. You clearly took care in what you did, your hands were so still and even as you tipped the small fridge door open with your foot to slip the milk carton back inside. The brief scream of the milk knocked him back into his senses. 
“Yes.” He answered, hoping to keep his internal chastisement out of his tone. 
You nodded watching the milk whirlpool in its small silver pitcher, “I thought so. I don’t think I’ve seen you in before. I’m basically always here, and I think I would have remembered you.” 
A blush heated your cheeks, but you discarded it as steam, pulling the wand from the pitcher and tapping its bottom against the counter. You poured the honey sweetened espresso into a small to-go cup, and topped it with a fair serving of water before meeting the lip of the pitcher with the liquid so the foam could slide perfectly across. 
Nanami watched the smile slide across your lips, cheeks pulling upward, a satisfied sigh leaving you as you perfected the drink. His drink. His. 
He shouldn't be acting like this, he just stopped in to get a quick coffee before returning to the school. The last assignment had been grueling, he was only just finishing it. Talk about Overtime. This was ridiculous, he had been in an awful mood before walking in, miserably dragging himself through the doors of the first lit up cafe he stumbled across. And yet here he was, his previously drained heart beating, no palpitating, in his chest at just a few exchanges. You finally turned back around to face him, presenting the drink to him without its lid, letting him see the perfect line of dusted cinnamon across the foam cap. 
“Here you are!” You beamed at him, hoping to see a flicker of a smile or some kind of praise. 
He didn’t smile but you thought maybe you saw something soften in him. He accepted it across the counter, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a sip. Then he smiled. He couldn’t help it. It was perfect. Perfectly sweet from the honey, but still letting the robust bitterness of the espresso shine, the body of the oat milk complimenting the two perfectly, making the whole concoction taste like a cinnamon and oatmeal cookie that he’d indulge in in some private, anonymous, curseless cafe that he thought only existed in his mind. But he may have found it. 
“Wow. It’s excellent.” His lens-guarded eyes warmed at you through their green filters, “Thank you.” 
A chrysalis was twitching in your heart, “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” 
A moment passed as you waited for him to speak again, praying this interaction wouldn’t be over yet. The chime of the bell at the door broke you away from him, turning to see the beginning trickle of the morning flood enter. He was a nice enough guy, same thing every morning: four shots of espresso with two brown sugars in a porcelain mug that he would sit at one of the back tables in and read the morning paper no matter how ungodly early it was, but right now you wished he never dared step into your shop in the first place. When you looked back and saw the end of Honey Cappuccino’s motion to check his watch, he met your gaze once again. 
“Oh! Your croissant, I'm sorry.” You breathed out, kicking yourself for being foolish enough to think he was lingering to talk to you more, not waiting for the rest of his order.
“Right.” You heard from above you as you opened the pastry case. 
You retrieved the biggest, prettiest pastry for him and put it gently into a paper bag, straightening up to hand it to him. 
“No one going to work this early should go without breakfast.” You smiled, hoping to soften the blow of your unprofessional behavior. 
He nodded, accepting the bagged pastry, “Thank you, for indulging me so early. Next time I assure you I will be within the operating hours.” 
The chrysalis stirred again and you giggled its rhythm, “Don’t you worry. You come back anytime, okay?” 
He nodded again, before moving toward the door. You couldn't help the way your rubbernecked his exit all the way past the edges of the large shop windows. Turning back to the register and seeing your early bird regularly standing before you. Thankfully you knew his regular order by heart and could plug it in and nod through polite conversation without having to stop your rumination 
He had said Next time, implying he would come in again. You said a silent prayer to nothing that he would. At least so you could redeem yourself. So you could remind yourself and demonstrate to him  that you were a consummate professional. The rest of your day was spent smoothly, that tapping, fluttering feeling in your chest was quiet and still. You made drinks, cleaned and stocked the store, were courteous and charming with customers and coworkers alike. But you couldn’t get the man from this morning out of your mind, you didn't even ask what his name was. He would only be Honey Cappuccino Guy, for now, and that would have to be enough for now. 
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Nanami entered the school still nursing the last dregs of the cappuccino, savoring the taste of honey and the memory of you in tandem. The high of your interaction was beginning to wane, the head and body ache of a night of reconnaissance and curse slaying an albatros growing denser and denser around his neck. He longed to finish his report and head home as soon as possible, already budgeting the allotment of time that felt appropriate for an early afternoon nap before resuming the chores he had left unfinished at home in a rare act of laziness. He hadn’t eaten his croissant yet, finding it rude to eat on the train, and his stomach felt barren, it seemed every part of him was echoing in discomfort. An echo that was seemingly non-existent in the warm light of the cafe. 
He sighed, rounding the corner to the small extra room that had been designated as his “office”. Not being a member of the teaching staff at Jujutsu High, there was little necessity for him to have a space of his own on its campus. He could easily complete his necessary paperwork in the common areas, or even at home. But Yaga had insisted on marking one of the empty offices as his, with some encouragement from a certain white haired sorcerer. The dwindling number of active sorcerers in the area was certainly a motive to keep each other close. So Nanami obliged, stopping by for meetings, assignments; both at their beginnings and upon their completion.  
This last assignment had been grueling, extending too far into the night, he almost felt dishonest filling out the time card associated with the final report. Nearly twelve straight hours of traveling, hunting, and fighting. It was a miracle he wasn’t delirious. He stretched back in his chair, the lactic acid that longed to settle in his back and legs crackling and redispursing. He found himself again remembering the lilt of your voice, the smell of lemon and sugar and fresh roasted grounds in the air of the cafe. The sense of peaceful indulgence carried him through the next two hours of work before he could drag himself home to shed the day and pass out, dreaming amorphously about flaky pastries and kind expressions. 
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It would be almost two weeks before you would see him in the cafe again. You were restocking the milks in the small fridge underneath the counter that housed the espresso machine when the bell rang. It had been a dreadfully slow morning, mostly regulars and single, simple drink orders. It had given you plenty of time to clean, and fantasize. The large, well dressed man from eleven days ago hadn’t yet left your mind. His voice, his stature, his odd clothing, his demeanor. You were positive your memory had to have been generous the more and more you recollected the meeting, surely no one person could be so handsome. So charming, so, in the truest sense of the word, attractive. But when he stepped through your threshold once again, you found that your memory was ironclad. Tall, broad, sculpted features, odd glasses, leopard print tie, pristine styled hair, every detail of him was perfect. Your breath caught in your throat, but even that couldn’t interrupt the smile that widened on your lips. 
“It’s you.” you all but gasp out. 
He crosses toward the counter, a faint smile showing itself only on the edges of his lips, eyes wide and set on you, an expression you couldn't realize was mirroring your own awe. 
“You can say that about anyone. It’s always true.” His voice was just as smooth and even as before, you felt an all too familiar stirring in your chest. 
You laugh, “Good point. I didn’t expect to see you back. Thought I might have scared you off.” 
“Certainly not!” He can feel the burn in his cheeks, “You were kind enough to extend your hours for me. How could I not return to at least say thank you.” 
“Oh!” you chastised yourself for the twinge of disappointment you felt realizing he wasn’t here with any motive other than politeness, “It was no trouble really, it’s like the easiest drink in the world to make.”
He nods, “well, Thank you nonetheless, your work got me through the rest of mine.” 
You let out a low whistle, “That was one hell of a clock in time. Do you always go in that early?” 
“I was finishing up actually. Long project, I…lost track of time.” He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to provide you with more information, ordinarily he would dodge questions in their entirety. Truthfully he would ordinarily never be in this situation to begin with, never having been one for casual small talk.  
“Wow…that’s intense.” you couldn't imagine working such a strange schedule, what extreme hours like that must do to a person, “what is it you do?”
This is exactly why Nanami does not engage in casual small talk, does not approach topics that could lead back to sorcery or jujutsu or anything related to his job, why he does not talk to the pretty girl behind the counter. Because now he has to lie. His heart sinks, but he steels himself. 
“I'm a sort of exterminator.” He answers smoothly. Not technically a lie. 
You hum, seeing him stiffen; you’ve seen this before, folks can be cagey about their professions, and particularly assumptions made about them based on what they do, you knew when not to pry, “Hm. You must have to be on your feet a lot.” 
He’s grateful you chose a surface level observation instead of prying further. 
“Well what can I get for you today? Got another long one in the books? Should I break out the hard stuff?” You smile warmly at him, catching his eyes. 
It's then that you realize he isn't wearing those peculiar glasses that he had before. Thick green lenses absent, and amber eyes revealed in their stead. The outermost rings of his irises were dark, oaky brown, his lashes were long but faint, small freckles now visible across his nose and dappling the tops of his high, hollow cheeks. Not only was your memory not being generous, he had somehow become more handsome. You took in a shaky breath, trying to ignore the stirring inside of you. 
“One cappuccino with honey, please. Just the same as last time.” 
“You got it!” You tap the corresponding buttons. 
He pays with a card, a chime sounding as he taps against the reader. He is grateful for an excuse to look away, it feels like every time he looks at you, you’re looking back at him, so intently. He feels studied by you, hot under your gaze. He wonders to himself if the blush he feels creeping up the back of his neck is visible to you. Your smile earlier made it begin its journey from the warmth of his chest up toward the tops of his ears. His harness feels too tight, his jacket feels stuffy and restricting. He reaches up as you finish up the payment across from him and tugs his tie looser, routinely unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. It's then that he notices his hands are sweating. 
Fuck me. Pull it together. He pleads to himself accepting the receipt as you turn away.
Back facing him you begin weighing out the espresso, you can hear his footsteps as he steps off to the side. You catch your breath, gearing yourself up for your next move. The drink comes together quickly. Honey, espresso, steamed and frothed oat milk, a small dusting of cinnamon. You giggle to yourself about the cinnamon on the creamy foam mirroring the dusting of freckles along his face. God, you're pathetic. You roll your eyes at yourself and inhale. You turn back to the counter before stalling. He wasn't waiting at the counter and you had, once again, been too frazzled to ask his name. 
“Uh…H-honey cappuccino?” Your voice wavered weakly. 
He crosses over from the other side of the cafe where he had been admiring the community board, where local artists would hang their work, organizers would add flyers for local events etc. He traversed the room in three long strided steps. 
“I’m sorry, I usually ask for a name, I forgot.” You explained. 
He accepts the paper to-go cup between you, “It’s Nanami, thank you.” 
“It's nice to meet you.” You smile. 
“And your name?” He is quick to inquire. 
You tell him, smile widening, he nods and repeats it softly. He sips from the black lid, ignoring the initial shock of heat. It's just as perfect as before, a small sound of approval resonates from his chest, you wish it had less of an effect on you than it does. 
“It’s perfect. You’re very talented, thank you.” He offers a small, polite bow before sipping again. 
“Like I said, it's an easy drink.” you shy away from his compliment. 
“Well, I’m grateful.” He begins to step away from the counter. 
“Thank you. Have a good rest of your day.” You put on your most professional and least loaded smile, “Come by and see us again Mr. Nanami.” 
He nods at you, smiling as he turns and exits the cafe. 
And he did come by again. And again. And again. 
Beginning as once a week, then twice a week, soon he begins to factor a third visit into his weekly routine. Coffee the same every time, including sometimes a pastry; taking a particular liking to the ginger and poppyseed scones, and the oat and lemon frosted cookies, but more often than both leaving with a simple croissant. One some trips the conversation if brief; shallow, single day focused conversation topics: weather, traffic within the cafe, the pastry selection you had out that day. On other days he would ask you questions: when did you learn to make coffee? Have you always lived in this area? Etc. Some days you would be so bogged down with making orders upon his arrival that one of your coworkers would be the one taking his order instead. You quieted the rising jealousy as you heard your fellow barista giggle and swoon at his rich, staccato voice. On those days you would write his name cleanly on the side of his cup and make sure to linger at the drop off counter as you called his name for his drink. 
“Busy in here, huh?” You baited, handing him the steaming cup. 
“It seems my favorite secret cafe is not so secret anymore.” Nanami’s voice sounded truly disappointed. 
You faked insult, “You think you discovered this place? I’ll have you know we’re a local staple!” 
He let out a small laugh, sipping his drink and sighing, “perfect as always, thank you.”
“Of course Nanami, anytime.” You blush at his praise, it never gets old. 
“WIll you be here next Wednesday?” He asked. 
He had never asked for your schedule before. You tried your best to hide your excitement. 
“I will! I’m opening. So feel free to stop by thirty minutes before if you're desperate.” you teased. 
He let out a guilty laugh, “ Well, I'll see you then. Well within operating hours, I promise.” 
You nod, a bit too quickly, “Sounds good.” 
He smiled and nodded again, turning and exiting. 
Your favorite coworker who had been working the register approached you, following your eyeline as it tailed him out of the cafe. 
“Planning on asking him out soon?” She poked your side. 
“No way, Nanami?” You dismissed, “Yeah right, he’s just being nice.”
“Right.” She begins, “because he comes here every week because the coffee here is just that good.” 
Her tone is cutting and sarcastic, she pushes your shoulder lightly before returning to the register, leaving you to your own thoughts. You hadn’t considered the fact that he could actually be coming here for you, of course you hoped and fantasized about exactly that, but faced with someone else’s observation you felt…strange. Embarrassed and exhilarated. You wondered what would come on Wednesday. 
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“Thanks for taking me to coffee Nanami-san, You really don’t have to treat me!” Ino Takuma beamed as he walked into the cafe. 
He was beyond excited when his mentor had asked him to have a meeting today after training to discuss the upcoming recommendations. Nanami held the door for Ino as he babbled his way inside, reciting his thank yous over and over. 
“You’re welcome, Ino. I asked you here because I have something to discuss with you. Consider it an expensed lunch.” 
“Still! Thank you so much. I’m honored that you would make time for me, I know how demanding the schedule of a grade one sorcerer can be!” Ino continued, wanting to showcase how prepared he was to take on the demand himself. 
“Lower your voice,” Nanami chastized and pushed up his glasses, shielding his eyes as he scanned the population of the cafe. It must be a slow day, only three patrons to be seen. One sitting at the bar top, reading the newspaper, and a couple seated in the front corner, focused on splitting a pastry right down the center with a small butter knife. 
“Nanami!” 
Ino watched as the muscles in Nanami’s neck appeared. Not in frustration or exertion, the way he had seen so many times before, but a completely new reflex. Dare he think, excitement? He watched carefully as his mentor was urged forward by the woman behind the counter, the beautiful woman behind the counter. Nanami was quick to cross to the empty counter, Ino trotted behind with wide, watching eyes. 
“Good morning! It’s still morning isn’t it?” You smiled craning to see the wall clock. When you turned back your gaze fell to the slightly younger man behind Nanami. He was probably twenty or twenty one, his frame similarly toned and cultivated, hair shaggy and smile twinkling, “You brought a friend. Wait! Is this your brother?”
You looked closely between the two men, both handsome, both well made men with cut features and toned, imposing bodies. A similar height, a similar build. The younger man’s coloring was slightly darker; Nanami’s eyes amber, where his were deep oak, Nanami’s blonde hair contrasted against the other’s shaggy brown hair, but you could see where a family resemblance would reside. 
“No.” Nanami answers cooly, much to Takuma’s chagrin (despite its honesty), “Ino is an apprentice of mine, I’m treating him to lunch today because of his hard work.”
“Well, congratulations, it’s nice to meet you.  What can I get you both?” You smile, side glancing at Nanami. 
Ino blushes through his order, taken by how magnetic you feel when you talk to him. Privately watching how Nanami listens closely when you talk, uses his eyebrows more in his responses to you. You know his order, you sound flirtatious as you ask if he wants his “usual”, Ino sees as Nanami’s lips curl as he nods and selects two pastries from the case to accompany their lunch. Was Nanami…flirting? It seemed everytime you would turn your back, Nanami was catching his breath, and as soon as you returned he hung on your every word. Ino was beyond delighted, he had never seen this side of his mentor before. He watches as you complete the payment, fluttering your lashes and stringing your words together. When the order is complete he follows Nanami to a table in the back of the cafe.
“Ino, I wanted to ask you…”Nanami struggled with the next part of his request. He had found himself at a loss for what to do recently, feeling his standing with you plateau, “I hope you will forgive the candor of my question, In fact I- I am slightly embarrassed to even be asking you,”
“Go ahead, please. You have helped me so much, I’d be happy to try and help however I can. ” Ino had a growing suspicion as to what could have been the subject of his inquiry.  
“The…barista, what do you think of her?”
Nanami prepared himself for anything that could come next. Ino could laugh at him, Ino could laugh in pity before explaining that it was pathetic for a man of his circumstance to be entertaining the idea of a relationship. Ino could chastise him for reading into the kindness of someone who is actively working customer service. Ino could express his disappointment of not talking about the recommendations. He could call upon Nanami’s embarrassment for his own inexperience with flirtation. Nanami prepared himself to be exposed, shamed and cursed. 
“Oh! So you know she really likes you, I think she seems funny and smart. She’s really pretty, like really beautiful. I like her outfit, and hairstyle.” Ino began just as eager and delighted as he had been when Nanami invited him to lunch.  
“Wait, what do you mean she likes me?” Nanami’s brows inched together, although subtly. 
“Oh! Well, she smiles a lot when you talk and listens really carefully, and she called your name when we got here and…”
“That’s her job, she has to be polite and accommodating.”
“Sure,” Ino nodded, “But she seemed really interested in you, not so much with me. I don't know, I guess, but it just seemed like she liked you” Ino shrugged. 
Nanami was lost in thought as Ino trailed off. Could you really like him? Your encounters were so brief, he was so stilted around you, or at least he felt as much. You were accommodating and kind because you were good at your job, it was only natural that he recognized it as charm. He missed your call of his name, signaling the drinks he and Ino had ordered were ready. 
“I’ll get them!” Ino perked up, standing quickly and heading to the pick up counter. 
You pushed the two fresh drinks forward as the shaggy haired mentee approached the counter. He had the floppy stride of a well trained dog, bouncy and excited as he hurried over. 
“Thank you so much!” He beamed. 
“You’re so welcome, enjoy. Your food should be out soon!” You smiled back. 
“Hey, can I ask?” Takuma leaned in conspiratorially, “does he come in here a lot?”
You couldn't help but indulge the genuine curiosity in his voice, “A few times a week for about two months. How long have you been working with him?”
“About two years.” He answered, “I’m so glad too, he usually never takes someone under his wing like this!” 
You smiled, cocking your head to the side, “So he’s a big deal at work, huh?” 
Takuma nodded, “Oh yeah! He’s focused and hardworking, brave and careful.I hope to be half as skilled as he is one day.”
Your smile grew at the extrapolation. It was praise befitting of the man so dedicated to his work that he could be seeking out coffee at five in the morning at the end of his shift. The younger man nodded and couriered the drinks back over to the table. You thought you saw as Nanami’s eyes flashed over to you, but behind his glasses it was hard to be sure. You smiled all the same, just in case. You returned to your work, Ino and Nanami would both wave goodbye to you with mannered ‘thank you’s’ offered as they left after their meeting. You watched as Nanami held the door over his mentee’s head, ushering him out and looking back over to you. You looked away quickly, and when you looked back he was gone. Your lower lip settled in between your teeth, replaying your memories of him in a flash before returning your attention to the steaming milk whirlpooling in front of you.  
You didn’t see Nanami for three weeks after that. 
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You were today’s closer, your shift already dragging far into the afternoon. The morning crowd was tired, desperate, and reliant upon memorized routine above all else. Simple orders, simpler conversations. The evening crowd was far more likely to experiment. They are unpredictable en masse in a way that your morning regulars were not, making it so that you had to be that much more attentive when discussing menu options. Not only that but you also had to clean and secure all parts of the cafe before you could leave. On a usual day this is fine, although a complicated and oft tedious dance, but today it is much worse. Your usual array of alternative milks were on backorder meaning you were running out more and more with every order, with now replacements on their way. Also dwindling in stock were multiple menu items, including both pastries and lunch menu components, flavors, even lids for to-go cups had started to wane faster than anticipated. You recalled a conversation with your manager that ended dismissively about the coming weekend and how poorly you were prepared to do your job effectively. Your concerns had been barely acknowledged at the best and outright discarded at worst. Over the course of the last three hours you had had eyes rolled at you six times, had to remake a drink four times, been asked why your stock was so low ten times, and had to give one full refund to a customer who took it upon himself to reprimand you personally for the lack of options available to him. You tried your best to push through but the orders kept coming, and the wait times grew longer and longer, you weren’t making nearly enough progress. 
“Switch out?” Your coworker offers to you marking your wide, scared eyes gazing at the growing number of tickets. 
“Please.” You nod turning to operate the register instead. 
They nodded taking over at the espresso machine from where you left off. You approached the counter just as a woman stepped forward from the line. 
“Hello! What can I get you?” You smiled brightly. 
“Well, I don't know yet…”She was already frustrated, “I’ll tell you in a minute.” 
She turned her gaze upward to the menu board above your head, rolling her eyes on the ascent. It shouldn’t have, but it brought a hot burn of tears to your eyes. Sure, she was being condescending, but you dealt with far more pointed forms of belittlement on a daily basis. Somehow though, after the day that had already transpired, you had to choke back tears. You felt yourself shut down in order to keep from crying at such a stupid remark. You took her order without incident, asking only the necessary questions and issuing the payment efficiently. Upon retrieval of her receipt she left the counter. The tears were threatening to spill over as you sighed in relief. In an example of the universe’s kindness you saw your coworker approach, indicating to you that it was time for you to take your lunch break. You passed her quickly as she entered the floor, grabbing your bag and rushing out the front door in embarrassment. Or rather, you tried to rush out of the door. As you scrambled toward the threshold you collided with something hard, it felt like you hadn't bothered to open the door at all, study and unmoving. You bounced back, feeling a rattle in your bones as you tried to gather your senses enough to turn your head upwards. Two strong hands gripped you in place. You gazed upon the face above you, looking down with wide, green guarded eyes. 
“Are you alright? I didn’t see you, I’m sorry.” Nanami’s hands moved up your arms to your shoulders. 
You haven't ever seen his face so worried before, eyes carefully studying you, brows furrowed, hands hard on your arms, “I--i--Its been..”
Nanami sees the tears well up in your eyes, brimming and nearly spilling over, “Were you going outside? May I join you?”
You nod and he ushers you out quickly, holding the door before following in stride as you hurry down the sidewalk. He watched as you pulled a pack of cigarettes from your purse, drawing one forward, long and thin, and continued to dig inside the bag, growing more and more frustrated. Nanami pulled his own lighter from his jacket pocket, a pristine silver zippo with the characters of his name engraved at the base. He lit the end for you and watched you savor the first drag. Your eyes closed and your lips plump and pursed around the filter. When you opened your eyes and exhaled you offered him a cigarette from your pack, and he took one. Smoking the same cigarette as you made him feel close to you somehow. He lit it as you plopped down on a smoker’s bench two and a half blocks from the cafe. 
“Bad day?” Nanami asked after a beat or two.  
You groaned in response, resting your head on your hands and your elbows on your knees, cigarette dangling dangerously close to your hair. He nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and ill prepared to comfort you. You had probably left the cafe to be free of customers and work, and here he was following you. Shame rose in his chest as he realized his imposition. All the same, Nanami stood next to you, smoking silently, trying to offer you the space you needed, space he had already intruded on. The wind rushed past the both of you, the coming fall air carrying the cigarette smoke away. It seemed to trigger the raising of your head.
“Do you like your job, Nanami?” 
He was surprised. Not by the suddenness of the question but by the sincerity in your voice, and the defeated look on your face. The tops of your cheeks were wet, your eyelashes damp, the usual casual smile you carried now replaced by a deep frown. The sight tore at his heart, until now you had been a consistent source of joy for him, he never expected to see you in such duress. 
“No. I don’t.” He confessed, it was always relieving to be honest about his distaste for sorcery, he made no effort to conceal how he felt, but when he has to do it every day he finds himself pretending occasionally. 
You nod, understandingly, taking the cigarette between your lips and sliding over, for him to plop into the seat next to you and continue, “Well I love mine. I know it’s silly, it's just coffee. But, I don't know, I like seeing people everyday, talking to them, providing something they can enjoy and indulge in, no matter what happens over the course of the day. Something they can rely on for comfort.”
You shook your head, already starting to chuckle at yourself for how stupid you must sound. Before that feeling could take root, Nanami cut in. 
“It’s important. It isn’t silly at all. These people come to you to provide them with a service they can not provide themselves, something you have spent years perfecting for their benefit. You sustain people with energy, you allow them space to rest and stay cool, you offer a moment of kind conversation in a time when people feel more lonely than ever.” His voice stayed even, almost stern, as he spoke to you. 
You watched his face as he spoke, similarly stoic. He was being overgenerous, far too complimentary of your work in something as brief as a coffee stop. You knew this to be the case, it had to be. But, his words echoed the same romanticism that filled you when you had first started in coffee, you did like the idea of providing for people, you liked having a specialized skill, you genuinely cared when your customers engaged you in conversations or told you their problems, human connection was the main draw of the job. And it was why you loved it. You were able to connect with hundreds of people a day, if only for a moment. 
“What happened today?” He inquired further. 
You sighed, “Not any one thing. Just one of the bad ones. I hate disappointing people, and I disappointed a lot of people today.”
“So what?” He responds flatly, taking a drag of the loaner cigarette.  
You’re shocked, a confused laugh leaves you. 
“So what.” He repeats, “if they are disappointed, then they can get over it. Surely the next time they stop in you will take the great care of them that they are used to.” 
His voice is sincere; as though it’s the most obvious, logical line of thinking available. You wanted to defend how bad you felt, to slip into your habits of valuing the negative outlook rather than compartmentalizing. But you can’t, looking at Nanami, with his kind, intelligent eyes looking right back into yours, you’re struck by the heart of his words. You nod reflectively, considering all the situations today where you could feel the disappointment coming from a customer; each situation would be easily fixable when more resources or corresponding orders came in. You had plenty of experience diffusing situations like this, you would be able to fix them all eventually, and anything you didn’t get the chance to — was out of your hands. 
“Thank you.”
 Nanami watched as the smile returned to your face. Your eyes had dried themselves, your back stood straighter as you finished your cigarette and extinguished against the sole of your shoe. He had smoked much slower than you, he wasn't a frequent smoker anymore, an old habit that lingered from needing quick getaways from his former office, so the nicotine buzz was starting to swirl his head, he noticed a small tremor in one of his legs that he recognized as his limit. 
You tucked the butt of your cigarette into a small outer pocket of your purse. Nanami followed your motions, extinguishing his own and handing the double checked no longer burning butt to you. You tucked it inside the same pocket, holding them there to dispose of properly later in a real trashcan. Smoking was bad enough for the environment, you didn’t need to add litter to the equation. Some silly, overly whimsical part of you treasured the idea that the remnants of his mouth and the remnants of yours were in there together, getting cozy. 
He shared that thought with you, although privately. 
“How long is your break?” Nanami asked, wanting to scrub his mind of the thoughts of the indirect kiss between the two of you occurring in your pocket. 
You reached across his lap and took his left wrist in your hand pulling it over to you. His heart stopped, he didn’t dare breathe, immediately conscious of the smoke on his breath wouldn’t disturb you. You had never touched him before, excluding the collision that brought the two of you out here. Nearly three months of over the counter exchanges without a single instance of contact, broken here, with your warm, soft fingers touching the thin skin on the inside of his wrist. He watched your face as you looked at his watch. 
“About ten minutes left.” You sighed. 
You looked back at him, your hold on his arm had brought him closer, much closer than expected. You still held his wrist, his face couldn’t have been further than eight inches, you had never been at eye level with him before. You could see his face so much closer and clearer, you could see the pores on his cheeks, the discoloration under his eyes from overwork and lack of sleep, you thought you saw some deeper discoloration around the side of his eye, but brushed it off as shadow. Your eyes flicked down to his lips, thin and shapely, a full bottom lip with a soft rosy hue. When you met his eyes again you could see through his glasses, seeing that his eyes were trained on you  just as intently. You felt that familiar stirring and buckling in your chest that had become so synonymous with your feelings of excitement around him. He was so close, so focused on you, you felt intimidated, and observed. You released his rest, back into his lap. 
“Thank you, Nanami. I needed that.” You sighed, looking away from him, trying to break the growing tension between the two of you, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, I promise I'm usually better at this.” 
Nanami shook his head, similarly thankful for the severing of intensity, “don’t apologize, I understand. I’m glad I was here.” 
You took in the sidewalk and the street, the cool early fall air around the pair of you, the weather was perfect. Beautiful sun, chilly air, the smell of coming evening rain. You stood, brushing the back of your pants off for any eager fallen leaves that you had been previously too frustrated to notice. He stood quickly to meet you, adjusting his coat and sleeves to busy himself. You two took another moment to adjust yourselves before locking eyes again. You offered him the kind smile he knew so well. 
“Are you ready to head back?” Nanami cleared his throat. 
You nodded, feeling much more grounded, and grateful for this moment of respite. You walked back together, not needing to exchange words, just simply walking side by side the all too short two blocks back to the cafe’s door. Once you reached the door Nanami stalled. Something in him changed, an aura you hadn’t seen in him before 
“Would it be okay if I came by later today?” He asked, not quite looking at you, but over you and into the cafe behind you. 
“S-sure, of course.” You felt yourself shrinking, the embarrassment of how vulnerable you had just been creeping in in a vignette, shading the moment of connection you had just shared with him. 
Nanami gave a clipped nod, looking around once more before turning his gaze down to you. 
“Okay. I’ll be back here tonight. Take care of yourself.” He nodded once more before turning and heading back down the street, 
“W-wait, did you want your coffee?” Your sentence began as a call but faded into a whisper as you realized he wouldn’t be turning around. 
You watched his silhouette descend the path, turning and disappearing into the city. You weren’t sure exactly what happened, what you had done or what had called him away. But before you could dwell too long you heard the voice of your coworker calling to you, asking you for help back on the cafe floor. You looked once more down the path that Nanami had left down, before returning inside to finish your shift. 
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The rest of the day passed as well as it could have, and regardless of how grueling it was moment to moment, the time passed anyway, and once the cafe had cleared itself and the hiss of the open sign was made silent, you found yourself alone. The bakers had completed their prep bakes for the next day, allowing them to cool in the large industrial freezers overnight, the other baristas had swept and mopped before clocking out and returning to their own homes. You stood behind the counter waiting on the espresso machine to complete its last cleaning cycle. Nanami hadn’t come back as he said he would, and while you were alone you didn’t feel like hiding your disappointment. You scanned through what you could have done wrong, everything you said, everything you did, suddenly all felt wrong and overly familiar. You’d scared him off. But scared him off from what, you couldn’t figure out. According to your coworkers, he was flirting, and you knew you were, at least to some degree, however fruitless you considered your efforts. 
You were too bogged down by your spiral to hear the shlucking sound coming from the back. The espresso machine's routine of purging and clicking was too loud for you to hear the store room push itself open. It wasn't until you heard the broken, amalgamated voice calling out that you felt the fear slash itself up your spine. You couldn’t decipher the words, they were too garbled, like that of someone underwater trying to speak to you through an AM radio. The pitch was too high for your ears, and too low to even exist. You stood completely still, no one else should have been able to enter the building, the only unlocked door was the front, large lights and plenty of people making it safer than exiting out the back. Some instinct in you was holding you completely still, restricting you from being able to turn around and see where the sound has come from. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, the only thing you could think about was your coworker set to open tomorrow, and what ungodly nightmare was she going to have to walk into. Tears fell from your eyes, the wetness of your cheeks snapping you out of your paralysis, your body shaking as you started to turn and face what was coming. 
“Don’t turn around.” Nanami stood in front of you, his usual tan jacket removed, moving his sleeves up his arms, his gaze locked behind you. 
Your breath found you again, chin quivering with fear and relief at the sight of him. 
“Close your eyes.” Nanami’s voice was darker than you had ever heard before.He looked completely different, intense and large and imposing, if you didn’t know him you could have been scared of him, “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Close your eyes.” 
You squeezed your eyes shut, immediately missing the comfort the sight of him provided. You heard a thunk, a grunt, a slash, and then nothing. 
“You can open your eyes.” Nanami’s voice came from right behind you. 
You turned around quickly, seeing him standing over a pile of knocked over cups and pitchers, holding what looked like a butcher’s knife wrapped in cow print fabric. His yellow tie that you had grown to admire as a symbol of him was loose around his neck. He was still looking down at the ground. Once he seemed satisfied with whatever it was, he looked back at you. 
“Are you alright?” He asked, sheathing the paddle looking blade on the brown leather holster on his back, you had never noticed it before. 
“What the fuck was that?” You couldn't help the tears that fell from you as your body started to shake harder and harder. 
Nanami put his hands on your shoulders, his grip tight and soothing, “I’m sorry you had to see that. But it’s gone now, I assure you.”
You couldn’t help yourself, you started sobbing falling against his chest. He held you tight against him, letting your tears soil his shirt and your body tremble in his arms as he held you firm. You wept until openly, feeling no shame, there was no room for shame with all the fear and adrenaline vacating your body. He made no move to quiet you or tell you to calm yourself, he simply held you close. 
“Can I take you home?” Nanami asked, his voice resounding from his chest where your ear was pressed. 
You nodded. 
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Nanami had started sensing the build up of cursed energy on his last visit before bringing Ino. It was faint enough that he couldn’t place if it was coming within or from the general street. On his subsequent visits he noticed it growing exponentially, building on itself in a way that was inching toward concern. His selfish motives for bringing Ino to the cafe were overshadowed when he picked up on it as well. Confirming Nanami’s suspicion that it was an internal problem, and one growing more and more dangerous by the day. Earlier today was the first time he had noticed its effect in action. You tear stained face, the disgruntled patrons, you fevered, overworked companions. He knew he had to intervene. He had come after closing hoping you had already gone home, hoping to take care of it quietly before it became a larger problem. It wasn’t until he saw you terror-stricken with a low level curse emerging from behind that he conceded he would have to tell you. He didn’t want you to have to experience any of this, you shouldn’t have to face the reality of this world, and the monster’s within it. You deserved the same ignorance as everyone else outside of sorcery. But it was no longer his decision. 
He walked you home, which wasn’t far from the cafe, and up to your apartment. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, he hesitated briefly before following you. These aren't the circumstances he had anticipated for his first foray into your living space, but again, it was out of his hands. 
“You said ‘it's gone now’, what is ‘it’?” You asked as you locked the front door behind you, check the peephole for anything out of order. 
Nanami sighed, “It’s…a lot to explain, most of it would be incomprehensible right away. It would take me hours to make it all make sense. And that isn't a slight against you, it’s because I know you're smart that it would only take that long.”  
Your voice was returning fully, the fear having left itself behind at the cafe, “Nanami, you knew. You knew that whatever it was was there, you…killed it? Drove it away? Would it show up here? Do I need to be worried about this thing coming here?”
“No.” he was quick to shake his head, “It’s dead. Well it wasn’t ever really alive, not really. But you don’t have anything to worry about, anymore. I’m sorry it got that bad.”
“Please just tell me.” You groan, “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
And he believed you. So he told you. 
It took nearly four hours, one and a half pots of coffee, and a few crudely drawn diagrams on the back of a take out menu that he drew. But eventually you understood that what had attempted to attack you was a curse, and that curse had likely been building over a series of months or maybe years before it reached this form. He was a sorcerer, a kind of soldier tasked with the exorcisms of these curses in an intensely guarded organization dedicated to keeping curses secret and the public safe. The young man, Ino, who he had brought with him is a sorcerer as well. He explained the rank of threat, and how yours was incredibly low for any skilled sorcerer, which apparently, he was. He showed you the blade he kept on his back, the one that had been hiding just below his jacket for the entire time you had known him. He explained to you how he was able to kill the curse in a single strike, how his technique worked. When his explanations had been completed you felt strange. Stuffed to the brim with new information, most of which terrified you and made you feel powerless against a threat you could have gone through your whole life without knowing about.  But a part of you felt good, knowing there were people kind enough and skilled enough to make this an insular problem, one that did not necessitate the knowledge of the general populace out of sheer humility. 
“I understand that this must be a lot for you to take in. But, I promise you that what attacked you tonight will never show its face again. I can give you a talisman, something to keep in the cafe to keep it safe from future curse development.” Nanami had taken off his coat and harness, his blade lay on your coffee table alongside his glasses and your purse. 
“Was that why you left so quickly today?” It may have been a silly thing to inquire about in the wake of so much life changing information, but you couldn’t hold your tongue. 
Nanami nodded, “I had to run back to my..boss basically, and get a formal assignment to exorcise the curse. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t want to. When we got back the energy was too strong, I knew I would only have a few hours.” His apologized, setting his nearly complete coffee cup on the table, “But I had to make sure that nothing happened to you,” after a beat he adds, “or your coworkers.”
“So you, you saved my life tonight.” You whispered. 
The front pieces of his hair had fallen out of their usual styling, they now hung in front of his face. Through the sandy strands you met his eyes, looking tired and locked with yours. The faint bruise on his brow suddenly made sense, the bags under his eyes, the serious demeanor, it was all recontextualized. You didn;t stop your hand when it traced your middle finger over a small, well healed scar along his eyebrow. 
“I wouldn’t say that.” Nanami conceded, usually not one to accept praise for his work. 
“Nanami you saved me.” Your hand cupped his cheek, “I would be a mess for someone to clean up tomorrow morning if you weren’t there.” 
He was speechless, your hand on his cheek was warming as heat crept to his face. Your eyes were so big and beautiful, your lips looked so soft as they shaped your gratitude. 
“Thank you.” 
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Was all he could choke out. 
You had read about this. After near death experiences, or other instances of extreme adrenaline, the body could have all kinds of after effects; nausea, sleeplessness, exhaustion, arousal. The arousal coursing through your body was a natural side effect of what you had just been through, and what was right in front of you. He had been there watching over you, keeping you safe from threats you couldn't even imagine. Every day he returned was another day that he was caring for you, protecting you, trending to you. His skin was smooth and hot under your touch, the hair of his sideburns was soft under your fingers, it felt like every nerve in your body was turned up to a thousand. The quick hatching chrysalis was nearing its emergence, it was so still as you leaned closer to him. 
“You must be tired. I can go, if you need to sleep.” His resolve was faltering. 
“If you aren’t busy, I know it’s been a long night,” Your hand traveled down to his shoulder, the barrier of his shirt helping him regain some sense, “I think I would sleep better if you were here. Just for the night?”
The cock of your head and the flutter of your lashes made your offer clear. Nanami’s cheeks became more pronounced as he tried to swallow down the burning desire to have you right here. But he, too, had read about the aphrodisiac effects of adrenaline. He knew that there was a chance that your gratitude and your exhilaration were converging inside of you to make you feel like you wanted him, when you were actually just happy to be alive. 
He put his hand on your arm, “Sometimes, when someone has been through something like what you have, they may look for…other forms of excitement to help with the adrenaline dump…it’s very natural..”
The back of his neck was hot, his shirt felt too tight, his pants felt much too tight, his mouth was so wet he risked drooling right in front of you. But he couldn’t take advantage of this moment, it would be wrong. He liked you. Ino claims you liked him, but he doesn’t know for sure, it would be deplorable for him to act on this offer without knowing if this is something your right mind wanted. 
“I’ve read that before.” You nodded, looking at his hand wrapped around your forearm, he was so big, “I’ve never experienced a curse before.”
He nodded along with you, still watching your mouth move. 
“But, I’ve experienced attraction before, Nanami. I know what it feels like to want someone. And I want you.” You told him, pulling your legs up under you on the couch.  
A small shake from his head, “It’s just psychosomatic. You’ll feel better in the morning, or after a shower. It’s the adrenaline.”
“I don’t think I had excess adrenaline the morning you came in first. Or the next time, or earlier today outside. Nanami,” You dipped your head down to look up at his, “Nanami, please. I’ve been too scared to say anything, I didn’t want to seem unprofessional or scare you. But, I like you. I really like you, I think you're gorgeous and kind and funny. You’re brave and smooth and a little weird, but I like that.”
He scanned your face for signs of lying, twitching eyes, avoidant eye contact, swallowing, anything that he could rely on to keep himself from getting exactly what he wanted. But he found nothing. Nothing to let him off the hook of being honest about how he felt. 
He let out a heavy breath, his hand on your arm growing tighter, “I fell for you the moment I walked in. Everytime I went back I went for you. To see you. I think you’re so beautiful and charming. I don’t want this to be wrong.”
You shook your head, your hands returning to his face, the one he had on you now moved to the back of your couch, “It’s not wrong. Nothing about this is wrong.”
He grips your hands, looking you right in the eye. You see his pupils have grown wide, you can feel the sweat on his palms, mixing with your own on the backs of your hands. He held you right in front of him, looking over every inch of your face. You were gorgeous, His heart pounded in his chest, like it was reaching for you. He let out a grateful breath. 
“Thank god.” He couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could you. 
The both of you leaned forward in the same moment, meeting at the perfect center of both pursuits to press your lips together. The chrysalis inside of you hatched, the beating of your heart, the flapping of wet, quickly drying butterfly’s wings. He touched your neck, downy hairs at the nape of your neck soft under his fingers. He was quick to pull you by the waist into his lap. His tongue was smooth on its entrance into your mouth, tasting the underside of your own, the backs of your teeth, the coffee you had shared. The kiss was heated and smooth, personal styles learning to blend together. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands in his hair, over the back of the couch, anywhere to offer you stability. Nanami’s hands gripped your waist, sliding under your shirt and feeling the first of the body he dreamed of. Kicking himself in the privacy of his own home for thinking of you so disrespectfully. But in your home, on your couch, with you in his lap, he wanted to worship you. The hands he had cursed for pleasuring himself to the thought of you were not reverent as they felt your hips, your ribs, the sensitive flank inbetween. He could feel your shiver as he made his way back and forth, you were sensitive there. He was toying with you, relishing in your hissing inhales, and your breathy moans. But you were never one to be toyed with, you tested a personal theory of yours, one you had formulated with your hand in your panties on nights when sleep wouldnt come and you looked to your own devices to tucker yourself out. You scratched your nails across the cropped undercut at the back of his neck, gripping and tugging at the hair. Nanami let out a strangled moan underneath you, his hips bucking into yours, and his hands gripping you tighter. Just as soon as his mouth left yours, he found your exposed neck, kissing, practically lapping at the skin there. This pulled the more embarrassingly pitched moans out of you. High whimpers as you keened against him in his lap. 
“You’re so beautiful, you’re so good, fuck.” He peppered his praise in with kisses along the column of your throat. 
You haven't heard him swear before now, the words fell from him so easily. He was clearly practiced, it made you wonder what other sides of him came easily that you hadn’t yet seen. 
“Yu-you are,” You could feel your brain covering itself in honey, the saccharine sweet feeling of him under your, on you, all around you, consuming your ability to think. 
You felt him smile against your skin, pulling off of your neck and sliding his hand around to the back of your neck. 
“I-I don’t do this very often, it’s been a while, please don't tease me too much.” This was the softest you had ever heard him, his voice was breathy and it almost came out as a beg. 
You looked down at him sweetly, his hair mussed across his forehead, buttons of his shirt seeming to have undone themselves, tie falling to either side, his chest flush in splotchy red patches. He looked stunning, the light of your living room you had previously considered unflattering, was golden hour. 
“We can take it slow, if you want.” You offered, wanting to accommodate him, the way he had already for you. 
He shook his head leaning forward and readjusting you on his lap. When he settled you back down you realized the reason for his frantic reaction. The very big reason. The pants tenting, hot, probably leaking, reason. 
You nodded, quick to understand. You leaned forward to kiss him again, making sure to grind yourself down in his lap before pulling off completely and grabbing his hand, tugging him behind you. Nanami felt drunk following you to your room, found himself almost stumbling as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He crossed the threshold to your bedroom where you had already pulled your work pants off, standing in only a thin tank top and your panties. You approached him with mock disappointment and your bottom lip between your teeth. You moved your hands over his chest.
“I wanted to be the one to take off your shirt,” You cooed. 
Nanami’s hand found the lapels, “I can button it again if y--”
You giggled, “Next time.”
Before pulling him into another deep kiss by his neck. His hands found your hips, eager to slip one finger under the top of the waistband and feel the hidden skin. You slid his shirt down his shoulders, the tie falling along with it. Your lips smacked together over and over as you both tried to touch as much skin as was available to you. You pawed at the hard lines of his back, feeling ridges and valleys and muscles. He, similarly, was quick to find the hemline of your shirt and slip underneath. You both let out a haughty moan as he cupped one of your bare breasts. IF you had had your eyes open, you would have seen his eyes roll back in his head as he slipped his tongue between your lips once again, squeezing the tit in his hand. You freed your arms and pulled the shirt over your head as he undid his belt. 
“You’re so gorgeous.” Nanami gazed over you. 
“You’re gorgeous.” You echoed, hopping on to the bed and watching him pull his grey slacks down his legs. He wore a pair of navy colored briefs that hid almost nothing, especially the nearly black splotch of precum that had accumulated. 
“Fuck, you’re hot.” You marveled at him, his body, the evidence of the effect you had on him, his face, him, all of him. 
Nanami sucked in a quick breath, fighting his embarrassment by looking at the hungry look on your face. You were nearly naked on the bed, waiting for him. You had only your panties on, your chest exposed, nipples once puffy now hardening with excitement. Eyes trained on him, mouth panting and swollen from his kiss. He could see a small bruise forming on the side of your neck, he would apologize in the morning, flowers or breakfast, but for now it was all his to admire. He joined you on the bed, climbing over your body to do so. His torso caged you in completely, wide shoulders shadowing over your frame. He pulled you by your thighs. Taking time to stretch your legs and admire the muscle and skin and fat that made up your gorgeous form. He seemed impressed with your flexibility, at least the little click of his tongue indicated as much. His clothed cock pressed right against your panty clad pussy, both hot and begging to be aligned. He pressed his hips a little as he brought one of your ankles to his lips, kissing the ball, then up the calf. You moaned at the wet kisses, relishing in his affection. He looped his thumbs into your panties, releasing your leg so he could pull them from your legs. Nanami caught your eyes before spreading your legs in front of him, you gave him the go ahead and he sank before you, aligning himself to see your pussy spread open for him. If he wasn't drunk earlier, he was now. Sticky, dripping, gorgeous. He couldn’t hold back, he licked a long, wet stripe up you slit, tasting his first of you. 
Your body was on fire, completely electrified, and weightless underwater all at once. His tongue made its home between your labia, sharp nose being buried in your mound. Your back arched off the bed as a wanton moan left your wet mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, finding a grip for you to cling to. Your other hand held your breast. Nanami’s tongue flicked itself up and down, kissing your clit, drawing out more and more arousal from your dripping hole. 
“Fuck, you taste so good.” He says, soft enough to be just for himself. 
You can't respond, only mewl as he sucks at your clit. You release your breast and grip on to the headboard, accidentally pulling yourself away from him. Nanami grabs your hips and pulls you back onto his tongue. 
“Come back.” He mumbles, again, almost to himself. 
“N-Nanami, i-..”You are cut off by another harsh suck to your clit, his tongue circling inhumanly. 
You were so close, it usually would have taken you much longer to orgasm but the excitement coursing through your body and his skill had turned you to keening, pathetic putty in mere minutes. He flicks his golden eyes up at you, watching you start to unravel. He knows what to do, or rather what not to do, he carries on exactly as he has been, every flick of his tongue pulling you down further. It became too much, and you bubbled over. You cried out in white out pleasure, pulling on his hair. Your legs clapped around his head. He drank up everything you gave, your moans upsettingly muffled by your flesh over his ears. 
When he felt you relax again, he pulled his mouth from you, a thick, gossamer string of spit and cum connecting from his lips to your pussy. The hand from his hair fell to his face, pairing nicely with his blown out eyes and fucked out expression. He caught his breath while looking over your body, your full breasts, your tummy rising and falling as you caught your own. He moved over you once again, kissing you deeply. He tasted like you, his tongue was heavy and hot in your mouth, his hands were fast to rid himself of his underwear and pull your legs over his bare hips. You could feel the length of his cock pressing against your throbbing, overly sensitive cunt. Your outer lips, now much more sensitive from Nanami’s expert work. 
“You’re amazing.” You gasped out against his mouth. 
He hummed pridefully, kissing you again. He grinds his hips hard, hoping to prepare you further for what's to come, but he miscalculated, a rare occurrence. Both of you let out long, glorious moans as he pushes himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. Nanami shudders briefly before gaining his strength back, you dig your nails into his back, but he cant feel anything except the pulsing of your pussy around him. He may never be able to think again, not of anything other than having the hot velvet muscle between your legs tight around his cock. You whimper at his penetration, feeling him press the deepest parts of you. Tip of his cock kissing your cervix, just as passionately as he kissed you. He was not a small man by any measure, and the entirety of his cock probably made up close to eight inches, with the girth to burn as it stretched you open. 
Which he did again, catching your panting lips on his own, quick kisses between caught breaths as you both adjusted to the feeling of being joined together. He pulled his hips back, pulling a shaky moan from you, and pushed in once more. Somehow he reached even deeper than he did before, his cock arching up to press that beautiful, spongy spot inside of you, the spot that made you clit throb and your eyes squeeze shut. 
“Look at me, baby.” Nanami pleaded, “I wanna see your pretty eyes.”
Your eyes flutter open, a drunken droop to the lids as he thrusted again. He found an even, well paced rhythm. Kissing you occasionally, when one of you wasn't gasping out in bliss. Your hand moves up one of his arms, gripping his taut bicep and his sinewy shoulders. He pressed his forehead to yours, looking down your body to see his pelvis meeting yours. His cock throbbed inside of you at the sight, in turn making your walls grip him tighter. You pull him back to your lips, wanting to be consumed by every sensation he could give you. His hand by your head grips the pillow hard, ripening a hole in the casing. You move your hand up to meet his, holding it and interlocking your fingers. His grip softened instantly, becoming as sweet and generous as ever part of him had been already. You felt him twitch inside of you once more. Followed by a choked moan. 
“I-i, baby I,” Nanami struggled to get his words out as he drove himself further and further into you. 
“Please, Nanami, please.”You held him closer with your thighs, purring out his name. 
“I didn't put on a condom,” He struggled to collect himself, he knew he could be responsible with you, “I should..”
“Dont pull out,” You whine, sounding more pitiful than you intended, “please Nanami, cum inside me, please.” 
He finds your eyes quickly, his heart melting at your big watery pleading eyes. You swollen lips, you drooping, drooling mouth. How could he deny you? Nanami made quick work of chasing his own climax, thrusting harder, fucking faster, holding your body still underneath him. You feel every thrust in your throat. His pace quickens and his thrust become shallow and choppy. Nanami lets out a delicious, languid moan as he cums. You can feel his thick cock depositing load after load of cum into you. An elongated, uninterrupted E sound. He holds you at your hip and when your hand still holds his. His face is now buried in your neck. Your legs are slung over his hips along with your other hand over his shoulder. He thrusts twice more before stalling, having emptied himself, but not yet gathered the desire to pull out. When he finally comes to, he releases your tender hip and pushes himself up from above you, looking down at you. You pant up at him, taking in a post-coital vision of him you never expected, and he, the same. He flushed, sweaty, messy, drool and cum drying on his chin, hairstyle ruined by your grasping. You imagine you looked just as disheveled by half as gorgeous. Nanami, would of course, disagree. He kisses you again, soft and deep. When he finally pulls himself out of you he takes the spot to the right of you in bed. You lie together, allowing your bodies to return to a blissful equilibrium. You roll onto your side, moving a hand over his stomach. 
“So you’ll stay the night?” you gave a sly smile. 
And he laughed. Truly laughed, before kissing you again deeply. 
And he did stay the night. After a quick shower the pair of you returned to bed and slept soundly in each other's arms until he got up before the sunrise to make it back to his apartment with enough time to change before work. He kissed you goodbye and assured you he would come by the cafe. And he did, he met you right at the end of your shift, a bundle of flowers in one arm. He invited you to a home cooked dinner at his place. You were surprised at his determination to make you an established couple, but not even close to put off by it. 
“I know it’s a little unorthodox, but I am about to start a new assignment and it’s shaping up to be a lot of work. I may be indisposed for a few days. I’d really like to see you again before then” He explained as he walked you home. 
“I’d love to,” You giggled, kissing his cheek and admiring the bouquet he had picked out, “Where are you going for your assignment?”
“Shibuya.”
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OOOOOOOOOOO SURPISE, anyway hope yall like it and came good. Love you all, thanks for 150 followers. Also im on my barista high horse a little, but just be normal and nice to people, and if you'd tip a bartender, tip a barista. it's the same job. I hope this was worth the wait. I have work in fiv ehours. -Doodle.
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