#was sketch then turned into a bit more than a sketch

[promptedwordsmith]

LADS guys in the morning

Caleb

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. It was early, the kind of early that still felt like the night had only just let go of its hold. You stirred in the bed, the familiar warmth of Caleb's presence gone, but it wasn’t the absence of him that made you blink awake—it was the little things he always left behind.

The scent of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint smell of something sweet. Caleb’s careful hand had already prepared breakfast—your favorite pancakes, golden and soft, stacked high on the table with syrup and fresh fruit. The toast was perfectly browned, just the way you liked it. A glass of orange juice stood beside the plate, and a small note was tucked under the edge of your mug.

“Eat up. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you deserve to start it right. I’ll be back soon. – C”

You smiled, feeling a soft warmth spread through you. Caleb had a way of making you feel loved, even when he wasn’t there. It was in the little gestures—the things he did when you weren’t looking. The things that told you more than words could.

He’d also laid out your clothes from the night before—your favorite sweater, jeans, and boots—neatly folded on the chair beside the dresser. It was the kind of thoughtful detail that had become second nature to him. Even when he wasn’t physically present, he made sure your world was as comfortable as possible.

Today, though, was different. Today, Caleb had the rare gift of a day off. It wasn’t often, especially with his responsibilities as a Colonel, but when he did manage to carve out time for himself, he always spent it with you. You didn’t rush to get up this time. Instead, you lingered under the covers, wrapping yourself in the softness of the sheets as you listened to the quiet of the house.

You could hear the subtle sound of him stirring just before you opened your eyes. He was always the first to wake, even when he had nothing pressing to attend to. As you slowly turned toward him, you found Caleb already looking at you, his deep purple eyes soft and tender, a gentle smile curving his lips.

Without a word, he pulled you into his chest, his warmth surrounding you like a protective cocoon. His fingers brushed through your hair, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. In his arms, there was nothing but peace—no Colonel, no responsibilities, just Caleb, quietly loving you in the stillness of the morning.

Rafayel

Mornings with Rafayel were something else entirely. The room would be painted soft golds and pinks from the sky outside, but it wasn’t the sunrise that woke you. It was the quiet rustling of paper, the scratch of a pencil on canvas.

Most mornings, Rafayel was already awake before you, his long, lean form sat up against the headboard, his back slightly arched as he studied you. There was something so serene about the way he observed you while you slept, his purple eyes filled with quiet fascination. His pencil would move swiftly, capturing the curve of your lips, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes as you dreamed.

Sometimes, he’d exaggerate the softness of your expression, emphasizing the way your mouth hung open just the slightest bit, or the way your hair curled around your face. Other times, he’d capture the stillness, the peacefulness of you in your slumber. Each sketch was a reflection of how deeply he saw you, how much he cherished those fleeting, quiet moments when you were unaware of his gaze.

You never seemed to mind when you woke to find his sketchbook open beside him, his focused eyes glimmering with excitement as he waited for you to stir. Sometimes, when you finally blinked awake, he’d stop mid-pencil stroke and reach out for you, pulling you into the warmth of his arms. You’d feel his warmth as he buried his face in your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, as if the morning was simply an extension of his affection.

“Good morning, my muse,” he’d murmur with a lazy smile, his voice thick with sleep. His hands would cradle your face gently, before guiding you to look at what he’d drawn. His eyes were bright with that gleam of expectation, the same one he wore when he’d created something he was proud of.

“Do you like it?” he’d ask eagerly, always seeking your praise. He was always so excited, like a child showing off a new treasure.

You’d smile, tracing the sketch of your sleeping self. “It’s beautiful, Rafayel,” you’d say, meaning it with all your heart.

He’d grin, a little smug but undeniably pleased. “I always capture the best parts of you,” he’d reply, his voice soft but full of pride.

And then, without fail, he’d pull you back into his arms, content to simply hold you there. His mornings were filled with soft gestures, a quiet intimacy, and an overwhelming love that he could never quite put into words—but his sketches said it all.

Sylus

Sylus would, of course, be the kind of man who is already awake by the time you stir, his movements as precise and controlled as everything else in his life. He rises before the sun, not because he must, but because the silence of the early hours gives him the space he craves to think, to plan, and to stay one step ahead. His study, as usual, is a place of order, with books stacked neatly, papers spread out in meticulous arrangements, and the dim glow of a single desk lamp casting a warm light over the room.

Mephisto, ever loyal and ever watchful, is stationed by the door, alert for any shift in your slumber. As soon as you stir, the smallest of movements, Mephisto’s sharp eyes are on you, and in an instant, Sylus is informed. There's no urgency in his steps as he moves toward you, only a quiet confidence as if he’s already planned this out in his mind.

When he finds you awake, bleary-eyed and still wrapped in the soft warmth of sleep, he’s already there—waiting, his hands gentle as they guide you back to a state of comfort. He bundles you in a blanket with a tenderness that few would expect from someone like him, his touch both soft and commanding as he settles you in his lap.

"Rest," he murmurs, his voice low, smooth—too soft for anyone else to hear but just right for you. "You’ve been working hard enough already." He adjusts the blanket around you, pulling it tight so that you can feel nothing but the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath.

Though he's clearly busy with his work, papers and books spread across the desk in front of him, there’s a quiet attentiveness to his actions. He’s accustomed to juggling multiple tasks at once, but now, with you in his lap, the world feels a bit more still.

“Such a lazy morning,” he teases, his fingers brushing the hair from your face. His eyes glint with mischief as he watches you try to fight the sleepiness tugging at your mind. “I should be the one napping, don’t you think?”

Every now and then, he’ll steal a glance down at you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as he listens to you breathe, the warmth of his hand gently stroking your arm or tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he continues with a wry smile, voice still a teasing whisper, “if you insist on being so adorable, I’ll have to keep you here all day. It would be a shame to let you go back to the world just yet.”

Even in moments like this, when he’s clearly enjoying the quiet of the morning, there’s an air of command in his voice—playful, but still deeply controlling, as though everything, even this, is part of his careful design. The contrast of his calm authority and the tenderness with which he holds you makes it clear that he’s in no hurry to let this peaceful moment end.

Xavier

The early morning light barely creeps from the windows, soft and cool, just enough to cast a faint glow over the room where Xavier stirs beneath the covers. Silver hair tousled, his blue eyes squinting against the early light, Xavier slowly wakes, blinking like he’s not sure if the world around him is real or if he's still trapped in the fog of a dream. His tall frame is partially buried beneath the sheets, and for a moment, he seems so much younger, more vulnerable than he usually does in his usual, mysterious Lightseeker uniform.

You smile to yourself, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you quietly slip out of bed. The bed is warm from the shared comfort of the night, and for a second, you pause to glance at him. His usual calm demeanor is almost absent this morning—he’s just a groggy, sleepy version of the man you know, the one who would casually step into a battle against Wanderers and come out without a scratch. Yet here, in your space, he seems so much more human.

Xavier's eyes follow you as you get up, still too tired to make a move but enough to watch you. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep, like the words are coming from somewhere deep inside, half-asleep and disoriented.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you tease lightly, but he doesn’t even attempt to push himself up. Instead, he just watches you, his gaze soft but filled with that ever-present curiosity, that hunger for knowledge—the kind that always makes him so intent on understanding you, even in the quietest of moments.

Despite the fact that he’s clearly still too tired to function properly, Xavier pulls himself up when you do, following you with an almost submissive air, like he's too comfortable to not move with you. It’s such a gentle, rare thing to witness in him, the man who always carries a burden heavier than most can even fathom. His silver hair, tousled and messy from sleep, contrasts with the light, soft fabric of his white sweater, giving him an almost ethereal, boyish charm in these quiet mornings.

You head to the kitchen, and without missing a beat, he lumbers after you, his long limbs sluggishly following your movements. His big armored gloves are nowhere to be seen, of course—he’s not in his Lightseeker uniform—but there's something about the absence of his usual intensity that makes him even more approachable.

He watches with barely contained interest as you move around, setting the coffee to brew and preparing some pancakes. He leans against the doorway, eyes still half-closed. “I’ll cook,” he says lazily, but you can tell by the way his voice drifts off that he’s not awake enough to do much of anything.

“Mm, no, Xavier,” you say with a laugh, nudging him back. “You’re way too sleepy. Go get ready. I’ll make breakfast.”

He gives a half-hearted sigh and turns toward the bathroom, shuffling with slow, uncertain steps. He moves like a person still tangled in his own dreams, like the weight of the world has yet to catch up with him this morning.

The sound of the shower runs as you prepare the pancakes, the soft scent of cinnamon drifting through the air. It’s simple, but in these moments, you both share something more than words could express—a rare quiet that only deepens the connection between you.

When he returns, freshly showered and looking like he’s been reborn, he crosses the room with that natural, quiet grace of his, now wide awake and looking as close to perfect as he ever does. There’s an elegance to the way he moves, even in something as mundane as getting ready for work, a hint of old-world nobility that you find hard to ignore.

The pancakes are ready, steaming and golden brown, and you hand him a plate. His blue eyes meet yours, still warm and soft but hinting at something more. “Thank you.”

You just smile, nudging him gently. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get ready for the day.”

You both slip into the rhythm of preparing for work—two different lives interwoven in a moment of quiet normalcy. The contrast between Xavier’s world of danger and the soft simplicity of your mornings together always catches you off guard, but somehow, you’re learning to treasure it.

And as you move through the motions of the day, whether it’s grabbing coffee or quickly packing your bag for work, you’re already looking forward to the next moment you’ll get to share with him—however simple or mundane it may be. It’s those quiet, everyday moments that make you feel like, despite everything, you’ve found something worth holding onto.

Zayne

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Zayne’s alarm had gone off—right on time, as it always did—but he stirred only slightly, his brow furrowing slightly before he reluctantly pulled himself awake. He was a light sleeper, and mornings were often a quiet struggle for him, though he tried his best not to show it. He reached over and turned off the alarm, the small action marking the start of his daily routine.

Though you were still wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, you could hear the quiet rustling of his movements, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. Zayne, ever the early riser, always took his time in the mornings, careful and deliberate in the rituals he’d perfected over the years.

By the time you finally rolled out of bed, still half-dreaming, you found him in the kitchen. The faint scent of jasmine filled the air as he brewed the tea, its delicate fragrance wafting through the room and wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. He turned as you entered, offering a small, but knowing smile.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice clearer after drinking some of the tea. He handed you the steaming cup of tea, his eyes warm but steady. “Doctor’s orders,” he said with a teasing glint, knowing full well that his gentle insistence was more of a care than a command.

You took the cup, savoring the warmth as you sat down at the kitchen table. Zayne began to move with quiet purpose, grabbing his things from one room to the next. The soft sound of his footsteps was familiar, grounding. First his jacket from the hallway, then his watch from the bedroom, and finally his stethoscope from the counter.

As you brushed your teeth together, the sound of the water running and the occasional soft hum of conversation filled the space between you. His words were thoughtful and calm as always, asking how you slept, commenting on the weather, or offering little pieces of advice about your day. His routines were steady, predictable, and somehow comforting.

Eventually, he stood by the door, ready to go. His eyes softened as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as he turned to leave. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the front door closed behind him, you made your way back to bed, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air—a reminder of the soft start to your morning, and the quiet love that filled it.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p4

Masterpost late, tired, still emotional and physically fragile. please no editing <3

“—ir? Sir?”

Danny mumbled something incoherent that was supposed to be a response to that, or befuddlement about being called ‘sir’, or at least something better than ‘wadamehaaftz’. The bite of a tightening blood pressure cuff around his arm helped bring him a little be back to the world. He opened his eyes right into too bright light and winced back in reaction.

“Sir? Do you need us to call an ambulance?” the panicked looking barista asked. She was crouched down next to him where he lay on the floor.

Great, now he could never come back to this coffee shop. That was a damn shame, they had really good bagels.

“No,” Danny managed to make his mouth say. “Seizure. Newish thing for me. I’m fine—will be fine. Sorry.”

“Maybe you should stay laying down for a moment longer?” The barista suggested.

Danny hummed. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

“Dude,” someone said off to Danny’s right. He didn’t think it was worth the effort to turn his head and look, “you just had a seizure. You were screaming. Like, I think we’re all okay if you lay there. We can step around you.”

There were murmurers of agreement.

“Okay, yeah, you know what, great,” Danny said and summoned the willpower to lift his hand and give there room a thumbs up. He let it drop listlessly back down onto his chest.

At least the floor was cool against his back. And he did feel a bit better not trying to get up immediately. When he finally pulled himself back up into his chair, the nice barista brought him a glass of ice water with a straw. Danny drank every drop of the first glass and a refill until the paper of the stupid straw started to turn to mush between his lips.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be up for doing much especially that day, Danny got a bagel sandwich to go, left a generous tip, and fled the cafe with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Penny was was at the apartment. She shoved a still warm load of banana bread at Danny as she bitched about her latest failed relationship. Apparently her girlfriend had been hooking up with the bouncer at their favorite bar. Not that Penny would have minded if they had talked through it before hand and Penny was allowed to join every now and again.

Which, fair, the bouncer did have amazing arms.

When Penny’s phone rang, blaring a dated pop song, Danny was able to make his escape with the added load of his two liter water bottle and bag of little oranges. Or not oranges—clementines? Tangelos? Whatever, little oranges.

He set everything down on the end of his bed before flinging himself onto it.

Another seizure. A worse one.

But a clearer vision of the ghost than he’d ever had before.

Groaning, Danny dragged himself to hang over the edge of his bed so he could pull out one of the storage cubes from under it. After a bit of shuffling, he got the one he wanted out from the back: a long ignored stack of art supplies. Danny rummaged around in it for a pencil and eraser before he pulled the sketchbook out from the bottom. He flipped past old game ides and idle doodles to find a blank page and started to work.

There was so much of the ghost that he still couldn’t define, but the more he worked at the sketch of the ghost’s face, the more he started to narrow it down.

Danny stared down at the page.

Overworked eyes stared back.

Feeling frustrated at how close it was, Danny grabbed a blue marker from the page and filled in the eyes carefully. Then, with almost irritated strokes, Danny roughly messed in the strikingly orange hair.

Now his ghost started back.

“Hello there…"

[masquayla-the-splendid]

Bolts4Brains Update 1/31/25

Expect me to babble about every detail whenever I post a 2 second WIP.

This is the Paranormal Powerhouse Chica solo of Bolts4Brains. It was really vivid in my head. I just used the instrumental. There's no lipsync here. If anything, it's more synced with the beat.

As you can clearly see, I only have Ballora's roughs done. Funtime Freddy is warning her of the technician's presence.

Her normal spin before she whips around like "what!" at Freddy was a bit tricky, but then I remembered her spin from SL is a straight-on full body animation. It's mostly a silhouette, but there are indicators of which way she's facing. So I pulled the frames I needed and used them for reference.

You may or may not have noticed the way I drew her neck.

Her neck casing is very segmented, and her actual endo neck is a bit of a complex shape. So in my cartoon translation, I turned it into a sort of shirt collar. The fancy kinds that flare out in the back. I may or may not close the gap in the plates. The one right before her neck starts however, I'm keeping and just coloring in black. Her endo neck will just be funny tube shape.

I simplified her hair beads to a one-shape tiara that, realistically, would be held in with a comb.

It's very easy to want to draw Ballora's skirt like a normal tutu, because yknow, ballerina. But her skirt is even more a simple shape than Baby's. I'll only draw the skirt on a compete X-axis if it's a squash frame. I also got rid of the puffball extenders. [Remember, I'm going for model accuracy with a few tweaks to make it cartoon friendly.]

Man I thought the paper sketch for the storyboard was good, lmao.

It was important I pull this expression off, because her face is built for a smile. I don’t want to the animatronic's expression to carry too much facially. They have to be robots in ways other than design. I'll break this rule entirely if it's for one big expression, as shown here. Rarely will I make their mouths move like humans.

This is pretty self explanatory.

Gotta change a couple'a things, but Ballora has the easiest endo face to cheese. All those wires are on points of expression. You can tell I did it from memory, because I defaulted to Ennard around the nose bridge. You might be surprised Ennard isn't the easiest for me, but that's because his weird mouth and jammed-in eye make for some perspective obstacles.

[peachiejeongin]

ink and thorns, part 1 | hyunjin

part 2

synopsis: hwang hyunjin is the tattoo artist you cannot stand for the life of you, always acting so smug, so horrendous, and always attempting to flirt with you. you hate him, but what happens when you end up in his arms after a traumatic night?

pairing: tattoo artist!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mature & sexually explicit content (18+ recommended), lower case letters intended, swearing, pet names (sweetheart, princess, etc.), mentions of anxiety, cheating (not hyunjin or reader), mentions of losing a parent.

wc: 15.4k

notice: hello, my darlings! tattoo artist hyunjin has been on my mind for a while with the revelation of hyunjin's buzzcut and after being inspired to write a longer hyunjin fan fiction. thank you jeonginsleftcheek for the latter (please go read hate your guts, it is such an amazing read!). i hope you all like this story! i started working on it the minute hyunjin's buzzcut was revealed, and i have continued it between writing the other fictions on my account, so it has been a while in the making. thank you in advance for reading and enjoy :)

divider by: @cafekitsune

the door to prism ink studio creaked open as you clutched your printed design like a lifeline. a scent mixed of antiseptic and ink filled the air, the smell surprisingly soothing your rampant nerves.

this was going to be an exciting day for you; today was the day you were getting your first tattoo—a delicate flower you had carefully crafted to celebrate the milestone. after hours of sketching, you had perfected it; each thorn and petal was drawn to represent your personality, your story even—a girl who, although tested and tried at times, stood strong and beautiful like a rose.

you were enthusiastic, over the moon even, to get your first tattoo; however, the moment your eyes landed on the man behind the counter, your stomach twisted.

hyunjin.

of course, it had to be him—the sharp-featured tattoo artist with a permanent smirk and a blonde buzz cut that somehow made him even more insufferable. he was leaning casually against the counter, tattooed fingers idly tapping on his phone and occasionally making the cool silver of his rings clink. as soon as he noticed you, his dark eyes sparked with recognition, and a grin curved across his lips.

you had to resist the urge to turn around and leave.

hyunjin was not just some run of the mill tattoo artist; he was the reason your best friend, nari, had spent weeks crying over her half-finished sleeve. he had worked on her design for months, only to ditch her for a "better-paying client" before finishing the job, as nari had told you. sure, nari eventually found another artist, who notably completed the work better than hyunjin could have ever, but the drama left a bitter taste in your mouth. now, seeing him here, smug and unbothered, made your blood boil.

"well, hello there, sweetheart," he said smoothly, tucking his phone into his pocket. "you lost, or are you here for a tat?"

you swallowed your irritation and forced a smile, although it was visibly faux.

"i have an appointment with changbin."

'ah," hyunjin drawled, leaning forward and perching himself on his elbows as he tsked. "sorry to break it to you, but binnie's out today. got the flu."

"oh." your heart sank. "should i just reschedule then?"

"well you could." hyunjin tilted his head, feigning his thoughts. "that would mean waiting at least two months, though. changbin's pretty booked these days."

you hesitated, the urge to leave growing stronger with every second you had to look at hyunjin's stupid face; however, you had planned this appointment for weeks and felt as if you had waited long enough.

"fine," you eventually bit out. "who else is available?"

"let's see," hyunjin trailed off as he looked to the sky in fake ponderation. "chan's booked all day, felix is on break...looks like you're stuck with me." his shit-eating grin widened.

"you're kidding." you froze, your eyes narrowing. of course this would be just your luck.

"afraid not." he pushed himself off of the counter, tattoos shifting along his forearms as he crossed them. "unless you're cool with waiting an eternity for changbin, i'm your guy."

every nerve in your body screamed at you to say no, but practicality won out.

"whatever." you sighed in a resigned manner. "if i have to, i have to. let's just get this over with."

"love the enthusiasm!" hyunjin teased, motioning for you to follow him. as you stepped into the back, the smell of ink grew stronger, and you swore you saw him smirking over his shoulder.

this was going to be a long session.

the station hyunjin led you to was annoyingly perfect. black leather chairs sat gleaming under the warm glow of hanging edison bulbs, and his setup was meticulous, with ink bottles lined up like soldiers and glinting under the light; his sketch pad rested to the side, flipped open and allowing you to glance at some of his work, from skulls to portraits. Despite your feelings on the artist, you had to admit that the space screamed professionalism.

"you can sit," hyunjin told you, pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves with a sharp snap. "or are you going to glare at me all session?"

"i'm not glaring," you shot back, giving him a look full of annoyance and impatience.

"sure you aren't." he smirked, motioning to the chair.

reluctantly, you sat down, clutching your design. he took it from your hand, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second but just long enough to send a spark of irritation through you.

"a flower," he mused, holding up the design to the light in order to inspect it. his dark brows lifted, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "how original."

"i like it," you snarled through a clenched jaw.

"good thing that's all that matters." he tossed the paper onto the counter and grabbed a fresh sheet to sketch. "but this could use some life. where you want it?"

"my wrist."

“risky,” he warned. “one of the most painful places for a tattoo.”

“i like taking risks. what can i say?”

hyunjin did not respond; instead, his gaze lasered in on the design as his hand glided over the paper with practiced ease. you hated how skilled he looked, hated the way his lips pursed in concentration and his lashes cast shadows against his chiseled cheekbones. he had no right to be so ethereal while being such an insufferable person.

"i’m making the petals softer," he explained, spinning the sketch around to show you. the design had more depth now, with delicate shading and a subtle curve that made the flower look like it was swaying in the wind. "see? it looks better."

"it's fine, i guess," you muttered, refusing to compliment him. you hated to admit it, but he was right. his artistry complimented the design much better than yours ever could have the potential to, and it looked absolutely gorgeous.

"wow, try to hold back your excitement," he chuckled. "you'll hurt my ego."

you ignored him as he prepped the station, the buzz of the tattoo machine igniting a fresh wave of nerves.

"first tattoo?" he asked, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts.

"yeah," you responded shortly.

"though so." he crouched beside you, his face annoyingly close as he adjusted your wrist with a light grip. "relax, alright? it's not that bad. besides, you can't be scared of needles and be a bitch. pick one."

"excuse me?" you scoffed. "can you just do the tattoo without the comments?"

"where's the fun in that, sweetheart?" hyunjin laughed, the sound low and rich.

hyunjin grabbed a cleaning cloth and quickly dabbed it over your wrist. he then carefully, yet firmly, applied the stencil he had drawn out on the sterilized area.

“look good?” he asked, holding up a mirror so you could see the outline. you nodded, watching as he grabbed the tattoo needle after your response. he dipped it in a fresh bottle of black ink and aligned it carefully over the stencil; its first touch against your skin made you wince, causing hyunjin to pause. 

"you good?"

"fine," you replied, albeit through clenched teeth.

"alright. just breathe for me, princess."

"stop with the pet names."

hyunjin tuned out your last comment, already focused on the work at hand. his teasing demeanor slipped away as he worked. the machine's hum filled the silence as you watched hyunjin constantly wiping the tattoo needle clean, dipping it in different colored inks to complete the intricate shading he had added to the tattoo. for the first time, you saw a different side of hyunjin; he was calm, focused, and precise, completely contradicting his normal cockiness. after what felt like hours, he wiped the tattoo clean and leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"there. not bad for your first time, especially not for a wrist tattoo."

you glanced down at the flower blooming across your wrist, the details soft and intricate, exactly as you had hoped they would be.

"it's nice," you admitted begrudgingly.

"nice?" he raised a brow. "i'll take it. come back when you want another one. maybe get something less basic next time."

“doubt it,” you remarked, shooting him a glare. you swiftly strided to the door, preparing to exit; you did not get too far before hyunjin yelled after you.

“leaving without paying, sweetheart?” he inquired, stepping back behind the counter as he propped his chin up on his palm. you snapped your head in his direction, rolling your eyes as you let out an aggravated sigh. you pulled out your wallet, digging out three twenty-dollar bills and throwing them on the counter before turning to leave again.

“not so fast.” you stopped in your tracks, throwing your hands up in vexation.

“what now, fuckass?”

“only sixty bucks?” hyunjin counted the bills as if to accentuate his words. 

“yeah,” you obliviously responded. “that’s what the price estimate was when i talked to changbin.”

“i’m not changbin, princess,” hyunjin retorted, setting the bills down to the side. “for a two hour appointment, especially with that much detail, you’re looking at about a hundred and twenty for me.”

“a hundred and twenty?!” you repeated, your voice raising out of anger. “i don’t have that much on me!”

“well, you’re in luck,” hyunjin replied with a fakely sweet tone. “there’s an atm right behind you.” he pointed to the grey banking machine right behind you, making you groan in frustration. you stomped the couple of steps it took to get to the atm and infuriatingly inserted your card, extracting another set of three twenty-dollar bills and slamming them in front of hyunjin. the smug, amused smile he had on his face made you want to slap him.

“there. a hundred and twenty bucks. can i go now?”

“what? no tip?” hyunjin quirked an eyebrow, his lips curving as he watched your stature further enrage.

“assholes don’t get tips,” you retorted.

“makes sense as to why you’re so uptight,” hyunjin scoffed.

“oh, fuck off,” you turned towards the door, finally making your leave as hyunjin yelled out a comment about how you did not say he was wrong.

you swore you would never go back.

you convinced yourself that hyunjin’s smug remarks and relentless teasing were not worth the trouble. sure, his artistry was undeniably stunning, but facing him again? absolutely not.

yet, here you were, standing outside prism ink studio for your second appointment; thankfully, changbin was finally back, and he had some free time in his schedule. thus, he offered you what he called a “make-up appointment” to apologize for missing your first one. to make matters even better, you had specifically asked if hyunjin would be working that day, to which changbin assured you he was not. your optimism of avoiding hyunjin was high as the bell above the door chimed. stepping inside, you were greeted by the now familiar whiff of the shop.

"welcome back, princess."

you have got to be kidding.

hyunjin was behind the counter again, leaning casually like he owned the place. his buzzed hair was freshly cut, accentuating his chiseled features even more, and his colorful tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his black shirt. he looked up from his phone, his smirk spreading when he saw you.

"what are you doing here?" you snapped, stepping forward. "where’s changbin?"

"number one, i work here,” hyunjin shot back sharply. “number two, he’s out sick again. i’m covering for him today."

you stared at hyunjin, disbelief and frustration warring in your gaze.

"seriously? he promised he would be here today! does he ever show up for work?"

hyunjin shrugged, clearly enjoying your annoyed stature. "he can’t help getting sick. no use in whining about it."

"whatever. when's his next appointment?" you clenched your fists tightly as you asked, digging your nails into your palms as a way to hold yourself back from unleashing all of your bottled wrath.

"let's see." hyunjin tilted his head, pretending to think. "a couple of months, give or take, but  you're in luck; i just so happen to have an opening right now. if you’re desperate enough, that is."

desperate was not the word, but the idea of pushing your design back another two months made you want to scream. it had taken you weeks after your first appointment to muster up the courage to get another tattoo, and the thought of waiting again was unbearable.

"you're really the only one available right now?” you questioned, sighing sharply.

"yup. seems like fate to me," he remarked, a wolfish grin prominent on his face. you thought fate seemed more like a cruel joke.

"fine," you snarled. "but this is the last time i’ll ever come to you for a tattoo."

"sure it is," he drawled, leading you to the back room.

the session started much the same as last time, with hyunjin throwing in a steady stream of comments designed to test your patience.

"another flower, huh? you're growing an entire garden," he teased, sketching out your new design.

"so what?" you muttered. "sure, flower tats are unoriginal, but they’re pretty."

"that's because i made them look pretty," he shot back. before you could retaliate, hyunjin spun his sketch pad around to show you his newly-crafted drawing. the design, which was a cluster of wildflowers trailing along your forearm, was breathtaking. It had depth, movement, and the same soft elegance as your first piece.

you hated how good hyunjin was at his job.

"it's alright," you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. hyunjin chuckled as he prepared his station.

"you are a terrible liar, you know that?"

hyunjin cleaned the area of your forearm the tattoo would be placed upon before placing the stencil on top of it. once you had confirmed the placement, he dipped the tattoo needle in an ink cartridge ; it touched your skin for a second round, a much more bearable and familiar sensation now. for the next hour, your focus was on any and every thing except the steady hum of the machine. your gaze kept trailing to hyunjin’s hands, which were warm and steady. you noticed how his concentration was absolute, fully devoted to his artwork. you could not stand how professional he could be when he was not preoccupied with driving you insane.

as he worked, your phone buzzed on the counter. hyunjin glanced at it, smirking as he read the notification.

"boyfriend checking in?"

"none of your business," you dismissed quickly, sitting up slowly and swiping your phone away with your free hand, careful not to make hyunjin jerk the needle.

"that's a yes, then," he remarked, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut. "wonder if he knows how much time you've been spending with me lately."

your heart undeniably skipped a beat, but you covered it with a glare of faux annoyance.

"i have spent two tattoo appointments with you, and you act like it’s been two weeks or some shit," you growled. "focus on the tattoo and not my personal life, please?"

"only because you said please, sweetheart."

when the session ended, you analyzed the tattoo; as with the first one, it was absolutely gorgeous, but you would never admit that to hyunjin. 

“looks nice,” you commented, though hyunjin caught the admirable glimmer in your eyes.

“yeah, yeah, i know you love it.”

“love is a strong word, fuckass,” you chuckled, knowing full well he was right. instead of responding, however, hyunjin handed you a business card with his number on it. 

"here. for appointments," he explained. “because i know after two flakes, you’re not gonna want to try changbin again.” despite his words, the gleam in his eye suggested he had other intentions. 

you took the card reluctantly, fully intending to never use it; however, as soon as you had paid and got to your car, you saved the number in your phone, giving hyunjin a contact name that you felt was fitting.

"fuckass."

the days after your second tattoo were quiet.

you could not stop staring at your phone, where hyunjin's number sat in your contacts under the hilarious nickname; at first, you had told yourself you would delete his number. having it felt unnecessary, especially considering his flirtatious manner paired with your relationship status. not to mention, you did not see the point in keeping the number of someone you could not stand.

but every time your thumb hovered over the delete button, something stopped you. maybe it was the nagging curiosity about his ulterior motives aside from “appointments.” maybe it was the urge to blow up his phone, bombarding him with a million questions about his work or about why he dipped out on nari. whatever it was, yet you refrained, keeping to yourself in an uncomfortable, deafening silence.

the last thing you were expecting that wednesday afternoon was a text notification, his contact name bolded above the messages icon.

fuckass: 'bet you're still admiring my work. don't forget to moisturize btw. wouldn't want the flowers to fade.'

you stared at your screen, incredulous.

you: 'how did you get my number? and do you text all your clients, or am i just lucky?'

his reply was instant.

fuckass: 'you put your phone number down on the information sheet before every session, dumbass. and i just text the ones who talk to me like i ruined their lives. it's cute.'

your fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between ignoring him and firing back. against your better judgment, you chose the latter. against your better judgment, you chose the latter.

you: 'wow. professionalism really is dead.' fuckass: 'professionalism is boring. you would hate me more if I was boring.

you rolled your eyes at his response, tossing your phone aside and hoping that this conversation would be the end of your interactions with him.

spoiler alert: it was not.

over the next few days, hyunjin made it a point to text you almost every morning; sometimes, it was about your tattoos, and sometimes it was just to talk to you.

fuckass: 'favorite flower?' you: 'why?' fuckass: 'research for your next tattoo.' you: 'who says i'm coming back to you?' fuckass: 'you will.'

his confidence was maddening, but what was worse? he was not entirely incorrect.

you: 'daisies.'

one particularly bad day, you found yourself staring at his contact again, debating on whether or not to block him. the day was a disaster from the start: work was a mess, your boyfriend had not messaged you all day, and your anxiety was spiraling out of control.

to distract yourself, you scrolled through your messages, finding yourself rereading hyunjin's texts. against all logic, they made you feel...happier. his cocky attitude was infuriating, sure, but it was also humorous, almost grounding in a sense.

before you could stop yourself, your fingers were moving.

you: 'why do you always message me? you have to have a bunch of other clients you could be texting.'

his reply came within seconds.

fuckass: ‘yeah, but none of them are as fun to talk to.' fuckass: ‘don't get a big head about that btw. i can picture your smirk from here.'

despite what hyunjin thought via message, you were not smirking; you were smiling, the tension in your chest easing tremendously.

it was weird how the asshole always knew how to unintentionally make you feel better.

the weeks blurred together, each day filled with an irritating mix of responsibilities, and, somehow, more messages from hyunjin. he had worked his way under your skin in the most obnoxious way possible, texting you things at the most inconvenient times.

the weirdest part? it felt like hyunjin was texting you more than your boyfriend was. here recently, your boyfriend had gotten into a habit of going days, sometimes a week without responding to your messages; he always passed it off as you “overthinking” considering you lived together. yet, as the weeks went on like this, your gut began to unsettle at the feeling. you had thought about asking hyunjin for advice, if this was how guys normally acted; however, you subsided, letting the matter play out for itself. in fact, you were in the middle of staring at your phone, waiting for a message to pop up from your boyfriend explaining where he was at the hour. when your phone dinged, you became hopeful.

the wrong contact name popped  up, however.

fuckass: 'if you had to pick a tattoo right now without thinking, what would it be?' you: 'a stop sign.' fuckass: 'ha. ha. you're sooooo funny.' fuckass: 'seriously tho. what are you getting next?' you: 'don't you have actual clients to bother?' fuckass: 'i’ve already told you, sweetheart. you’re funner to talk to.' you: ‘funner isn’t a word.’ fuckass: ‘i’m a tattoo artist, not an english teacher.’

you did not understand how he had such a flaring ere to him. he had a sense of self-pride that was unmatched, and he talked to you as if it was a natural, flowing thing to do, despite the prior tension to your "professional" relationship. no matter how much you told yourself to ignore him, you never did. there was something infuriatingly safe about hyunjin. he was consistent, yet annoying in the same way every time you spoke, and he was oddly insightful when he was not messing with you.

if only his thoughtfulness could save you from the heartbreak about to ensue.

it was a saturday afternoon when the first red flag appeared. 

you were out with friends, sipping coffee at a small cafe, when your phone buzzed. you glanced at the screen, expecting it to be a social media notification or an annoying reminder to turn your volume down on your phone.

instead, it was a text message; a photo, to be precise.

fuckass: 'this your guy?'

the image was grainy, clearly taken from across the street. no matter the quality, however, you could recognize the face anywhere. 

it was unmistakably your boyfriend; he was smiling as he leaned in far too close to a girl who was not you.

you: 'what are you doing?' fuckass: 'saw him on my way back to the parlor after my lunch break. thought you should know.'

you stared at the screen, your vision blurring. part of you wanted to accuse hyunjin of lying, of stirring up drama just so he could get under your skin; however, you knew that the picture did not lie, that it could not lie.

your fingers shook as you typed out a reply, anger clouding your judgment against all odds.

you: 'stay out of my personal life.' fuckass: 'k. suit yourself.

as soon as you got home, your boyfriend called, acting as if everything was normal. his voice grated on your nerves, every word sounding like a lie. you wanted to confront him, to demand an explanation for the photo hyunjin had sent you, but the thought of it made your stomach churn.

instead, you found yourself rushedly hanging up the phone, claiming to be tired. you did not take a nap, though; you typed out a message to hyunjin.

you: 'do you have any proof that he's cheating on me? like hardcore evidence?' fuckass: 'thought i was supposed to stay out of your personal life?' you: 'i wouldn't ask if i didn't want answers.' fuckass: ‘why is the photo not “hardcore” enough?’ you: ‘idk, what if the girl’s like his cousin or something?’ fuckass: ‘why would he be that close to a cousin?’ you: ‘idk. i just need something else to prove it.’ fuckass: ‘you think i would lie to you about something like this?’ you: ‘hyunjin, please.’

it took a few minutes, but another photo came through. this one was clearer, sharper; your boyfriend was holding hands with the same woman from the previous picture. 

fuckass: ‘there. i ended up walking past them and snapped that.” fuckass: ‘i was trying to send you the one that would break your heart the least, but you’re fucking stubborn so there you go.’ fuckass: ‘there’s one of them kissing, too, but i’m not making you see that one.’

you stared at the picture for what felt like hours, your chest tightening with every passing moment. how could this be? how could the man who claimed to love you, who claimed he would give everything for you ruin your relationship in an instant? you felt your face go hot, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed to yourself.

you were broken out of your thoughts by another text from hyunjin.

fuckass: 'you okay?'

you did not reply. you did not know how to.

a week passed before you found the courage to do anything.

the photo sat on your phone screen like a tragedy you could not take your eyes off of. it was late, midnight to be precise, and well past the hour confrontations should happen; however you did not care. you had spent the past few days trying to ignore it, hoping it was not true, that hyunjin had misunderstood the circumstance. yet, the weight of the photo was overbearing, suffocating you each time you looked at it.

you paced your apartment as you waited for your boyfriend to return home; he had been out all day, doing only the good heavens knew what. every second ticked by like it was a warning. the image burned into your mind: your boyfriend's hand clasped around hers, his thumb just barely over her knuckles in a way he always did with you.

when his key finally turned the lock, your heart dropped to your stomach.

he walked in casually, kicking off his shoes without a second glance in your direction. 

"hey," he greeted, his voice neutral. "why are you still up?"

"where were you?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. "your schedule said you got off at 5:00. it's 12:00."

he froze for a split second before recovering, tossing his bag onto the counter.

"out with friends. why?"

"you didn't think to call?" you gripped your phone tightly, the corners of it pressing into your palm. "which friends were you with?"

he frowned, clearly caught off guard.

"why does it matter?"

"because i want to know who she is," you snapped, holding up your phone to show him the photo hyunjin had sent you. his expression shifted in an instant, his confident mask crumbling. he stared at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"the hell is this?"

"you tell me," you retaliated, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "who the fuck is she? and don't you dare lie to me."

he stepped forward, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"baby, i promise you it isn't what it looks like."

"oh really? because it looks like you're holding her hand," you shot back bitterly. "and it also looks like you've been lying to me for only god knows how long."

"it's not-" he began, but you cut him off.

"don't," you warned, your voice breaking with each syllable. "don't you stand there and insult me with excuses. tell me the truth. are you cheating on me?"

the silence that followed the question was deafening. he looked away, his shoulders slumping.

"it's... complicated."

the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet; your head spun as you formulated a response.

"complicated?" you repeated, your voice hollow. "how is it complicated? you either cheated on me or you didn't."

he did not answer, but his silence was louder than any confession. your chest tightened, and tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"i trusted you," you told him quietly, your barely-audible voice quivering as you spoke. "i gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?"

"it wasn't supposed to happen," he tried to claim, his voice nearing the octave of a whisper.

his response was all it took to break you. the tears spilled over, smearing your mascara down your cheeks; you laughed bitterly through the pain, almost sounding psychotic.

"i don’t know how being romantic with someone who is not your girlfriend isn’t supposed to happen, but congratu-fucking-lations. it happened." he stepped closer, but you backed away. "don't. get the fuck away from me, and get out."

"y/n, please-"

"i'm not going to say it again," you apprised, your tone crackling with rage. "get the fuck out of my house. we are over."

for a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded, grabbing his bag and his shoes and heading for the door. when it shut harshly behind him, the apartment felt unbearably empty, the quiet pressing in on you from all sides.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, trying to breathe through the asphyxiating pressure in your chest. everything felt raw, like the air itself was too sharp against your skin.

disregarding how you felt in the moment, disregarding every ounce of pain coursing through you, your mind wandered to one thing: the only person who had warned you of what was coming, and the only person you knew could take away your sorrow in the moment.

hyunjin.

you found yourself self-consciously reaching for your phone; this time, there was no hesitation as you scrolled to his contact.

you: 'do you by chance have an opening?' fuckass: 'for you? always.' fuckass: 'everything alright?' you: 'just need a tattoo.'

you did not offer an explanation, and to your bewilderment, hyunjin did not push for one.

fuckass: 'come to the studio in a couple of hours. i’ll be here.'

the studio was quiet when you arrived; quiet was an understatement, as a matter of fact. there were no cars in the parking lot, and there seemed to be no one inside. you walked towards the entrance, your steps hesitant but purposeful. hyunjin was waiting for you at the door, the only semblance of life within the colorful building. his smirk was replaced with a look you did not recognize as he unlocked the door.

"you look terrible," he commented bluntly as you stepped inside; however, his tone seemed uncharacteristically soft rather than demeaning or teasing even.

"thanks. just what i needed to hear tonight," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "can i just get my tattoo?" hyunjin nodded, not arguing and leading you to his station without another word.

"i thought the studio would still be...y'know, open," you remarked, attempting to mask the quiver in your voice with the smug comment. "why did you tell me to come here after hours?"

"i always bring the prettiest clients here," hyunjin replied, his voice seeming more genuine and sweeter than teasing. "no, i just thought you could use the quiet. we were pretty busy today, and i didn’t want the noise to overstimulate you."

his care surprised you, and you found yourself nodding as you kept your gaze glued to the ground; however, your heart warmed at the gesture, at the smallest semblance that he did have some form of a heart.

"thanks."

"no problem. what's the design?" he inquired once you were seated. you handed him a rough sketch you had made a couple days prior as a way to distract yourself from what was happening with your boyfriend; it was a cluster of forget-me-nots, delicate and intricate.

"pretty," hyunjin remarked after a moment, his voice retaining its gentle demeanor. "why forget-me-nots in particular?"

"doesn't matter," you replied, your voice angrier than intended. hyunjin's lips twitched as if there was some sort of sarcastic comment waiting to spill out; however, he just nodded.

"alright. where do you want it?"

"here," you responded, gesturing to the inside of your forearm.

hyunjin studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. instead of pressing, he nodded once again and got to work sketching a stencil.

placing the outline onto your skin, hyunjin flipped on his tattoo gun, its hum filling the silence. for once, he did not try to distract you with his jokes or relentless teasing. his focus was unwavering, more so than usual, and his hands steadied as they moved over your skin.

when the needle paused, you looked up to find him watching you.

"what?" you questioned in a defensive manner.

"nothing." he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you're just...quieter than usual. it’s weird."

"maybe i'm just sick of arguing with you." you swallowed hard, forcing the accumulated lump in your throat to stay down.

"i highly doubt that," he replied lightly, but the concern in his eyes lingered.

the machine's faint whir filled the tense quietude again as hyunjin resumed his work. you focused on the sensation, the rhythmic buzz and sharp prick of the needle pulling you back into the present.

hyunjin did not speak again until he wiped away the ink and inspected his progress.

"almost done," he commented, his tone calm. "how are you holding up?"

his question seemed to have a double meaning, and you pondered for a moment, wondering if he was referring to your tattoo or your personal life.

"fine," you lied, no matter what circumstance he was referring to. your voice was tight, and hyunjin tilted his head, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide.

"cool."

the final moments of the session passed quietly. when he finished, he leaned back and set the machine aside, turning your arm to show you the tattoo.

"there," he said softly, his tone almost proud. "whatcha think?"

you blinked down at the design, the intricate cluster of forget-me-nots etched delicately into your skin. they looked fragile but strong simultaneously, their soft edges balanced by the clean precision of hyunjin's linework.

they mirrored your current situation to a tee; you were vulnerable because of what had happened, yet you kept standing strong, refusing to blow over.

"it's beautiful," you whispered, your voice cracking on the last syllable. hyunjin did not respond, his eyes locked on yours as if they were searching for something.

that is when it happened.

the dam inside of you broke, the tears spilling over before you could stop them. you pressed your hands to your face, trying to conceal your sadness in order to keep the same strength the forget-me-nots were supposed to represent, but it was no use. the sobs came in waves, years of trust, love, and betrayal crashing down on you all at once.

hyunjin froze, his eyes widening into golf-balls. then, slowly, he leaned forward, his hands hovering just above your back as if he was not sure you would let him comfort you.

"hey," he called softly. "it's okay. let it all out, sweetheart."

"i...i don't even know why i'm crying. it's so stupid." you shook your head, the words tumbling out in broken stutters.

"it's definitely not stupid," he countered firmly, his demeanor low and grounding. "you're allowed to be angry, y/n."

"i feel so pathetic." you dropped your hand, meeting his gaze through the tears.

"well, you're not," he retaliated, his brows furrowing together. "you're human. and a human who has been through hell, at that."

the tenderness in his voice hit you harder than anything else, and before you knew it, you were leaning forward, burying your face in his chest as your arms snaked tightly around his waist.

hyunjin stiffened for a moment, then his arms came around you, strong and steady. he did not say anything; he just held you as you cried, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

minutes passed, feeling more like hours, before the racing panic inside of you quieted. when you pulled back, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, wiping at your face as your gaze quickly flickered away from hyunjin's. "i didn't mean to-"

"don't apologize," he interrupted softly but firmly. "seriously. you needed that hug." you nodded, unsure of what to say.

"you have a lot of people who care about you, y'know," he spoke after a moment, leaning back in order to give you space; although, his eyes never left you. "you don't have to go through this alone."

"funny." a small, humorless laugh escaped you. "that's exactly how it feels."

"i mean it," hyunjin responded quietly, his tone unwavering. "you are not alone. i don’t care how that douchebag made you feel. you are worth being cared about. you’ve got this, okay?"

for a moment, the weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you expected.

"thank you," you finally stated, your tone barely rising above a whisper. "you know, you aren't the asshole i thought you were."

hyunjin gave a small, genuine smile in response.

"i try not to be. i’m always here for you, princess."

the ride home from the tattoo shop felt heavier than usual, your arm wrapped protectively in the thin plastic film that hyunjin had meticulously applied. the air outside was crisp, the kind that made every breath sting just a little, yet, it did not distract from the hurricane of emotions inside of you.

it was not just your breakup, though the trauma of that alone was enough to leave you reeling. it was hyunjin; his words, his steady presence, the way he held you as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

for someone you had spent so much time resenting, he felt alarmingly like a safe space for you.

when you got home, the silence of your apartment felt suffocating. you dropped your bag by the door, staring at the faint outline of the couch where you had just laid hours earlier, crying your poor heart out from sheer betrayal. the memories lingered in the walls, in the spaces between the furniture, and it was all too much.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts.

fuckass: 'make it home okay?'

the question was simple, but it hit harder than you had expected it to.

you: 'mhm, i got here alright.'

you hesitated before typing the next part.

you: 'thank you. for earlier.' fuckass: 'anytime.'

you stared at the screen for a moment, longer than you had intended to, before setting your phone down and heading to the bathroom. the forget-me-nots on your arm stared back at you in the mirror, their ethereal petals a sharp contrast to the rawness you felt inside of you.

but they were beautiful, and they were yours.

and for the first time that week, you felt the smallest flicker of hope.

the next few days passed in a blur. you threw yourself into work, hobbies, and anything else that would keep your mind from spiraling too far into its own mental traps. hyunjin had not been messaging, and you did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at that fact.

but you could not stop thinking about him.

you could not stop thinking about the tattoo or the way he had comforted you. you could not shake off the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way his teasing had softened into something resembling protectivity that night. you had spent years building walls around yourself, and somehow, without even trying to, hyunjin had started to tear them down.

you were not ready to face that music. not yet.

not until a week later, when you found yourself back at the shop. you had not planned the visit; your feet had carried you to the parlor before your brain could catch up with your actions.

the door jingled as you stepped inside, and hyunjin's head snapped up from the counter where he had been sketching. his eyes widened, and his lips quirked into a soft smirk.

"well, well, well," he smirked, a hint of surprise present in his voice. "trouble's back."

"don't sound so shocked," you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual sass.

"what? you miss me already?" there he was. there was the teasing guy you had grown to know, standing there as he crossed his arms over his chest. you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched upwards despite yourself.

"actually, i need to talk to you."

"about what?"

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. 

"the flowers you did. the forget-me-nots. they're absolutely perfect."

"yeah?" hyunjins smirk softened into something warmer, something legitimate. “looks like they’re healing nicely, too.”

"yeah," you agreed, meeting his gaze. "i just wanted to say thank you, but properly this time."

"don't mention it, sweetheart." he shrugged, but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed his nonchalance. "it was nothing."

"but it was," you insisted. “it meant a lot to me.”

for a moment, the air between the two of you shifted, heavy with unspoken words.

"so," hyunjin started. "you want another one?"

"another tattoo?" you blinked at him.

"duh. unless you came here just to flirt with me," he replied, his playful smirk returning. you felt your cheeks heat up, and you cursed yourself for letting him get to you so easily.

"don't flatter yourself."

"too late," he responded with a grin, gesturing for you to follow him to his station. "you're in luck; i've got an opening, so let's see what you've got."

as you sat down, you could not help but notice how his demeanor had shifted. the cocky bravado was still there, but underneath it was something softer, something almost gentle.

something from that night was still lingering.

you pulled out your sketchbook, handing him the simple sheet of paper; the design you had chosen for this occasion was a simple daisy, its petals unfurling in soft, graceful lines.

"your favorite," he remembered, his voice seeming almost reminiscent; the way he had recalled the information made your heart jump, your body becoming overcome by a heat that was previously absent.

"any reason you chose this other than it being that?" his question fixed you back into reality; his eyes fixed on you, the orbs seeming as if they were searching your physicality for an answer.

"it's..." you hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the drawing pad. "it's for me. for everything i've been through these last few weeks. i get a lot of flower tattoos, yeah, but they all represent my strength. this one is a reminder that i’m still me." hyunjin nodded, his gaze softening.

"i get that."

there was something in his tone, something that made you glance up at him. for the first time, you realized how much you did not know about him, like who he was, where he came from, or what had shaped him into the person standing in front of you.

"have you ever gotten a tattoo for that?" you asked, surprising yourself with the question.

"maybe." hyunjin tilted his head, his lips quirking into a faint beam. "but you would have to figure out which one."

you rolled your eyes, but your curiosity grew.

“hm…that one.” you pointed to his forearm, where a dragon wrapped itself around his skin; the detail was intricate, almost as if the dragon was breathing fire in real time.

“very good, princess,” hyunjin smirked. “how’d you know?”

“lucky guess, i suppose,” you shrugged, smiling. “what’s it mean?”

“well, dragons are fierce animals,” hyunjin began. “i got this done after going through a breakup to remind me that i was tougher than i thought.”

"how ironic,” you responded with a dry laugh, to which hyunjin’s eyes brightened. “what's your favorite tat?"

"what's with the questions, sweetheart?" he questioned, his gaze turning cheeky once more. "finally warming up to me?"

"don't get ahead of yourself," you warned. "and i don't know. just curious i guess."

his expression shifted then, turning from bright to thoughtful as he turned his other arm over to reveal a small, delicate design on the inside of his wrist; it was a crescent moon, cradled by wisps of clouds.

"this one's my favorite," he told you softly. "did it on myself, actually."

"what's it mean?" you repeated the question, tracing the shape with your eyes, your heart tugging in a way you did not expect it to. hyunjin hesitated, his stare dropping longingly to the tattoo.

"i got it for my mom," he explained after a few brief moments of silence. "she used to say that the moon was watching over us both, no matter how far apart we were." the vulnerability in his demeanor caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless.

"that's beautiful," you responded quietly. hyunjin shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the inked design.

"she passed a few years ago. i guess this was my way of keeping her with me."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly atop his wrist.

"i'm really sorry, hyunjin. i didn't know."

he looked up then, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that felt almost unbearable.

"it's okay," he replied. "it's nothing i really go about parading." the moment stretched between the two of you, silent and fragile, until he cleared his throat and pointed to his station. "i should probably get started on your sketch."

you nodded, sinking into the seat as he began to prepare.

the session went as the others with him had gone, adorned with teasing comments but finishing with a beautiful daisy coming to life on your right shoulder. the only difference is, when the tattoo was finished, you found yourself reluctant to leave. the shop felt warmer than the cold, biting air outside, and hyunjin's presence had a way of anchoring you in a way you had not expected.

nevertheless, you reached hesitantly for the door handle of the parlor, only stopping when hyunjin called for you; the door jingled a little as you opened it slightly before closing it once more, and you slowly turned your head in his direction.

"you gotta be hungry after that session, right princess?" he asked, snapping off his gloves and discarding them in a nearby trash can. you blinked in reply, a tad surprised by his question.

"i mean a little," you reluctantly answered. "why?"

hyunjin grinned, grabbing a ripped jean jacket out of the space behind the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.

"come on," he commanded. "there's a place around the corner that has killer ramen."

you hesitated; the idea of spending time with him outside of the shop felt both thrilling and dangerous. not to mention, you were incredibly skeptical of anyone's attempts to be nice after the revelation of your boyfriend's faux love.

"look, if this is just you trying to act on some sort of feeling because i'm single now-"

"it's not," hyunjin quickly interjected, correcting you as he scoffed. "just think of it as my treat to you. you've been through fuck knows what and i wanna give you something nice. is that so wrong?"

"when we're supposed to keep this relationship professional, just a little," you unintentionally snarled out.

"like i said," hyunjin started, leaning down to meet your height, "professionalism is boring. now, are we getting food or not? my break starts in a minute." you thought about it for a few moments, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you nodded.

"sure. why the hell not?"

hyunjin moved his arm down in a victorious motion, holding the door open and giving an 'after you' gesture as you joined him in the chilling wind.

the ramen shop was tucked away on a quiet street corner, its glowing LED sign swaying gently in the cold breeze. inside, the space was small and slightly closed-in, with warm lighting that bathed everything in a golden glow. the hum of soft jazz music mixed with the quiet clatter of chopsticks against bowls, creating a lively yet comforting atmosphere.

hyunjin led you to a booth near the window, shrugging off his jacket and sliding into the seat across from you. you hesitated before sitting, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in such a cozy, unfamiliar setting.

"order whatever you want," hyunjin told you, gesturing to the laminated menu.

you picked it up, scanning the options, though your focus kept shifting back to him. in the warm light, his features looked softer, less guarded. your eyes drifted from the contours of his jawline, to the tattoos decorating his arms and collarbones, back up to the strange beauty of his buzz cut. there was something disarming about seeing him out of his usual sharp surroundings; it was almost like seeing a different side of him.

"you're staring," hyunjin interrupted your thoughts, his eyes still fixated on the menu.

"i am not," you shot back, narrowing your eyes at his teasing smirk.

"sure, sweetheart. and i'm a model." you rolled your eyes, setting down your menu to look at the artist; his eyes were now on you, boring an unfamiliar look into you. there was a certain...sincerity to his cheeky manner, and the realization made your cheeks heat up.

he certainly could be a model.

"whatever," you mumbled. "i'm ready to order." upon your words, hyunjin waved over the waitress and gave her both of your orders with an ease that suggested he was a regular here.

when the food arrived, steam billowed from the bowls, carrying the rich aroma of miso and chili. hyunjin handed you a pair of chopsticks, and you both dug in, the first few bites melting away the lingering awkwardness.

"so, does the parlor know you bring your clients out to lunch, or are we keeping that secret?" you asked, breaking the silence with daring look at him.

"what do you mean clients?" hyunjin raised an eyebrow, adding extra emphasis on the plurality of the word. "i told you: this is just a pick-me-up for you. seeing you quiet is...weird. do you really think i'd go out of my way for everyone that comes to me for a tattoo?"

"i'm sure the charm works on everyone," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"awe, you think i have charm?" he tilted his head innocently, laying a hand over his heart.

"don't push it, hyunjin," you warned, holding up your chopsticks to punctuate your words. to your shock, he laughed; the sound was low and genuine, and it made your chest tighten in a way you did not expect it to. you shook your head, attempting to brush the matter off, but the small smile on your lips gave you away.

halfway through the meal, the conversation shifted, the teasing giving way to something that had been nagging at your mind since you began your appointments with hyunjin.

"nari came by the other day," you said, carefully testing the waters. hyunjin's chopsticks paused midair, and his expression flickered before he schooled it into something neutral.

"she did, did she?"

"yeah," you responded, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. "whatever happened with that? y'know, her tattoo?" he sighed, leaning back in his seat and running a colorful hand over his buzzed head.

"i'm assuming she told you i bailed on it."

you halted for a moment, unsure whether or not to push on the matter.

"did you?" you questioned, finally looking up to make eye-contact with hyunjin.

"it's...complicated," he answered, his voice quiet.

"i am tired of hearing that from men," you scoffed, unintentionally directing your internalized anger from the week onto hyunjin. "that's not an answer."

hyunjin's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he did not say anything. when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, an edge of vulnerability beneath it.

"nari wanted something really intricate added onto her sleeve. she wanted a phoenix stretching across her entire arm, but halfway through, she changed her mind about the placement and the design."

"so you stopped?"

"i didn't have a choice," he explained, meeting your eyes. "i tried to explain how difficult it would be to start over after we had already done the outline, but she got upset. I told her we could redo it another day, but i guess she didn't take it too well."

"so, you didn't quit on her," you frowned, piecing the story together. "you just tried to be honest with her?"

"yeah," he answered softly. "i don't think she saw it that way though. she said i didn't care enough to finish it, and... i don't know. maybe she was right."

"that doesn't sound like you," you retorted before you could stop yourself.

hyunjin looked at you, his eyes searching your face for something; he was not exactly sure what it was, however.

"you don't even know me."

"maybe i don't know you," you admitted. "but i have interacted with you more than enough to know that you wouldn't give someone a half-finished tattoo without a reason." hyunjin's shoulders relaxed upon your reassurance, which told you that he appreciated the vote of confidence.

"looks like i was right: you are finally warming up to me, princess" he teased, his attention going back to his food.

by the time you left the ramen shop, the sky had morphed into a blanket of stars, the chill in the air biting at your skin.

"c'mon, I'll walk you to your car," hyunjin suddenly insisted, his voice casual but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. you nodded in reply, clasping your jacket tighter around you.

the walk was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward. when you reached your vehicle, you paused before opening the driver-side door. you turned to face him, a small but appreciative smile on your face.

"thanks for tonight," you said gently. "i really needed that pick me up."

"anytime." hyunjin smiled, but it did not reach his eyes; instead, his already dark brown eyes had noticeably darkened, carrying a familiar, intense emotion within them.

the weight of his gaze made your breath hitch, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer, looking up at him with pure admiration in your gaze. his eyes flickered to your lips, his body tensing like he was holding himself back.

"don't," he muttered, his voice thick with something you could not exactly determine.

"don't what?" you whispered, a hand unconsciously placing itself on hyunjin's chest.

"don't look at me like that," he responded, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

the air between you felt electric, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. then, as if pulled by some kind of invisible force, your lips met his in a kiss that was slow, passionate, and filled with everything you could not put into words.

for a moment, the world stopped spinning. the only thing that existed was the warmth of his mouth against yours and the way his hand cupped the back of your neck like he never wanted to let go. every emotion you had felt was spilling over into the kiss; hyunjin was an absolute asshole at times, sure, but it was not in the way you had initially envisioned. he never had bad intentions, and his nature only came from the fact that he was an absolute tease with a difficult past.

you were falling in love with the enemy.

"look who's acting on feeling now," hyunjin smirked against your lips, going back in a second after saying it; however, his words contained a different sort of weight. the snapped you back into reality, and you pulled away from hyunjin, your heart racing from a blend of passion and anxiety.

you were falling in love with the enemy…and you were not ready to.

"i...i'm so sorry," you mumbled, your gaze going down to the ground.

"for what, sweetheart," hyunjin questioned, his tone breathy. "don't say for doing that without asking, because you have no idea-"

"i can't do this, hyunjin," you stammered, stepping back until your back was pressed against your car. "I shouldn't have kissed you. i’m not ready for something new."

“sweetheart-”

“no! this was a mistake!”

hyunjin's expression fell, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before he masked it.

"if that's what you think," he shrugged, his demeanor clearly painful. 

you did not know what to say, so you thanked him for the meal once more, your heart pounding as you disappeared into your car. hyunjin watched dejectedly as you drove off, his heart aching with the thought of what could have been.

or what could still be, as a matter of fact.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[coralearei]

Fantasie-Impromptu -- Sunday/Dreamweaver!Reader

summary: your client gets you to stay with him for a while longer... wc: 2.7k author's notes: there isn't any deeper reason beyond the title other than that it sounds cool and it's what sunday played in his trailer. this was supposed to be a winter holiday fic that i initially wrote a month ago and dropped and picked up again, so there might be references to baby it's cold outside and other media content: mdni -- somewhat yandere tendencies and whatever that implies: dubcon/noncon, no explicit sex but it gets pretty touchy throughout, a bit of a power imbalance, potentially ooc, gender neutral reader, implied drugging

---

Although the Family Head has been your client for many months now, you've never completely accustomed yourself to the nerve-wracking kindness that has only grown increasingly more evident with every commission he's given you. Sunday's 'acts of kindness' are almost too subtle for you to call attention to; a luxurious trinket every now and then might just be a token of goodwill, and the occasional gloved hand lingering on your shoulder too long could simply be unintentional. 

Still, being the keen Dreamweaver you are, you pick up acts like these nevertheless. They're more than just coincidences— but Sunday seems like a man higher than mere accidents. Everything he does is indeed very carefully and meticulously planned, and the way he corners you in his office at this current moment is no exception.

 "Stay a while longer." he says to you now as you prepare to leave his office. Today's session has been rather short, much to your relief— consisting of You inadvertently freeze in your motions as he speaks, standing still with your palms pressed to the desk below you. Your head is kept steady in its bowed position, not noticing the way that Sunday marvels at your refusal to return his warmhearted gaze.

 The offer is somewhat arbitrary, almost out of the blue, but it adds to the pattern of similar gestures from before. At first, he was cordial enough, but still formal— he remains both of those things towards you, but a few almost-invisible actions make you shudder. Over time, you start to give him excuses to stay at his mansion for gradually shorter amounts of time, and tell him that you have a good idea of what he wants out of whatever you're working on. You don't want to waste any more of his time, you’ve told him once, and you promise to give him articulate, expedient designs before you bashfully scurry out of his office as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, you haven’t mustered up the courage to politely decline him today. Instead, you take a look at his office, and how its clean luxury only helps to perpetuate Sunday’s tendencies towards stateliness and decorum. There doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust in the room, and the only semblance of a mess lies in the sketches you’ve brought. The papers are strewn about his desk; you continue to gingerly pick them up as you begin your reply.

“I couldn’t possibly, sir. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the rest of your evening, and-”

“Not at all, not at all,” you bite your lip as he raises a hand to cut you off. “I enjoy listening to you speak.” he admits, giving a nearly demeaning smile. Sunday’s halo innocently gleams a glowing gold in contrast to the faint lamp of his office, as if he really is after a simple chat and nothing else.

“I’m honored, sir.” You concentrate on carefully guiding your various plans and sketches into a thick manila folder while you stare down the oak table below— hoping to avoid the way the eyes of the Halovian in front of you linger on your more… flattering parts. “B-But I really don’t want to bother you, you’re a very busy man- ah!”

Your hand barely brushes against a foreign, unfamiliar piece of silk, causing your folder to make a thumping noise as it hits the floor. In nervous shock, you turn around and see Sunday standing less than a step behind you, his lips almost perking up. You jolt back frantically, but lose your balance and fall on your bottom ungraciously. You feel your papers press against your behind.

“Clumsy little thing…” you think you hear him say to himself before he lets out a barely-present laugh. In one birdlike swoop, you’re on your feet again, your folder reconciled with its contents and safely returned to your bag. Your cheeks begin to grow hot as you feel Sunday’s sturdy hands stabilize you, gently gripping your shoulders before he gives you a soft head pat. He leans in closer, letting his lips graze your ear’s helix. You find yourself staying still as Sunday starts to murmur in your ear.

“Did you say something, sir?” you ask, trying to reclaim the professionalism in this moment that is all but gone.

“I haven’t… try to relax for me, alright?” Sunday hums in your ear, quiet but reassuring. The buzz he leaves behind sends jolts of worry throughout your body. “

Your hands are quite icy, you know that? And do be careful with yourself next time… I really wouldn’t want you to harm yourself on purpose, dear.”

You press your palms to your warming face in response, your fingers just short of clawing out your widened eyes. You’re too flustered to not remember the name that he had just used— it makes you lightheaded just to think about it. You would have fell over a second time if Sunday hadn’t grabbed you by the waist and held onto you with his strong, slender fingers.

“What’s your hurry?” Sunday hums, taking his index finger to put under your chin and point towards his beaming face, more playful than what it once was before. You hold your breath for a moment when he forces you to look up at him, hesitantly meeting the angelic amber that looks upon your face with a mysterious, ambiguous glint. 

As your eyes make contact with Sunday, his features soften once more, accompanied by a reassuring smile. When you start to sputter out a response, he takes his index finger once more and presses it against your lips, making a low shushing noise. Both of you fall silent, leaving only the roaring crackle of the fireplace to be heard.

“Please don’t hurry,” he muses, wrapping his surprisingly strong arm around waist. “I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone… Why don’t you join me for a drink? I’ll call for some wine.”

You give a meek nod and Sunday slightly pulls on your wrist in approval. Soon, Sunday and you are now both situated in the parlor of his manor. You gradually shift farther away from him towards the other end of the couch… when did Sunday get this close to you, anyway? You look down at your drink. The contents of your glass slosh inside, and the stem of the glass you hold remains unsteady in your trembling grip. You set the glass down with a sigh— good thing you haven’t dropped it yet.

You’ve now been at Dewlight for far more than the half hour you’ve agreed to out of respect— more than a half hour too long. You’re pretty sure that you’re only on your second drink now, but the number of drinks you’ve had has slipped your mind. If you correctly recall what Sunday had said about ten minutes ago, you two are currently sharing a bottle of Amontillado, a decadent sherry from the vineyards of a lush, distant planet whose name you’ve forgotten. You don’t drink much— which you’re too nervous to admit, given that you’re a recent resident of the Planet of Festivities— but the taste of this particular wine feels quite suited to your taste buds. Sunday is being more than generous with the bottle as well, taking small, graceful sips from his own glass, which still remains half full. 

On the other hand, you’ve had quite a few drinks, which have gotten you to talk much more than you would’ve liked. So far, Sunday now knows that you don’t have anywhere to be after this meeting, and that your earnings allow you a small apartment in Reality. Not wanting to say anything else that could compromise you, you eagerly gulp down the remainder of your drink, savoring the last few drops of goodness, and make your way towards the parlor’s exit.

“Where are you going now?” you hear a voice behind you, stopping you in your tracks just as you reach the doorway. You feel a weighty palm start to hold down your shoulder, making you cringe. 

This time, though, you don’t turn around, even though you can feel Sunday again with his soft lips on you, pressing to your nape. He traps your body within his unexpectedly tight grasp, smugly laughing at the way you fail to shy away from his bruising grip. His other hand gives your inner thigh a pinch as you unsuccessfully thrash against him and  try to free your helpless body.

“I don’t believe I feel very well, sir…” you groan weakly. Sunday’s grin suddenly becomes significantly less restricting, but the air that you breathe only serves to pull you into a soothing daze. “Mr. Sunday, apologies… but I don’t think I recall you making any comments about the potency of Amontillado…”

“Mind if I move in closer?” Sunday remarks, closing the distance that lies between his chest and your back. He grips your face, slowly turning you around so that you’re looking straight into his striking golden irises. 

“Don't be sorry, my dear… you’ll be fine— as long as you realize that you need to be taken care of.”

The door in front of you starts to grow farther in distance, its edges also becoming more hazy. Your vision begins to blur no matter how much you try to stand up and blink, and you let your body succumb to Sunday’s now-gentle clutches, falling into them before as he slowly drags you back towards himself. Sunday leads you through the parlor door again, and your drowsy legs give up after only a few steps. Your body, which has become almost immovable, collapses onto the couch and meets the cushions with a muffled crash. Lying on your side with your eyes half-lidded, you hear the sound of the door softly shutting and a click locking you inside.

“I don’t think you’re well enough to get home,” Sunday chides. You open your eyes to see him again at your side, sitting upright above you with his typical stately, regal air. He runs his thumb across your cheek in a smooth, calculated sweep before leaning intently over you, which allows his halo to cast a shadow of thorns that covers your exhausted form. His other hand keeps your head still while he tries to rhythmically give you headpats, which you aren’t taking too well. 

“Poor thing, you couldn’t handle the contents of your drink well enough,” he says, thinking more to himself than to you. “But now, it seems that you really do have a reason to stay here tonight…”

Half an hour earlier, you wondered if he had planned this in advance, but the answer now seems to be obvious. You clumsily attempt to sit up as you speak, grasping the armrests for support. 

“Mr. Sunday, you’re being very pushy, you know…” you trail off, using the last of what remains of your little energy to make a truthful retort. 

He only responds with a chuckle as genuine as your confession— what you can only assume is a rare show of honesty. 

“That’s… quite a blunt thing to say—” Sunday’s expression looks more taken aback than he’d like it to, though he recollects himself in a matter of seconds. “—though I'd like to think of it as being opportunistic.” 

Smugly smiling to himself, Sunday takes the opportunity to take off your hat, only slightly wrinkled. He plants his fingers within the strands of your hair, giving it a harsh pull that catches you off-guard. You clench your teeth and let out a minuscule whine in protest.

With that, he whispers something to himself, which you make the mistake of paying no mind to.

Sunday remains unspeaking for the next few moments, and your quivering lips unwillingly seal themselves shut for the time being. You let your many worries be lulled away by the following silence that is only interrupted by Sunday softly singing a lullaby, an unknown tune that seems to sedate you, quite inexplicably. The new baritone hum engulfs you and blissfully drowns out any concerns that you have. You don’t bother to question where this newfound state of bliss has come from— or why the warm rays of light emanating from Sunday’s halo are making you woozy. 

“C-cold…” you cry out as Sunday pushes against your neck’s pulse point with his covered index finger. He makes routine shushing noises while moving his index finger towards your mouth once more, which he simply rests on top of your lips. You tremble against the frigid chill that seeps through the gentle hands that gingerly caress your chin, out of the glove’s intricate cross. 

Reveling in your shaking nervousness, Sunday attentively studies every other part of you. He takes in all of it with unbridled excitement in his eager, starlit eyes. Fortunately, he lets you look away when he suddenly pulls your hand close to his cheek— instead of your face, all of Sunday’s focus is now on tenderly caring for your hand. With his own two hands, he moves the back of yours to touch his lips, planting kisses all the way up to your knuckles. 

Sunday keeps at this for a while before moving you to be on top of his lap, which he does with ease. As you open your mouth to speak, however, you feel your whines being muffled by the very hands that have gotten too close to you. 

“Not many have a level of skill that matches yours. I would be very disappointed in you if tonight were to be the end of our professional relationship.” Sunday states earnestly, pulling you closer to him so you can see his seemingly innocent smile. 

You try to pull at the arm covering your nose and mouth, but before you can he has both your hands pinned behind your back. He sighs, disappointed at your attempts to fight him. 

“However, I’m not willing to work with someone so uncooperative. I’d much rather have someone more amenable, more compliant. You can be both of those things, can’t you?” 

You squirm from within Sunday’s tight hold on you, unable to get away from his whispers flowing directly into your ears and his warm breath on your skin. Soon, he finally removes his hand from your mouth, leaving a thin thread of drool that eventually breaks. Your sharp, erratic breaths turn into more consistent ones, and you begin to form hazy thoughts.

The terms of your contract for this current project weren’t set that long ago, and he had signed it. But what did a simple contract signify to a man who had already forgone professional protocol just hours ago? However, even though the contract was broken, you couldn’t just lose one of your most generous, eminent clients…

“Now, I’ll ask you once again: are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?” Sunday asks with noticeable reverence in his voice. He shifts his position to kneel next to your limp body, lethargically laying on the plush cushions of the couch once again.

"No- I’ll stay..." After a hesitant pause, you finally acquiesce with a stutter that makes the winged man looking down at you lovingly bring his forehead to touch yours. A few of his lustrous silver locks touch your clenched jaw. 

Accepting Sunday’s request is all you can do in this situation— the choice was never yours to make. 

"Very good, very good…” he says with another laugh. A satisfied grin continues to widen on Sunday’s face, looking perfectly in place. You flinch and back away when he brings a hand closer to you.

“You needn’t be so panicked, dear… after all, there won’t be anyone else here to hear you.” He stretches his wings to cover his victorious, anticipating smile, which only leaves his eyes for you to see. Sunday peels away the silk of his gloves from his untouched hands, leaving fingers that have yet to explore you. He doesn’t say anything as he comfortably lets himself rest on top of you, putting each of his thighs on either side of you. Sunday’s knees start to squeeze your hips, still clothed— but not for long given the desperate way his fists form balls from the fabric that will not cling to you for much longer. His lips plant another firm kiss against your neck once again— but this time, it is in victory.

“That took a lot of convincing.” 

---

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[wooahaeproductions]

Drawing Our Time

Lee Jihoon (Woozi) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 300

Warnings: none, I think

Rating: G

A/N: I’m sorry this is so short but I felt it was cute and it’s based of a dream that @itshiningdk sent in an ask! I hope I brought your dream to life a little bit Vic! It’s kind of in the same universe as A Place in the Sun if people would like to read that as well. Also thank you to Haneul @chanranghaeys for looking this over for me 🫶~ Maren

The only sounds to be heard in Jihoon’s studio were the clacking of a computer keyboard, the clicking of the mouse, and the scritching of a charcoal pencil against paper. He was finishing up some production details on a song while you were working on sketching something.

It hadn’t been too long since Jihoon had set up a small desk area for you across from his own. You hung out in his studio all the time anyway, so he figured it was time you had your own space rather than trying to draw while sitting on the old couch on the other side of the room. He had made the space in his studio yours, something you shared, rather than just his.

With one final click of the mouse as he hit the save icon, Jihoon had finished the last bit of the song. He looked up to see what you were doing and found you completely absorbed in your drawing, your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrated. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you were drawing him.

You had been sneaking small glances at him the entire time he had been working, sketching the different angles of his face as he worked. You looked up once more, trying to perfect the contours of his nose when your eyes finally met. Jihoon couldn’t help it, the corners of his mouth turned up and he gave the biggest smile ever. You smiled back, returning his rare gesture. A perfect moment that was only yours and Jihoon’s.

©️wooahaeproductions

All works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works.

[quibbs126]

So it’s half sketches, but instead of that being because I was too lazy to color the rest, it’s instead because I kind of got carried away doing only sketches. And then I figured I should probably line and color at least some of them, so here we are

So this is more from that sort of Mega Man AU I made up yesterday, with some updated designs for Optimus and Megatron, and a new one for Elita

I decided to use my marker pen again for lineart, since I haven’t used it in a fair bit, but admittedly the lines may have been too thick, which I think you can especially see with the faces. But oh well

Elita’s design is still a bit of a work in progress. I thought it looked fine in sketch form, but looking at it now, she might need more reworking, particularly with her head. It kind of looks like she’s wearing a wrestler’s mask, which personally I’m not a big fan of

Also she has hair, because a lot of Mega Man, or at least Mega Man X designs, have hair, so I figured might as well try it out here. I couldn’t settle on a hair color though, or at least one that fit while not blending in with her other colors. I may just scrap it in all honesty, but I think she may need more around her head regardless

But as for Elita in this AU? I’m thinking she’s more a loner, or she has her own team rather than working with this duo. She’s friendly, at least to Optimus, but she’d rather work by her own rules. And as stated before, she’s very over the top anime

She also has a double sided axe here as opposed to Optimus’ single sided, but that might change later if I feel like it

She kind of gives me Protoman vibes? It’s probably because of the glasses, and also because my head’s been rattling around with this one Elita idea for a bit. Namely of her and Optimus being rebuilt by Alpha Trion like in g1, but instead of being rebuilt at the same time, Elita-1 was built some time before Optimus, being Alpha’s first attempt while Optimus was the second. Which kind of fits with Protoman’s origin

It might be her origin here too? I’m not sure how much I want to deal with creators in this story, since in Mega Man the robots very much have creators, while in Transformers that’s not so much the case

She might just be like, Optimus’ cool older sister

On to other things in this AU, so I decided to look up videos on Mega Man X lore to get more knowledge, considering it’s the basis for this AU. So the Maverick Virus is what makes Reploids go crazy and cause issues. So I might incorporate some sort of virus into this story as well?

Like either the Decepticons are basically like Mavericks, infected by the virus and gone crazy, or this is after the war and a virus outbreak has been making bots crazy, possibly targeting Decepticons for some reason. Maybe the former

But also I learned that apparently it was the Maverick Virus was what made Zero chill, because it changed programming and he was evil before that. And I’m considering having this also be the case for Megatron here

Originally it was just as a joke, like I thought it’d be funny if he was crazy and then the crazy virus made him chill instead. But I’ve thought about it a bit more, and I kind of want it legitimately

Like okay, here Optimus and Megatron are the top bots in dealing with the infected bots. Not just because of their strength, but because neither can get infected themselves. Optimus has the Matrix, which gives him protection, but Megatron is just seemingly immune to the virus

Unbeknownst to anyone else however, he isn’t immune at all, and he’s been infected with it for years. However, instead of turning him mad, it cleared his mind and instead made him far more calm, and he ended up instead working with Optimus and his group to stop these other violent bots

He knows this, but he hasn’t told anyone else about his situation, because of several reservations. For starters, his team is meant to take out infected bots, which means they might turn on him, or misunderstand that it doesn’t affect him the way it’s supposed to and think he’s going to turn rogue. He’s also been working with them for a while, so the fact that he’s been keeping this secret might be seen as a betrayal, and he doesn’t want to lose these people he considers friends

There’s also been work towards finding a cure, and he doesn’t want to be cured. He was violent and full of nothing but rage before, he doesn’t want to go back to that. He isn’t fully sure if that’s what would happen if he was cured, but he doesn’t want to take that chance. It’s also a reason why he doesn’t tell Optimus, because the Matrix makes him immune and is considered the best bet for a cure, and Optimus might unintentionally do so, or with good intentions (Megatron tries to generally avoid the Matrix on missions for the same reasons)

But also it gives him questions he doesn’t like having, like why is he seemingly the only person affected differently? And/or if the virus is meant to disrupt and alter intended programming, does that mean he was always intended to be a violent maniac? Why? Why was he made this way? And is he wrong to be the way he is now?

But yeah, Megatron’s got stuff going on. Will probably come up for conflict later

Also megop’s probably a thing here? I have it that they live together, as you can see in the top right. Also while Optimus may not be the gremlin TFO Orion is, he does not sleep gracefully whatsoever. It’s a bit annoying to Megatron but he ultimately doesn’t mind. It was just supposed to be a funny thing, but yeah there’s probably megop here

And I think that’s it for now. I have a couple ideas for Arcee and maybe some for Bumblebee, so I’ll probably do more of this. Also I’m planning on trying out the Mega Man games too, since I saw they’re on the eShop

I also need a name for this AU probably

[sherryclover]

Hiii, i really liked your oc and thought she had a really cute outfit, so i wanted to do a lil sketch but went a bit overboard and it turned into a bit more than a sketch ldfdsfdfsjfjgldfkj hope its okay i drew her

＼(^^)／

ASCGUFVHGBJ OH MY GOSH?? SHES ADORBSS AND OFC ITS OK YOU DREW HERR IM REALLY HONORED! 💕💕 I LOVE THIS SO MUCHHH TYSMMM💛💛‼️‼️

[naholuy17]

I've finally finished the fairies!

I wanted to finish Layla in the morning, but the drivers of my graphics tablet died and I had to install them back for several hours (I'm godlessly stupid in technology). That's why I was only able to finish the drawing now.

Layla was harder for me than anyone else. There was no ready-made sketch for her, so I had to come up with a design in the process. In the end, it was difficult for me to choose colors for her clothes and I was ready to gnaw on the countertop. But I like that her transformation turned out to be a bit majestic. I love Layla.

In general, it was a lot of fun to work with Muse. I wanted to keep the bold style of her image and add more oriental style, because it's obvious that the planet of the Muse is a reference to China (correct me if I'm wrong). As a result, her image preserves the culture of her homeland, but it is more daring than the traditional image (because the Muse is a teenager, a little rebellious). I also liked the idea that a Muse could wear her mother's earrings.

The main group of fairies is finished! I didn't think I'd really be able to finish it (because I often drop my projects), but I did!

I could draw a few more characters and start drawing a little comic book. Good luck for me not to die in the process!

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

What up y'all! I return bearing what was originally gonna be survival!shipping fluff (I sketch the face first and drew young Garmadon instead of his full Oni version) but morphed into this because my ass was listening to Ethel Cain and Flower Face while drawing. Honestly I took it and wound up playing rendering/color and quite frankly I'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out!

Translations: Vertical word- Destruction, bottom text- "You are no man, men don't have claws they can't cut."

Garmadon is my favorite character to use for these more painterly metaphorical art studies because:

A) He's my babygirl and favorite character, this is very well established lol

B) He's a fundamentally tragic character. He's doomed by the narrative in every sense of the word, he was a child when he was bit and after that he was left to deal with the fact that there was this evil snake in his head and his father as well as his brother (seemingly the only people he interacted with as a child) were now somewhat afraid of him. By his young adulthood his relationship with his family begins to strain due to their belief he's "turning evil" especially when going on the quest for tea leaves in Spinjitzu Brothers which shows he actually feels rather upset/angry that his brother and father believe he's turning evil simply because he experiences negative emotions (you know like a normal person) but then after he see's himself in the mirror in book three he goes on a downward spiral believing he's doomed to turn evil and be alone. We don't really know what happens after book four since the fifth and final book never came out but it's easy to assume that the tea didn't work and Garmadon is left all the worse for it coming out of the trip with his mental health in the gutter. We don't know to much about what happens in-between then and when he goes to Chen's Island but we do know that he doesn't seem to have gotten better since in Shatterspin he's still pretty self sacrificing and other people have begun to notice his less than stellar mental state.

Then we know what happens after the war, his mind is consumed and he is left to be less than himself. Even then when he comes back from the underworld we see that he still cares about his son, he kills the Great Devourer, he still wants to be a person. At the end of season two he gets what he wants, he cured, and for the time that he is fully himself for the first time in years he begins to apologize and try to make up for all that he did (even if it lowkey wasn't 100% his fault seeing he was being controlled by an evil snake), but even that didn't last. He dies, or moreover sacrifices himself to save Ninjago from Chen's Anacondrai army, but he dies a good person, he gets a memorial and family that mourns the truest version of himself. And then he was brought back again, ripped from the afterlife but only as half of himself, only the evil side, the side he spent thousands of years repressing until he couldn't anymore and regretted the second he was himself again. Despite that despite the fact it is supposedly only his evil side left he is still trying to be good, with the Garmadon comics showing his desire for redemption and his care for his son even in what he had thought to be his dying moments.

I think this is what makes one of the beginning lines from the Garmadon comics all the more tragic "Who knows what life he may have lived had he not been corrupted by the Great Devourer and cast into the underworld." He might have gotten to live a different life, he may have gotten to be happy and not fear what he might become, he might not have had to die multiple times over, but we'll never know because that's not what happened instead his fate was twisted by something completely and utterly out of his control.

So yeah he's a little fucked up and that's why he's my favorite! Hope y'all enjoyed my long winded rant, I have so many opinions on this man and don't even get me started on how much I hate crystalized for how it fucked up his development from the comics, but uhhh I think that's it!

If you want to you can check out my fic What Doesn't Kill You it's mostly me putting him in a jar and putting him under a microscope lol, other than that I hope yall have a great day/night and I'll see you when I appear from the mist again! PEACE OUT!

[the-pumpkin-king-lament]

Jack glowed.

Rare was the compliment for his art, but Jack didn't exactly perform show-and-tell either. His sketches, like this messy room, were unedited glimpses into the caverns of Jack's brain. The spongiest parts, too-- his bits and pieces trying to bleed their way out into the real world, hungry to be more than just a fleeting idea.

If he were a normal person, maybe he'd take this feeling and try to recreate it. He'd think to himself, let's open a fuckin' Instagram art account. He'd take commissions. He'd draw comics again, this time to entertain people. He'd turn his nightmares into content and get lots of likes and sponsorships and money. He'd leave his performing career behind.

But Jack wasn't normal.

He didn't draw for money.

He didn't perform for money.

It didn't matter how rich and successful and famous Jack got. He'd always have something dark and hungry at his heels, salivating for more.

But hey. At least Oz gave him the gift of one normal moment, in which Jack was an artist and nothing more.

He swiped the phone and shifted on the bed again. He took a couple of pictures at different levels of zoom. So the tattoo artist, whoever it would be, could see those details.

"Ah, should've established that before I finished, Ozzy Oz. Thought you were a businessman," said Jack. He showed his teeth, like a shark. "Now I get to say you owe me."

@oswaldxmarks

Inked Fallacies || Jaz

[doesephs]

jean moreau has endured more than the entirety of france collectively

[wasyago]

on a lunch break

[yunyin]

This was my original Loveybug sketch, but when I was finishing it, it just wasn't working for me! I like it as is, but I think the other one worked out for the best.

[sad-leon]

(good future) Finding Home Pride edition <3

Trans Leo pride is something I see a lot, but personally, FH Leo wouldn't celebrate his gender. He grew up around Gali, who went through a lot of gender struggles, especially in his younger years, and with the brothers being so accepting, it's just another part of his life

But his lack of romantic attraction? That's something that stands out to him. He sees the brothers with their own attractions and crushes and such and realizes he stands out. He's different. But that's okay because he's still him and he's still valid

anyways~ it's pride month, which means i get to be even more annoying about aro pride ^-^

that final shot without text:

[caeslxys]

revelations your flesh