#without immediately drawing something angsty

[ghostbeam]

1.3k words Bakugou Katsuki x reader, aged up characters, Bakugou is an art student, a little angsty, he’s kind of a huge asshole in this at some point but he’s kind of just trying to get under reader’s skin, I’m so out of practice in writing him I hope it’s okay, set in the same universe as my charcoal artist!Dabi and oil painter!Tomura, sorry if this sucks and is pretentious

Bakugou’s studio is impeccable. 

Everything has a place. His tools are all lined up, hammers and chisels and rasps all hanging from nails stuck into a large board on a wall. Beneath them are three tool carts filled with various electric saws and files, all placed meticulously. Besides that is a hand truck, you assume for moving the bigger sculptures he works on. He has one corner of the room reserved for all of his statues and uncarved stones, the largest ones pushed towards the back. The smallest stones and sculptures sit on tables near by, all set—what you have to guess—an inch apart from one another. There’s a standing desk with shelves of art books and comics beneath it. The entire middle of the room is covered in a tarp that looks immaculate, like he’s never worked a day in his life on top of it, though you know that’s not true judging from the half finished giant stone sitting atop of the clean tarp, tools sitting on the last step of the stool he’s using to reach the top of the sculpture. It’s draws your eyes immediately upon walking in—the stone that looks as though something is crawling from inside of it. 

The last wall is covered in brown sketching paper, three rolls of it mounted on one side so that it can be stretched across the entirety of the wall. The paper is filled with a multitude of sketches and scribbles, notes scrawled across that you can barely read due to the obvious urgency they were written with. 

Being inside of his studio feels personal—intimate—like you’re taking a peak inside of his brain, but Bakugou doesn’t seem to mind. Tearing your eyes away from the giant in the middle of the room, you watch him bring an extra stool to the table he’s cleared for the two of you to work on. 

The project is simple. You’re both meant to agree on one artist with an emphasis on a single medium of theirs. Both a seven slide powerpoint and a six page essay are due about the topic. Bakugou was assigned to be you’re partner. Despite his obvious bad attitude and the constant frown he wears, he was surprisingly open to working with you. You let him pick the artist, but he wouldn’t let you leave without choosing the medium. So even though your interest in your major is slowly deteriorating, you chose the first one that came to mind. 

So now you sit in Bakugou’s studio (brain, heart, soul), listening to him as he explains the importance of your artist during their time period, eyes flickering between the text in your book and the stone in the middle of the room. 

“Stop.” Bakugou’s voice snaps you out of the trance you’re in, swiveling your stool between the textbook in front of you and the stone to your right. You feel his hand come down on your knee, pausing your movements so that you’re facing him. 

“Huh?” You ask, eyeing the size of his hand on your leg. 

“Moving back and forth like that. It’s distracting.” Distracting. If only he knew how distracting his giant stone with the person/monster/angel crawling up out of it has been for you. 

“What is it?” You ask him, spinning your stool again so that you’re facing the unfinished sculpture. His hand slips from your knee. 

He glances at it for a moment before shrugging, “I dunno yet.”

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Exactly what I said.” He sighs, already annoyed with the conversation. “I don’t know what it is yet. I have to keep going until I—”

“Free it.” You interrupt, eyes still on the stone. “Until you free whatever’s inside, right.”

He’s quiet for a moment, head turned towards you as you observe his statue. You see him nod out the corner of your eye. “Yeah. I have to free it.”

When you look back at him, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. Gone is the permanent frown across his lips, the harsh line between his eyebrows. You think maybe its curiosity, maybe suspicion. 

What it really is, though, is that Bakugou is suddenly struck with the feeling of being understood. And he didn’t have to tell you a thing. One look at his rocks and you saw it. He’s not sure how to feel.

“I used to feel like that.” You tell him. His frown returns. You recognize that feeling, like something deep inside is screaming to get out, that feeling that you have to set it free or it’ll die inside of you. You used to feel that way every time you pushed your brush into a blank canvas. 

“But you don’t anymore.” He gathers. There’s a harshness to his voice, almost angry, but not angry at you—angry for you. 

“I think I lost it. I think art school sucked the life out of me.” Whatever spark you had died inside of you like you always worried it would. 

“That’s bullshit.” He tells you. He stands from his stool and pulls you up with him. He drags you to the giant stone in the middle of the room, and up close you can see the cross hatching he’s done to it at the top where the limbs seem to start. “You can’t keep your eyes off of this. It’s making you feel something.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything anymore. You’re just talented.” You shrug.

“I know I’m talented.” He scoffs. “That’s not what you care about. You care that she gets out. You care that I turn this cold, unforgiving piece of solid fucking rock into something beautiful.”

“Or horrifying.” 

“It’s not gonna be horrifying.” He speaks, his lips close to your ear as he keeps you turned toward the stone. 

“You said you don’t know until it’s done.” You shiver.

“No, you said that.”

“You didn’t disagree.”

“Stop fucking—” He sighs loudly from behind you. “Yes, freeing it is a part of it. But I already know what it becomes. I knew the moment I hauled that fucking stone into this room. And you know it too.”

You don’t think you do, but Bakugou says this to you with such conviction, you think you believe him. You turn around, breaking yourself from the hypnosis the rock has put you under. 

“I thought it was weird that you didn’t jump at the chance to choose our artist. I had to practically force you to choose the medium. Maybe art school sucked the life out of you, but you let it.” The truth is harsh, makes you flinch away from him, but his hand reaches out for your wrist to bring you back. 

“You don’t have to be so fucking mean.” You wrench your wrist from his grip. 

“You think this is mean?” He spits. “You paint, and you sketch, and if you fuck up, you paint over it or you erase it. If you fuck up with this—” his palm slams against the stone in a loud thud next to your head. “—that’s it. It doesn’t forgive you.”

“So what? I’m some kind of lesser artist cause I don’t chip off pieces of stone? Fuck you.” You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“No, you’re a lesser artist because you gave up.” He takes another step forward, his nose just inches from your own. “Whenever you wanna resurrect whatever the fuck died inside of you, you know where to find me.”

He’s off of you in a second, halfway across the room by the time you catch your breath. Squaring your shoulders, you march your way toward him. You hate that he’s right, even if only a little bit. His sculpture did make you feel something. They all did. You haven’t felt that excitement in such a long time, or that jealous pit in your stomach you used to get whenever someone was so good at something it made you want to be better. You envy him. How could a place that slowly ruined you build and mold a man like him?

“I didn’t give up.” You seethe. He turns towards you, towering over you with that same frown on his face, but his eyes have that familiar look in them from when you spoke about his giant.

“Prove it.”

[paddockbunny]

Repeat Offender

Summary : Charles is recently single and quickly finds himself in a "friends with benefits" situation with none other than his ex-girlfriend's best friend.

Rating : 18+, Mature

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x Reader

Word Count : 7, 345

Trigger Warnings : 18+, Mature & Adult themes, Angsty, FWB situation, PinV sex, Unprotected sex, Oral (female receiving), slight choking, c*m talk & language

Authors Note : Firstly, I had around five or six requests for a newly single charles or rebounding charles so I've amalgamated them all into one. Thank you for the inspo to all of those who requested something to do with this. I'm trying out some first person stuff on this one so although it's labelled as "reader" YOU are in fact the author/reader if that makes sense. I also don't mention Charles' ex by name and that is very much on purpose as I keep my blog as IRL WAG free as possible so none of my stories will feature any of their names, hope you can all understand why. Anyway, this is LOOOOOONG so it has not been proofread yet.

You know when you wake up but your not fully awake yet, you’re like conscious but not alert? Well, that was exactly how I was feeling as the room was ever so slightly spinning and the faint memory of strawberry daiquiri's and vodka shots were beginning to flash across my eyes. So was the deafening sound of the music, the ache in the arches of my feet from stupid heels and the feeling of hands creeping around my waist pulling my ass against a firm crotch while dancing. Then as I slowly crept more and more into consciousness I felt the slight ache from my thighs kick in and the feeling my body had been through it.

Finally, after summoning up the energy to do it, I managed to open my eyes. They felt heavy and dense and I realised there was no way I had made it home because I had slept in my make-up - and regardless of whatever state I was in I would always manage to stumble into the bathroom to at least wipe most of the night out greasepaint off of my face so the fact it was still firmly in place meant the worst. As my vision was struggled to focus I wriggled around in a rather comfortable bed and attempted to pull myself up without a wave of nausea lash upon me. Exactly how much did I fucking drink last night? But then as eventually my eyes concentrated on something and a very loud groan reverberated from my throat. The familiar bright coloured art work that hung from the white wall across from the bottom of the bed was like a vicious, unwelcome enemy. I had studied it far too many times to count and each time it got worse and worse. It was like the eyes of T. J Eckleburg in The Great Gatsby, but instead of the judgment of an inanimate object upon American society, this horrendous painting was judging my piss poor decisions of the night prior which lead me to waking up in this damn bed, once again. And as my stomach lurched I had to force myself to make sure I was in the bed of the man whom the awful painting belonged to.

At an almost glacier pace my head began to turn. Crawling up the sheet clad outline of a pair of calves, knees and up to big, broad thighs and into the covered - yet barely - crotch. The outline of his cock almost visible through the white cotton that was practically failing to protect his modesty. His hips were next, then the outline of abs which yeah ok - I can admit it, I’ve traced with my tongue before so sue me. Then I couldn’t do it any longer. I was just drawing things out. I snapped my head immediately up to his and yup! It was Charles.

“Oh fuck!” I groaned loudly and with an eye roll I drew my hands over my face. Listen, you might be thinking “he’s fucking hot as hell, probably an incredible shag and I’d love to know how big his cock is” but, it’s all the other stuff that goes along with these nights of drunken yet passionate sex with Charles that makes me sick to my stomach each time I wake up here. You see Charles had so much awkward baggage that spilled over into my own life and I really went through several stages of self loathing when I left his apartment and had the embarrassing walk of shame home the next day. “Good morning to you too.” He scoffed loudly but by this point I knew he probably felt as guilt-ridden and dismayed as I felt.

Silence had momentarily befallen us. All I heard was the quick typing of his thumbs hitting his phone screen. It was almost annoying. That incessant tap, tappy tappy tappy, tap, tap as he typed whatever was in his head into a text or whatever he was doing. I couldn’t help it, I rolled my eyes and thought how likely it was that he was probably texting one of his friends telling them how the pair of us had hooked up AGAIN! Most likely he was asking for their advice on how to get me out of his bed. Not that he needed any because there was no way in hell I felt like staying. I wanted to get out of here as badly and he wanted to kick me out. Just as I moved to sit upright a bit more and try search for my stomach lurched and I had to take a few deep breaths not to feel the effects of last nights alcohol. Something which unfortunately Charles noticed and as he asked if I was suffering from a the dreaded hangover, sarcasm laced thick in his voice.

“Why does this always happen? Why do we do this?” I sighed while letting out a long, drawn out exhale. The question hung in the air and I could feel Charles’ eyes suddenly burrowing into the side of my head. I knew there were words teetering on the tip of his tongue and could practically hear his brain working out a response that sounded appropriate for me but thankfully, he remained in silence. There was no doubt he would have been regretting whatever things happened last night as much as I was and yet, he didn’t seem particularly consumed by guilt. He seemed rather carefree right now so scoff I closed my eyes in an attempt to piece the puzzle together remember what the fuck happened last night.

The music was far too loud but the fourth fruity cocktail I currently clasped in my hand made me rather immune and numb to it. I danced just like all the other girls out in the middle of the crowded dance floor. Hips swaying side to side in time with the rhythm. Hair swishing around without a care in the world. Feet aching in stupid stilettos. To have looked at me in that moment anyone would be forgiven for thinking I was a party girl. One of those glamorous girls always out on the town, partying, blowing cash (boys and snow* too probably) but really I hated going out. I hated the stress of finding something to wear, doing the whole routine of make-up and hair and then feeling like I was in the middle of a cattle market. At least the men in Monaco happened to be rich and therefore no girls spent a dime all night from all the free drinks that would get bought. And the fact that someone in my group always seemed to know someone else in another and that meant VIP was inevitable. And I mean come on, who wouldn’t want to be sat in VIP?! Which was funnily enough, where Amelie was pulling me in the direction of and then I sighed when I saw why.

Sat in a booth was none other than Charles and his gang of buddies that I really wish would have been anywhere else in the world tonight and not in this nightclub. As soon as he looked around and saw me heading toward him I swear he rolled his eyes.

“Fucking hello to you too Charles.” I thought, muttering under my breath while I and rolled my own eyes back at him sarcastically. And that was when my mind flashed back to the last time we saw each other. It had been at that shitty dinner where I actually felt sorry for him having to sit the whole night flashing googly eyes at his ex girlfriend hoping she would notice him even though the night before he had had his cock shoved down my throat, me! The one he spent the entire time ignoring. But the thing was, I knew one thing he didn’t and that was she was already moving on with someone who might have been too close too home for him to even comprehend. Yet, with his attitude I said nothing and allowed him to remain in purgatory. Sad thing was, she never even so much as glanced at him the whole meal. Then I remembered what happened after, once everyone had drank heavily and shared cars home. It hadn’t been the first time (nor the second, third or fourth and was actually more like the eleventh or twelfth) that Charles had put the moves on me and I stupidly succumbed to his seductions. But now as I reached the table the thought of his hands being between my thighs, his fingers caressing my desperate clit with the door to his apartment wide open behind us in an utterly voyeuristic display - one that I would never have pegged him as the type to enjoy - danced teasingly through my thoughts. He slid into the booth a little more and nodded in the direction of the now vacant faux leather seat beside him for me to sit in. He looked good tonight and for once that wasn’t the alcohol in my system talking. He seemed to be in good spirits and I figured he must have been celebrating a good race. It was neutral ground so I thought it was something I could talk to him about. When I went to open my mouth to do exactly so, my words were swallowed by his; “Have you seen her recently?” Your mouth parted slightly before closing. You had to bite your tongue before you said something to the effect of “fuck off” or “fuck you” and quickly shook your head to respond to him. Then loudly from across the table one of his friends shouted loudly “shots” and thankfully it distracted Charles from pushing the conversation toward her like he wanted.

Several shots were taken and yet another strong strawberry daiquiri was being drunk while having as everyone sat at the table has as much of a conversation as possible over the loud thumping music. I raised my voice as I leaned forward to answer one of the questions Charles’ friends had asked me. We had met before and yet he did that typical male thing of forgetting who I was and therefore I had to tell him all over again much to my slight annoyance and dismay. But as I was explaining what I did for a living, I stuttered when suddenly I felt the flesh of soft fingertips ghost up and down my bare naked thigh. The action almost made me brake my calm, collected exterior. He couldn’t be serious? We had barely spoken since I sat down nearly an hour ago and as his thumb stroked up and down the skin of my inner thigh I glanced at him. He wasn’t even paying attention, he was doing it just for the sake of it, because he could. And so without a single thought I decided it was time to go and dance again. I wanted to put distance between him and I because we would only end up doing what was by now becoming a habit and falling into bed together.

As I grabbed Amelie and pulled her back to dance with me, I could feel the familiar pulsating throb from between my thighs at the thought of Charles. I tried to push the thoughts of him out of my brain as I began dancing and yet, it was a pointless task as all I kept thinking about was how badly I needed him and how he melted all of my annoyed thoughts of him away with a simple touch of his damn hand. The worst part was, just as Amelie and I settled into moving our bodies one of Charles’ friends rudely pushed between us. I was just about to argue and tell him to get lost when I suddenly felt hands creep around my waist. I didn’t need to look to know who they belonged too and I realised the intrusion in between me and my dance partner had been orchestrated.

“Running away from me?” Charles purred against the side of my neck. Why did he do this? Every single time we saw each other he always got underneath my skin. I hated him for it but I felt powerless against him and his cocky seduction techniques. His hands gripped my waist tighter as he pulled me back so I was flush against him. Our hips moving side to side while he got all the friction of my ass grinding against his crotch. “We said the last time was the last time.” “No. You did.” His words were more direct than I would have expected them to be. Almost like he was annoyed at me for implying I was about to turn him down - as if I could if I wanted too, just having the teasing action of his clothed cock so close to where I wanted it would have had me making a public embarrassment of myself right here in a nightclub. And without warning he used those lingering hands to turn me around to face him. “Let me take you home.” “No, Charles. We cannot keep doing this.” The sheer fact that when I spoke to him he was looking at my mouth instead of in my eyes made me want to kick him in the shin for being so vexing. But right as I was trying to convince myself to stand my ground against him he cast his eyes across my body and fuck, the things it did to me when he looked at me like that. “Charles, we’re playing with fire….”

“So? We’ll both burn together.” He shrugged nonchalantly. And I suddenly realised how we were no longer dancing and simply standing staring at each other while everyone else around us continued. In a regular situation - when alcohol wasn’t coursing through my body clouding my judgment - I would have felt self conscious but right now all I could think about was the fact he wanted me so badly he was out here making bold declarations. For a second the fact his first words to me earlier were about his ex girlfriend entered into my mind and a fleeting crushing feeling passed through my soul. He just wanted me to release his tension, not because he ACTUALLY wanted me. I zoned out briefly as I thought of how bad I always felt the next day and considered if I was strong enough to do it again. But as I was contemplating his hand travelled up to my neck and he made me look at him and I was gone. I wanted him to make me feel good.

How he managed to get us both out of the nightclub so easily I had no idea. His hand was wrapped around my wrist guiding me past hordes of people and out toward an exit. It took all but two minutes until we were in the back of a car heading back to his. It seemed too swift to me, too well thought out and I realised that he was so arrogant because he knew I would say yes and probably pre-arranged the car to pick us up. In that second I knew I should have been so pissed off and angry that he would think I was that easy but I let it slip again because I knew I was using him as much as he was using me. I liked the momentary, fleeting high he gave me. I was like a drug taker, he was the drug, and I was willing to take the short hits when I could. So I was every bit as bad as he was. Charles normally didn’t behave to politely in the back of the cars we took as we went back to his. His hands would be roaming, following suit with his mouth. He always made sure to light the match inside of me before we even got to the safety of his apartment. The fact he could be caught out, someone could tell, seemed to always be the furthest thing from his mind and so tonight, it was different. He sat further away and kept his hands very much to himself. And when I couldn’t help but glance across the car toward him and watched as his jaw seemed to clench I swallowed while nerves buzzed through my brain.

As soon as we got to his apartment building Charles called for the elevator and I couldn’t help but feel the same attitude radiating from him. It was the same attitude he had in the car and I thought about turning on my heels and leaving immediately. I didn't even know how to read him. Which meant I was so caught in the thought of trying to work him out that I missed the ding of the lift stopping on the lobby and sliding open. It wasn’t until Charles practically purred my name and held his hand out for me from inside the elevator that I snapped back into reality due to the look that filled his eyes. You knew it all too well. It was self assured, cocky confidence. He knew I couldn’t turn him down, I couldn’t turn his cock down, I craved it and what he could do with it too much. And so when my high heel clad feet crossed the marble floor and passed the iron thread hold of the lift I felt the surge of excitement buzz throughout my body.

The pair of us rode the elevator is silence but my hand remained firmly gripped in Charles’ and his thumb was delicately running over the back of my knuckles. It would be almost fucking romantic if there was any smidgen of a “normal” relationship between us. Now that I had registered the buzz of excitement I also felt the more steady and familiar hit of anxiety that went with it. It was pre-sex anxiety - that realistically I had no reason to have, this wasn’t my first rodeo (certainly not with Charles) but I still had it anyway. The silence would have been deafening to anyone else but right now I was kind of thankful for it. I didn’t want to chat because if I did I would feel guilt and I really didn’t want to feel guilty about what my body craved and desired above all else. The short ride up to Charles’ apartment ended when the lift door slid open and he gently pulled me out behind him. Fuck, I wish I had drunk more. Alcohol would have banished the unfair apprehension I was feeling. I leaned against the wall while Charles opened the door with his key. The curve of his shoulders made my mouth water. The thought of kissing his thick, strong neck while hearing the sound of pleasurable moans escape him sent a pulsating ache through my core. He pushed open the door and held it there with his hand, waiting for me to enter his abode first, ahead of him. And I mustered up all the confidence I could manage to saunter past him and glide into the hallway. The millions he took home from his career driving in fast circles paid off. Charles home was beautiful but like always, I wasn’t here to appreciate it.

Charles hands on my bare arms reminded me of that. He pressed against me from behind and I could feel his semi hard cock already straining against his jeans and I tried desperately to hold it back but a gasp escaped passed my lips as he moved my hair to the side to expose my neck to him. Fuck. The feel of his lips as they pressed delicate tender kisses against my flesh had my mind whirling. I pushed back into him more, instinct completely taking over, and a low groan rolled out of his parted lips and sent tingles up and down my spine. It was dangerous to have allowed myself to think it but I gave in and thought about how it would feel to have been his - properly, as a girlfriend - for all but a few fleeting seconds.

When Charles hands moved from my arms to my waist and I wasted no time. The alcohol came rushing back to me and I turned to him at breakneck speed. My lips finding his immediately. As my hands slowly glided upon the skin of his neck holding him to me. When I let out a small moan it was the sign he needed to start pushing me backward till my back pressed against a cold wall and his tongue pushed into my mouth. He tasted like the liquor he had consumed and as his tongue ran teasingly across my bottom lip he followed it with his teeth and it brought another moan from me, like he knew it would. Charles’ hands left my waist and I felt them slip down to my legs. His fingers skimming the outside of my thighs. I knew he wanted to push my dress up. He was growing impatient and that became very obvious when he yanked me away from the wall and pulled me through his house to his bedroom. The familiar surroundings welcomed me like a sneaky comrade. The walls practically smirked as I was pulled in by Charles. I could become accustomed to these plush surroundings if he saw me as more than a just a hook-up but that was a fucking dumb idea.

My dress was off faster than I knew what was happening. It was around my ankles on the floor and Charles was already making fast work of removing his shirt. His eyes hungrily fixed on my bare chest. He was practically wolf like as his eyes remained on my skin the whole time. I would have blushed if I had been less confident. “Take them off.” It was the first time he spoke since we had left the club. “You heard me.” He flashed his eyes down toward the thin scrap of black lace material that could barely behold the name of underwear. As my eyes travelled down to where his hands were working on ridding himself of his jeans I realised I wasn’t ready to allow him to have all the fun. “No.” I stated. “Take them off me.” My stomach flipped and I watched as a smirk disappeared from his face as quick as it appeared.

“That’s how you want it huh?” He abandoned trying to remove his jeans and his hand suddenly went to my neck and held me firmly before he used it to push me backward on to the bed. My heart hastily quickened. It hammered against my rib cage so quickly it began to hurt. I looked up at him full of expectation but he wasted no time in hooking his fingers around the sides of the only material left on my body and roughly pulling them down my legs and off completely. I watched Charles as he took me in. His eyes casting over and lingering in all the important areas. I bit my bottom lip as my own eyes mimicked his and I took in his perfectly sculpted chest and then his defined muscular abs. The lines on his hips that were line a tempting signal down toward his now erect cock, standing to full attention. He watched me watching him and cockily laughed. “Go on.” He tilted his head and I knew exactly what he was referring too. He wanted head. He wanted me to blow him. And I would have, I would have blown him till my jaw ached and throat couldn’t take anymore, but I reminded him that he wasn’t getting full control.

Much to Charles surprise, I pulled my ankles up and put myself on full display for him. I played him at his own game. If he wanted me to go down on him he had to do it first. I held his gaze and so when he laughed again I wasn’t so sure he was as willing to be a giver as much as a taker, but within a few agonising moments he proved me wrong. Charles was down on his knees and instantly pulled your legs up so you could rest them on his shoulders. And although it was something of an embarrassing confession to make, all of the times we had had sex, Charles had never gone down on me. Not once. So now that his head was between my thighs, mouth so tantalisingly close, eyes locked on to mine, I held my breath in anticipation. Charles gently ran his fingers up and down my dampening folds. I swallowed the breath that was caught in my throat as Charles finally licked a slow, teasing stripe that followed the pattern of his fingers moments earlier. He repeated the action over and over again. Using it to torment me. My hands grabbed hold of the sheets, fingers entwined in the high thread count duvet, when Charles began to pay attention to my pulsating, throbbing clit. Small, short flutters were mixed in with strong kisses. And then a loud exhale left my lips as he pushed two of his fingers inside me.

“Char….” I couldn’t get his name out. My breathing was erratic and all I could think about was what his mouth was doing. As his tongue continued lapping at my clit, his fingers curled up inside of me and Charles immediately found and started massaging that magical spot that made me gasp. And he continued even when I shoved my hands through his hair and gripped on for dead life. My eyes squeezed tightly shut as I felt the first high of an orgasm fast approaching. Swear words were all I could manage. My mouth going between wide open to get as much air as I possibly could and tightly shut with my top teeth digging into my bottom lip practically drawing blood. I was almost so lost in the beginning of the wave of euphoric pleasure that I missed the moan Charles made as he felt my walls start to convulse around his fingers. Fuck. How and why did I not beg for him to do this to me sooner? He was far too good at it. It was borderline obscene how good he was at it. And totally criminal that he had never gone down on me before. Right as I felt every nerve in my body begin to be ignited with the high of a climax Charles removed his mouth and in its place used the fingers of his other hand to draw rapid circles against my clit. The motion made me loose complete control of my mind and his name burst free from my mouth as wave upon wave of ecstasy crashed upon me. The high was undeniable. It took hold of my body and I felt myself quivering as he slipped his fingers out of me, covered in the product of my orgasm.

“Look at me.” Charles voice came quietly but strongly and I did as he requested. I opened my eyes and looked down at where he still remained, between my thighs. He held my stare as he ran the fingers he had brought me to orgasm with back up and down my now dripping folds. A small tremor shuddered through my thighs as he did so. And then with my eyes trained straight on his he raised his fingers to his mouth and licked them. It took a second to register the feeling that I felt in that moment but as he raised to his feet and I saw his cock rock hard, with its purpling tip already leaking pre-cum, I knew it was one that filled me with unashamed excitement. “Turn over.” He demanded and I relinquished the control I had won earlier so easily. Not because he wanted me too but because I wanted too. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than for Charles to fucking rail me into oblivion. I turned and got on all fours on the bed. Ass facing him. It was a position I had come to realise was one of his favourites. Sure he liked watching my boobs bounce as I rode him cowgirl and sometimes if he was feeling slightly more tired he’d fuck missionary, but Doggy was his favourite (like most guys). The momentary lapse of concentration earned me a firm thwack of his hand against the round flesh of my ass. I yelped and lunged forward and I felt the enjoyment radiating off of him. I doubted she let him do that, I doubted she would have enjoyed it. I moaned and after I wiggled my hips around a little he did it again so that a more audible whimper left my mouth.

“Fuck me…” I knew it was what he wanted to hear so I gave it to him. “Please, Charles….” I added more good measure and sure enough, he pulled my hips back and immediately ran his leaking cock over my sensitive folds to collect the mixture of his spit and my juices.

As he lined up at my entrance and pushed the head of his cock inside of me, teasingly slowly, I pushed back for more. It was an action that I knew he would have enjoyed and he groaned as he gave me more of himself. His hand splayed on my lower back and forced me down into the mattress more so I arched for him and then he gave me all of himself. He bottomed out and the stretch from his girthy cock had me once again gasping and gripping the sheets. He stalled for a moment - savouring the feeling no doubt - before he began moving. Slow at first. A steady but slow rhythm that I needed, rather than wanted, to quickly increase. Charles moaned loudly and paused for a second only to surprise me completely. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect. You, are so fucking perfect.” I knew he didn’t mean it in THAT way - he didn’t like me like that, I knew that and he didn’t even need to verbalise it - but his praise made me feel good all the same. I wriggled my hips again to urge him to move and when he did his pace increased. It increased until I was a panting writhing mess. I loved how big he felt at this angle and how he would alternate between giving me quick, short spanks and pulling my hair. And honestly I truly had to focus so I didn’t cum just yet. His cock continually hitting my g-spot could have made me see stars but I didn’t want to give in yet. I wanted more of him so I urged him on my moaning his name over and over and over again through heavy sighs. His hand wrapped itself around my hair once again and this time he pulled me back so my back was flush against him.

“Say my name again.” His voice was lower than I had ever heard it before. Lower than I ever thought possible. The hand that had been wrapped around my long hair was now around my throat, holding my in place against his body as he continued thrusting up into me. I couldn’t focus on words. I just kept thinking about Charles’ lips being on my neck and feeling how fast my heart was going through the vein they lingered upon. His teeth grazed the flesh and his name whimpered across my lips a few times before he finally called me a “good girl” and I almost lost my mind between that and the angle his cock was at. He had to know how close I was. He had to feel how my pussy tightened around his cock and I was beginning to struggle to keep going. His teeth sunk into my shoulder and he groaned as I couldn’t stop the orgasm that came thrashing down upon me. I grabbed his arm so tightly my fingernails would leave marks upon his skin. My whole body convulsed as finally I let go and let the climax take hold of me. The high Charles had given me seemed to be otherworldly and stratospheric. It took me to another fucking planet and none more so than when he groaned, gripped my hips and held me down in place while he himself, found release. I could feel the pulse of his cock inside of me as his hot, milky cum poured out of him. The feeling was insurmountable. The twitch of him as he filled me up seemed the prolong my orgasm even longer and when the shakes that ravaged my body became too much, I couldn’t keep my knees from giving way and so finally fell forward against the bed again. All I could hear was Charles and I’s heavy, exhausted breathing.

As Charles settled down beside me on the bed he ran his hands up and down my back. It was a rather tender, sweet motion for someone who had just railed me into oblivion but I didn’t mind it. Suddenly as I found myself lying still - still recovering from those two incredible orgasms - I felt the alcohol from earlier catch up on me. The room seemed a bit spiny and I really didn’t want to throw up anywhere in Charles all white apartment. But then - right on queue - with his breathing still laboured Charles asked if I wanted anything and suggested a towel and a glass of water. Not to sound like a broken fucking record but this was new, he had never done this before. He had never really spoken after we had fucked so this was totally left field. I nodded and said both would be nice if he didn’t mind.

“Ok, be right back.” I listened to his words but stayed in the same position as I had earlier - mainly because I was scared of being sick and because now I was completely exhausted but also because I didn’t want Charles’ cum to leak out of me and go all over his extortionate sheets. I thought the action of him going to get me things would have been nice for a normal, regular girl (y’know, one he was dating) but seemed unusual for him to extend such gestures to me, his fuck buddy, his hook-up, his piece of ass. When he finally came back clutching an ice cold glass of water and a warmed damp towel for me to clean up with I expected him to hand me my dress as well. But my dress remained on the floor and he stared down at me while I drank from the glass. “Let me.” He motioned when I went for the towel. Charles took the glass from me and placed it on the floor before crouching down there himself. I was about to question him, ask him what he thought he was doing, when he lifted one of my legs and slowly parted them. My breathing all but stopped as he dabbed at my slightly red, a little bit tender pussy with the warm cloth. I let out an unsteady, unsure exhale of air as he watched his cum slowly seep out of me.

“Hmmm….” He purred “I should have told you my pull out game is weak.” He chuckled and in that singular moment he made me laugh. He sat back on his heels and laughed with me and all of the nervous energy in my body disappeared. All I could focus on was the sound of his laughter and how much I liked it and in a different life I would have wanted to hear it every single day for an eternity.

I rushed to try and find my dress, hoping that he hadn’t torn this one like last time. I wanted to spend the least amount of time naked in front of him as possible now snapshots of last night began coming back to me. Charles observed from his place in bed. Watching me as I sprinted around to get back into last nights clothes so I could leave. As the sunlight streamed in through his window it bathed us both in the cold harsh reality of the day and it was very much bringing a self loathing vibe along with it. Suddenly a wave of riotous nausea flashed upon me and my head felt like it belonged in a vice. Through clenched teeth I rubbed my forehead from the searing pain screaming throughout it

“Can I get you painkillers?” His voice had turned soft and was rather strange because it wasn’t what I was used too from him - or was that the narrative my own brain made up for me to believe he was a metaphorical bad guy? “Don’t do that, Charles. Don’t be nice to me.” “Why?” He acted so innocent and I knew he was putting on a front, there was no way he could be so stupid. “Because!” I practically shrieked, “I’m your ex-girlfriend’s best friend and we can’t stop fucking each other.” “I think you’ll probably be her ex-best friend if she finds out about us.” FUCK! He really didn’t need to hit me with the reality stick right now. The smugness was almost woven through his voice and I had to restrain myself from throttling him. But in reality the cold light of day made me feel angry and disappointed with myself, something I doubted he felt about this situation at all.

“That’s not going to happen.” I snap back at him. “Because there is no “us”, there never will be an “us.” Your voice lowered and you knew it sounded sadder than you intended. It didn’t stop Charles from continuing however. “Right…..” he rolled his eyes “until you’ve had too many strong cocktails and vodka shots and then you won’t be able to say no. Just like you always.” With his words lingering in the air I had to fight the urge to yell at him that I was never the instigator and he was the one who always came after me. I desperately wanted to fucking correct him and scream at him that he used me to forget about his ex, about Ferrari, about all the pressures of the life he leads and that it was HIM that sought ME out, not the other way around. But for some unknown reason, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to start an argument with him. I pulled on my dress hurriedly once I found it, no longer wanting to be so naked in front of him. All I wanted was to get the embarrassing walk of shame back to my apartment over already. I busied myself from the silence by looking for my shoes and I almost missed Charles getting out of bed and getting dressed.

“I’ll give you a ride home.” I heard him say as I pulled up the covers and found my black heel under them at the bottom of the bed. I now felt uncomfortable in his presence after the last words he spoke. Instinctively I told him; “It’s fine, I’ll call an Uber.” “I’m not suggesting. I’m telling.” He stated bluntly and this was new, this had never happened before. He was rarely awake when I slunk out the door of his apartment - because it was always his apartment or hotel room never mine - so this was completely foreign to me. “If you’re sure.” I half expected him to say of course he didn’t mean it, laugh, explain he was messing and to call that Uber immediately. But he just nodded and picked up my other heel from beside the door and held it out to me. I tried to avoid his eyes. I didn’t want him to see any emotion at at all behind mines so I took the shoe and shoved it on to distract myself.

We didn’t speak the whole ride to my apartment. The silence was only somewhat uncomfortable but for some strange reason things felt rather calm. Sitting in the passenger seat of Charles’ Ferrari - which I had never before sat in - felt somewhat surreal. I was hyper aware that the seat still practically bore another girls name. It still belonged to her and he would have her back without so much as blinking. I kept my eyes on the roads as Charles expertly drove the expensive luxury vehicle around them. Hoping the red lights would turn green as soon as we approached them.

“I do like you, y’know?” Came abruptly from Charles mouth when we turned onto my street, my apartment building in sight. I thought my ears were deceiving me so I broke my trance and glanced at him. “I know you probably think you’re just a rebound or….” He trailed off as he put the blinker on to pull over into the lane he could stop in to let me out. I could see the front door to my building and I had never seen a more welcome sight. “…but it’s not like that.”

I was desperate to ask what it was in fact like, what exactly he thought was going on but thankfully he brought the car to a stop and I could finally jump out and escape the awkwardness. There was this uneasy feeling in the car that hit me like a led balloon and right in the middle of my chest. I hated it. I wasn’t used to it, especially not with Charles. I was used to feeling annoyed, frustrated and fuck, disappointed by him. The first few times we fucked I’d have said I felt used but that went away because I enjoyed our trysts as much as he did. And besides I didn’t need validation from him. I didn’t need him to need me. But then right now, as I waited to get out of the car with my hand on the door handle, it hit me how badly the words he had just spoken were actually all the things that I craved and desired above all else and it was startling. Then Charles said my name so gently, totally unlike he had ever said it before, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “I’d like to take you out sometime, properly. On a date.”

But before I knew what I was even doing I pulled the handle, pushed the door and started getting out of his car. He yelled my name so I would stop and for a second I did but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, to fall for him. “You know that can’t happen, Charles.” I managed to say in something struggling to be above a whisper “you don’t want me, you don’t even really like me, you’re still in love with her.”

The elevator ride up to my apartment felt like it took an eternity. The words he had spoken rang throughout my head as if a bomb had gone off and I was momentarily deaf. Fuck him. Fuck his bullshit and fuck how I fucking felt right now because of him. I was right for telling him that he was wrong and he still loved his stupid ex but it hurt because being with him always did. Being picked up and dropped all the time hurt. I wanted to be one of those girls who would have fallen for his words, whose stomach flipped when he told them he liked them, but I wasn’t and mines didn’t. I knew it was just about sex. I wasn’t his type. I wasn’t right for him. I’d never be his girl….and yet as the doors opened to my floor, I couldn’t wait till the next time I could fall asleep beside him and hate myself for it the next day.

*snow = cocaine

[bomber-grl]

Touch Starved

Pairing(s): Hiro Hamada x Gn!reader

Summary: you’re rarely the touchy type but when you get into a fight with your parents you leave home. The only person on your mind is Hiro so you drop by his house in hopes of comfort.

They were so stupid. Obviously you felt even more strongly about your parents at the moment but that’s what automatically came to mind.

They just don’t understand and sure you’re acting like an angsty misunderstood teenager but that’s exactly what’s happening. Whatever, they’re the reason their teen kid is walking out at night.

Well, regardless of what you thought you were brought out of your head. You were now in front of hiros window, the window that you’d try and climb and hope to not get caught doing so.

Luckily for you, you brought along some gadget you invented while at SFIT so with some A LOT of effort you managed to make it through his window.

Ok, step 1 complete.

….

That’s all you got, you hadn’t planned ahead and now you were standing in the middle of Hiros bedroom luckily without causing any sort of racket What a lie

Well because of how in your own head you were you completely tuned out the footsteps walking towards the door. Aaaaand now you’re face to face with Hiro..

“Uhh hi?” He says a bit awkwardly, he’d been taking a shower if the towel around his neck and wet hair was anything to go by.

He steps out of the door frame and into the room. He’s staring at you…

Huh??? Hes staring at you

“So? Why’re you here” you can practically hear his smile through his tone.

“Oh! Well uh… I just wanted to hang out” that’s all you said, he immediately got it and stepped closer, a little too close.

“Kay, want to play games or something?” He asked nonchalantly, and of course you answered-

“Sure”

-

It had been fun, you and hiro were laughing until it hurt if the ridiculous drawings of each other were anything to go off of.

Half way through your little hang out Cass might have heard the commotion as she popped in and offered some sweet snacks, luckily not suspecting anything.

Now? It was quiet, you both calmed down and you were sitting on his bed and he was standing.

“So uhh, what’s been up with you?” He asks obviously stepping on egg shells around you.

“Huh?” You perk up “what’re you talking about?” You really didn’t know.

He laughs awkwardly “don’t think I haven’t noticed your weird behavior.”

You cleared you throat but hiro interjected “look I-“

Suddenly hiro back was against the wall and despite almost tripping over Baymaxs charge box-thing he managed to hold onto you, you were hugging him.

What you did didnt sink in until you felt his hands reach around you.

Suddenly you became hyper aware, he was breathing close to your neck, his hair was tickling your cheek and most of all? You could feel his heart pounding against yours, and to say it rivaled it wasn’t exactly an understatement.

You held him back of course, your face hid away in his neck and after a moment of stiffness hiro relaxed once more.

You thought you were being silly for reacting this way, but hiro? He was just as much head over heels for you as you were for him.

His face was bright red and all he could hope was for you not to notice, he really couldn’t handle any teasing after this.

Then you let go and backed away. Seeing your face was much more reassuring for him.

It was silent until you both spoke

“I-“hey” you glanced from the floor to him in an instant

“Sorry- “you can go first”, you guys spoke at the same time, again..

You spoke up once and for all “you speak first, please do..” the last part was said in your head but who’s to say otherwise?

“Uh, what’s really up with you?” He breathed in and then out “you can tell me, and if you don’t want to? Well that’s ok.”

The last feelings of conflict left you and you finally told hiro about the big fight with your insufferable parents- albeit in a bunch of jumbled words.

He smiled obviously trying to hide it and when he asked why you hugged him? You told him that you just wanted to be held…

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT??-

“Oh..” hiros face went ablaze and was now covered in a darker shade of red. Atleast now he couldn’t tease or say anything sarcastic-

He spoke again “then I’m assuming you’re sleeping here?”

-

And boy was he right, now you’re here laying in his bed while he brushes his teeth.

Luckily Cass had a spare and he let you use the restroom before him.

Now you were laying here in suspense, your heart was practically pounding in your chest and you were filled with all kinds of nervous energy.

The door creaked open and in popped in hiros head, then followed by him as a whole.

He stood around the bed for a second, very obviously hesitating. Then he went all in and laid down

He was faced away from you but once you reached out to touch his neck it was hot to the touch.

“U-uHm” his voice cracked “you want to talk about it any more?”

He was going for the normal approach

“No, just… hold me, ok?” You really didn’t know how to respond, was it even possible to say this in a relatively normal way? You rlly don’t think so.

He flushed again then opened his arms. You joined to lay in them and despite the constant pounding of a heart you couldn’t decide was his or yours; you enjoyed it.

It was nice to finally be able to be affectionate with someone.

The next morning rolled around and the two of you got ready and headed down.

You two were met with a delicious looking breakfast and cass may have picked up on the energy between you two because she asked

That morning you witnessed your boyfriend hiro having the Heimlich maneuver performed on him by no other than his own aunt.

-

For those who can’t read between the lines, the last paragraph is basically saying that since hiro and reader were already having tension from the events of last night, cass brought it up and startled hiro- catching him off guard. Prompting him to choke on his food)

[reyalvr]

Hi! I've had this idea simmering for a bit - could you possibly do an angsty enemies-to-lovers Aonung x fem Sully reader where they're veryyyy much enemies but during the demon ship battle, either one of reader's close friends/family members (could be neteyam or someone else) is dying and they ask aonung to not let reader look. She's freaking out and losing it and he's just trying to comfort her, hug her, calm her down, etc. Hope this isn't too specific - do with it what you wish :) tysm

ASHES ON FIRE.

୨⎯ in which peace is luxury that you cannot afford.  ⎯୧

genre┊ angst, slight e2l & comfort, one-shot

pairing┊ao’nung x fem-sully!reader (? help), a little (lot) bit of brother!neteyam & fem-sully!reader as well

wordcount┊2.9k

warnings┊major movie spoilers, death 

author’s note┊ finally doing this request! i’ve been wanting to write it for a while now but i was so focused on ITMOIA <//3 hope i did this justice, anon! i had to rewatch the demon ship scene a couple times so i could stay true to the story, so apologies if i messed up a bit on the prompt you gave me T^T.

song recs ┊ na'vi attack, the bug collector.

The sky people say that ignorance is strength. That if you were numb enough to your surroundings, nothing would be able to break you; that nothing would matter so long as you didn’t feel anything. 

They were wrong.

It had all happened so fast – all of you riding out the moment you realized that your siblings were in danger, the war party attacking the RDA the second Payakan had seized the demon ship. Against your father’s orders, you had jumped on your ikran as fast as you could, flying all the way to Three Brother’s Rocks. 

You had no plan, only focused on saving your family. You soared swiftly through the clouds, drawing your bow each time you came in contact with an enemy ship. You had lost count of how many times you had shot something into the sea – it didn’t matter to you anymore. 

Chaos had struck all around you; everywhere you turned, you saw war. The Great Balance wasn’t present here, this was a place of loss. You yelled as you narrowly missed the shots fired from a gunship, and you retaliated by shooting an arrow into its propellers.

You were running on pure adrenaline, your mind clouded with only one thought: save your siblings. It was a recurring voice in the back of your head, and it seemed to jolt you back into focus every time you felt your nerves start to calm down. You hissed as you flew near the water now, aiming for any of the boats that shot at the clan. 

For a split second you were able to catch a glimpse of yourself in the water. You were terrifying. Your eyes had gone completely wide, pupils so constricted to the point where they were almost gone. The sneer on your lips didn’t aid in making you look less terrorizing; you were absolutely feral.

You didn’t linger on your appearance for too long, though,  as you had come in contact with one of the avatars, their bullets slightly grazing your shoulder. You yelped as you banked hard in order to get away from them, your adrenaline the only thing stopping you from feeling any immediate pain. 

It stung, bad, as you drew your bow, aiming directly for their heart. You let go without a moment’s hesitation, watching as the demon slid off of his ikran and into the water. You yelled in fury, your mind still unable to process your recent actions. 

Your ears perked up at the sound of rapid gunfire to your side, your eyes growing even wider as you recognized the electric blue colors of your mother’s ikran. You turned sharply, almost hitting the side of the ship as you willed your banshee to get to your mother’s position. 

“Mom!” You yelled, bow drawn as you aimed for another one of the demons. 

Her head turned instantly at the sound of your voice, her face blanketed in fear and worry. She had no time to scold you for being on the battleground, her attention concentrated on ambushing the sky people. 

You watched as your arrow soared straight into the avatar’s chest, his limp body plunging into the water like bait. The pain in your shoulder had started to make itself known again, yet you pushed forward in battle. You weren’t gonna let a minor injury get in the way of your rescue mission. 

Though, your streak of undefeated shots had to be ended sooner or later. You hadn’t seen the boat from underneath you, and they landed a shot to your ikran’s leg. You heard her screech, and the both of you rapidly barreled into the ocean. 

“[Y/N]!” You heard your mother yell before you were surrounded by water. 

Your ikran, though injured, had been able to pull herself out of the water and fly to safety. You quickly followed, gasping for air as you swam to the surface. You didn’t waste any time in finding land, and you moved fast in order to get cover. 

You were vulnerable now to the enemy’s attacks, no longer having the advantage of being in the air or wielding a bow. You leaned against the rocks, looking out for gunships while simultaneously catching your breath. The weight of fatigue was starting to hit you now, and you feared that your body would soon succumb to the exertion you had put yourself through. 

The battle prayer to Eywa rang in your head, the words of the Great Mother slowly pushing you to move forward. Tirea oeyä maway livu, Ma Eywa. Calm my spirit, Eywa.

You groaned, your eyes closed as you forced yourself to stand. All hope was not lost, as in the distance you spotted the familiar dark blue of your sister’s skin. You called for an ilu and dove quickly, swimming as fast as you could to Kiri and the others. 

“Kiri!” You yelled as you neared them, your heart pounding in relief. 

She turned, her eyes recognizing you as soon as she saw you. “Sister!” 

Your reunion with her would not be now, however, as an ikran had plucked her up right in front of you before you’d even been able to wrap your arms around her. You yelled, your voice nearly going hoarse, and whatever tiredness your body felt was soon melted away by the bubbling rage within you. 

“No!” You screamed, and you moved to chase after her but were stopped by an iron grip around your arm.

You hissed as you turned to face whoever was stopping you from saving your sister. Ao’nung pulled you in, his eyes scanning over your face as he tried to tell you to fall back. You stood now on the remnants of a destroyed boat, though you would much rather be on your way to hunt whoever had stolen your sister from you. 

“Let me go!” You yelled at the Metkayinan boy, your other hand coming up to yank his hold off of you. “I need to get to the demon ship, now!”

“And let you die?” He argued back. “No, I won’t allow it.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” You spat, your tone as venomous as your stare. “Who are you to decide that for me?”

“That does not matter! I will not let you go in there unarmed!” He fought back, both of his hands now gripping your forearms. 

You hissed at him again, your body on the brink of lashing out. Was he out of his mind? Your siblings were in danger, now more than ever. He could not keep you here, you weren’t going to allow it. You thrashed, exerting yourself to the max as you tried to free yourself from his hold. 

“[Y/N], please,” Rotxo spoke up, his expression filled with concern. “Ao’nung is right, it is too dangerous for you to go in there alone!”

“I do not care!” You roared. “Kiri was just taken, right before our eyes! If I do not get to her now she could die! What don’t you understand about that?”

They flinched at your voice, and that gave you the opportunity to finally free yourself from Ao’nung. Your head whipped in his direction, your glare shooting daggers into his skull. He moved to grab you again, but you were swift in avoiding his movements. You were about to jump back into the water and swim to the demon ship before you caught sight of someone from your peripheral. 

You turned, your breath hitching as you watched your brothers hastily guide an ilu to a desolate island. You didn’t have to say another word before the three of you swam hurriedly to them, your legs burning as you forced yourself to move faster. 

You climbed up the rocks, not caring if your knees and palms were scrapped by the jagged edges. You opened your mouth to call out to them, but stopped as soon as you registered the scene in front of you. Your heart dropped, and you could feel yourself shake as emotion after emotion overwhelmed your body.

On the ground lay Neteyam, his body jerking as he fought to maintain his breath. There was a scarlet wound on his chest, blood continuously leaking out of him as Lo’ak did his best to stop it from flowing any further. You nearly lost balance as you dropped down, holding your brother’s head away from the hard rock and onto your lap.

“What happened?” You demanded, your eyes frantically examining his current state. “What happened?”

“‘Was shot,” Neteyam murmured, the action clearly taking a toll on him. 

“Shut up, damnit,” You hissed at him, your tone fluctuating from anger to concern to fear. “Do not exert yourself for Eywa’s sake!” 

“We went back for Spider,” Lo’ak said to you as he continued to put pressure on your brother’s wound. “Neteyam he- he got,” 

He was panicking now, his breath coming in short. You were trying your best to remain sane, though the situation you were in only aided in making you feel worse. Your sisters were being held hostage by those demons, and now your worst fear had suddenly come to life. 

Your mouth went dry as you tried to focus, your ears ringing from the forced concentration. You couldn’t think straight, and the inconsistent beat of your heart was preventing you from doing anything precisely. Somewhere in the distance you heard your mother and father, their cries of panic suddenly filling the grief-stricken atmosphere. 

You had no time to acknowledge them though, as you were solely focused on Neteyam’s condition. There was blood – so much blood that you started to feel lightheaded from the sight. Your hands had come up behind his back, your palms covering the exit point of his wound. 

The sky above you was grey, the bright blues no longer gracing Awa’atlu. Eclipse was near, and the smoke around you had only added to the lifelessness of the Great Mother’s land. Your brother still struggled to maintain his breath, his pupils dilating more and more the harder he tried to remain conscious. 

You couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak. Your body was operating on auto-pilot, your mind blocking out as many distractions as it could. You hung your head low, feeling hot tears starting to form. You prayed every prayer to Eywa, begging her to spare your brother. It could not be his time yet; it would be too cruel. 

Your father’s hand came up to cup your brother’s face, and you had never seen him more broken in your entire life. Neteyam was begging now, begging to go home. Your real home. Home to the fortress of the Omatikaya, home to the forests of Eywa, home to his family. 

“I know, I know,” You father breathed out, the pain in his heart spreading to his expression. “It’s okay, we’re going home.”

Neteyam looked around him now, his eyes darting from one person to another. His gaze landed on you before he spoke up, his voice so weak that it broke your heart.

“Dad, I,” He finally let out. 

You waited for him to finish his sentence. You waited for what felt like an eternity. You waited and waited and waited. But his reply never came, only the deathly silence of loss filling his being. You didn’t want to believe it. It was not right, this loss. 

You blinked slowly, your breath so slow that it felt like someone had knocked you over. Your mind had registered Neteyam’s death almost instantly, but your heart – oh Eywa, your heart. Your heart was heavy, filled with so much sorrow that it nearly broke you. 

Your world had shifted the moment your brother passed, and it felt wrong. Neteyam’s spirit was with the Great Mother now; you couldn’t battle anyone for his soul back, couldn’t bargain with any Tsahik for more time. He was gone. 

Your mother wailed the moment she realized your brother had passed, and her screams of agony pierced your heart the same way his death had. You felt your shoulder slump, your hands slipping from your brother’s back as you no longer tried to stop the bleeding. 

Your auto-pilot had been switched then, the reality of your world crashing in on you. You felt like you were about to break, like you were about to shatter into a million pieces. Your head was spinning, so much to the point where you nearly fell as you slightly backed away from your brother’s lifeless body. 

Your sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted big brother was gone. You felt like you were a child again, waiting for Neteyam to tell you that this was all just a nightmare. Eclipse had finally set, the world around you going dark as the fires continued to blaze. 

Your family was frantic now, your father trying to get your mother to stay strong, Lo’ak disassociating from the world around him. You cried then, cried like you would never be able to cry again. You placed your forehead against your brother’s cold one, your screams scratching your throat. 

You cried out for Neteyam, cried out for your mighty brother. He was the glue that held your family together, and without him you didn’t know how any of you would be able to live on. The others just watched over you as you sobbed, their eyes so full of pity. 

You didn’t care if they saw you as weak now, you were hurting so badly. May Eywa never let them experience this kind of loss, because you could feel a piece of you dying alongside your brother the longer you continued to cry. You felt a pair of hands come up on your shoulders, and you tried to push them away with whatever might you had left in you. 

“[Y/N],” You heard Ao’nung say, his calloused hands still gentle with you as you continued to break down. “[Y/N] you must rest.”

You lifted your head, finally seeing that your family, as well as Spider, had disappeared. You looked at Tsireya, and the look in her eyes had told you everything you needed to know. Stay here, please, her gaze said. 

You took a deep breath in, and it felt like you were breathing again for the first time. You wanted to go against whatever orders your father had told them to give you, but you knew that acting rashly would only worsen things for you. So you stayed, glued to your brother’s side as you mourned your loss.

Ao’nung had not left your side either, his worriedness for your wellbeing keeping him attentive. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this to help your father or if he was doing this to keep you from going insane, but still it gave you a sense of comfort – however cruel it might be to long for it during this time. 

He didn’t say anything to you, only rubbing your shoulders to keep you grounded and aware. If this had been any other situation, you would have already distanced yourself from him. You and Ao’nung weren’t friends, though you weren’t exactly horrible towards each other either. Either way, you didn’t feel the urge to yell at him to go away; instead his presence soothed you, slowly getting you to calm your nerves. 

You leaned into him, and he took you in with open arms. Though your heart was still heavy, your body had seeked the warmth that it desperately needed. He matched his breathing with yours, aiding to quell the tensenes of your body. 

You watched as Tsireya and Rotxo tried to clean up whatever they could off of your brother’s body, their movements light and gentle. You held his cold hand, your hands coming up to close his eyes. He looked peaceful now, as if he were just resting.

You would have believed so, had it not been for his dried blood on your hands. Your bottom lip quivered, and you closed your eyes once more as you fought to stay composed. 

You felt Ao’nung’s thumb rubbing circles on your arm, his other hand clasped around your free hand. This was an intimate gesture between mated people, you knew, but you didn’t care. His comfort gave you an escape from the harsh realities of life. You felt yourself drifting off, your body too tired to remain awake. 

“Sleep if you want to,” Ao’nung whispered. “You and your brother are safe here.”

You sniffled slightly as you nodded your head, your eyes heavy from crying. “I must pray over him first. I must protect him this one last time.”

He only nodded, still keeping his arms around you as you brought Neteyam’s hand up to your heart. 

“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmukan, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo. Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì.” You said in a hushed tone, the others bowing their heads as you recited the death prayer.

I see you, brother, and I thank you. Your spirit will run with Eywa, while your body will remain and become part of the People.

You leaned back into Ao’nung, your hand finally clasping around his as well. You squeezed his hand, tilting your head slightly to look at him. You closed your eyes, bowing your head to him. 

“I see you.” You whispered. 

He held you closer, his voice the last thing you heard before slumber had taken over your body. “I see you.”

reyalvr © 2023 ... do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@chunghaaaa, @kiris-wife, @8resa, @avatarkv, @urlocalkeemawearingartist

[slytherheign]

CONNECTING ARTS | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: photographer!tasm!peter parker x painter!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

SUMMARY: peter is slowly losing hope for his love of photography when he finds himself at a loss of inspiration. to give his passion a last chance to prove it’s worth holding on, he decides to do one last project: to capture a stranger’s life for 1 week. unbeknownst to him, with every click of his camera, he’ll slowly fall in love. unbeknownst to you, with every stroke of your paintbrush, you’ll realize your lives are more connected than you both initially thought.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, cursing/swearing, parent's negligence, reader being an orphan, anxiety, depression, inaccuracies (?) there may be some because i’m not a photographer nor a painter. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is angsty towards the end but it’s hurt/comfort and there are more fluff moments so the destination is sweet street instead of angst avenue. this took so long to write but it’s only bc i added a little bit of mystery here about the person in the reader’s painting and their pasts. i hope y’all forgive me. enjoy reading!

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS CONNECTING ARTS (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

It’s truly terrifying how a person could suddenly lose interest in something they have spent their whole life yearning for.

This was Peter’s greatest fear—to watch the once-ignited flame of passion within him get slowly extinguished. Photography was supposed to be his lifeline. How could he let himself get drained of something that was his escapism?

Was it his surroundings, his personal life, or just life in general that made him uninterested in his hobby? He had no answer. He truly, certainly, absolutely did not know.

He stared at the camera that was atop the center table, and as he did so, flashbacks of the joyous moments he spent capturing people and places struck him. He had held that camera for years—garnering both little and grand memories that were far too special and memorable to forget. He couldn’t just let it go.

One more chance, he thought.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he said to himself.  “One last time.”

So he grabbed his camera and went to the nearest place he thought would spark even just a pinch of inspiration—the park.

The busy yet calm buzz of people's chatter met him as the wind blew softly against his skin. He walked a few yards until he saw a bench which he sat on almost immediately. He raised the camera close to his eyes, adjusting the lens as he took pictures every now and then while scanning the surroundings. 

A couple on a bench that was turned back from him and facing the city bay. The guy had his arm around the girl’s shoulders while her head rested on his.

Click.

A mother gently pushing her child that was giggling so hard at the swing.

Click.

A lovely couple walking the grounds, holding each other’s hands without an ounce of care in a world that judged them because they were both women.

Click.

A large oak tree from which the outline beautifully clashed with the slow setting of the sun.

Click.

Suddenly, his hands seemingly moved on their own as the camera panned over downwards without him even noticing. 

A girl underneath an oak tree, gracefully sitting on a paint-covered cream blanket. Art supplies were messily scattered over the soft blanket while the girl was drawing something on a canvas in front of her.

Click.

He zoomed in, focusing on her face. He couldn’t help it, she was mesmerizing. The girl must’ve felt it because she looked straight at the camera, piercing his eye that was behind the lens.

He put down the camera instantly, mouthing an apology towards you as he realized he probably distracted you from your drawing. You shook your head, letting a small smile form on your lips. You gestured for him to come over, and without hesitation, he did.

You quickly but carefully moved some of your things to give him space on the blanket to sit on. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

“Someone,” you replied, showing him the canvas. There wasn’t much on it at the moment, just the initial sketch of a person’s body and a white fence in the background. The person did not have a face yet.

Click.

Peter captured the canvas with his camera. As he looked up, he saw your puzzled face staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I haven’t asked for your permission to take pictures of you and your work. I can delete it if you want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “I’m just curious, do you take pictures of everything?”

“No, usually just the interesting stuff,” he chuckled at your question. 

“So you think I’m interesting?” you winked playfully. 

“I…” he started to say, but then stopped before smiling. “Yeah, I do. The most interesting, actually.”

He noticed your cheeks redden, but before you could think of a reply, Peter’s eyes slightly widened as an idea dawned upon him.

“Can I ask something crazy?” he asked.

“I love crazy,” you beamed with excitement, putting down your canvas to face him. “Go ahead.”

“I was thinking… if maybe I could capture the process of you completing your artwork? Like… capture your life for a week?”

He noticed the slight skepticism in your eyes. “I know this is kinda weird considering we just met but I–I just think you’re really cool a-and awesome and I’m really fascinated by you.”

“You know, usually I don’t entertain strangers much more let them stay in my apartment… but I have a good feeling about you,” you admitted. “So…” you nodded.

“Okay, just so we’re clear, you are agreeing for me to capture and document your life for a week?”

“Yes.”

Perfect. This was the exact thing he needed. A good and worthy ending for his slowly dying passion. 

“I feel like shit,” he said suddenly. “I haven’t even asked your name. I’m Peter,” he offered his hand.

You chuckled as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How do you want this to work?” he didn’t want to decide by himself since it’s your life he would be documenting in the first place.

“Uhh–here,” you ripped a piece from a sketchbook you weren’t using. With a pencil you pulled from the back of your ear, you wrote your address on the piece of paper. “That’s um–where I live. Come by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

Peter smiled on his way home.

He was ready for his very last project.

DAY 1.

You awoke from the same ray of sunshine that visited you every morning through your large window. You wasted no time as you made your bed and took a shower quickly. Normally, you wouldn’t even bother to leave your bed for at least half an hour after waking up but today was different. You had a visitor and for some reason, you wanted to impress him. After all, he was the first person to ever visit your place.

The place that you called home was a studio apartment with a loft bedroom. You had no usual living room because you turned it into a painting studio. The only places where paint—with exception of white—didn’t reach the wall or the floor were the small kitchen area and the loft bedroom where you sleep every night. But above all things, your favorite part of your apartment was the large window that occupied the entire wall facing the first floor and the loft floor.

After dressing yourself in a white shirt and brown overalls, you decided to put your hair up in a ponytail. The moment you started to heat water for your morning coffee, you heard a knock on your door.

“Hi,” Peter greeted.

“Hello,” you smiled in return, opening the door wider for him to enter your humble abode.

Peter’s mouth slightly parted from the aesthetic of your apartment. His eyes scanned the place like a child in a candy store. He saw the canvases on the floor that were both empty and painted on, and the large wooden table in the middle of the room that had art supplies and an unreal amount of colorful paints scattered on top of it.

Click.

And from that moment on, he knew your place was something else.

“This place is amazing,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” you said, a proud grin presenting on your lips. “Coffee?” 

“Thanks,” he smiled, accepting your offer. “How long have you had this place?”

“Since I was 19. A year after I moved out from the orph–uh from my old home.” Thankfully, Peter was too busy admiring the place to even notice you almost slipping out.

No one gets to know your past. That was your life rule. The present and the future were what mattered. 

“Here,” you placed the mug atop the side table near the entrance. There was a small couch—noticeably thrifted—beside it where Peter sat. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warned him as he tried to hold the mug and drink while still being distracted by your paintings.

You sat beside him, sipping your coffee as well. “How did you get into photography?” you asked.

“I think I’ve always been interested in the art of photography since I was a kid. I’ve always loved taking photos back then and I think it’s really cool that memories can be captured in the form of pictures forever.”

You agreed, nodding your head. “Same goes with painting. Sometimes, I paint my surroundings, mostly people that I see around me; sometimes, I have pictures as my reference; sometimes, I like storing memories in my head and then painting them when I get my hands on a canvas. But the best thing about it though is that I can paint not what I see but what I want to see.”

The last line you said seemed to get his full attention. “What do you mean by that?” his face showed an intrigued expression.

“It means that I can paint whatever I want. I can paint the past, the present, and the future. And sometimes, you hate the past and the present, so you just change them in your paintings. And then when you start hating the future too, you just paint what you want the future to be. Basically, what I’m saying is, you can manipulate life through a painting. Reality and imagination share a room, and there’s really no limit.”

There was something about the words you said that made Peter realize just how deep of a person you are. It wasn’t just your paintings he was mesmerized by anymore, but also you. He would love to get to know you more.

DAY 2.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good morning,” he greeted you once you opened the door. You let him in, excited for the day because you planned on teaching him how to paint. It wasn’t your idea, he asked you yesterday if he could be the first person you teach how to paint and you accepted the challenge. You didn’t consider yourself a good teacher, but oh well, you weren’t going to back down from a challenge.

“Coffee?” you offered.

“Oh no. You promised to teach me how to paint and I would very much like to start learning now,” he had a huge excited grin plastered on his face. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you smirked proudly.

“How do you know which canvas to use? There are so many sizes,” he asked, standing over the piles of empty canvases on the floor.

“It depends on what you’re going to paint. Do you have something on your mind?”

“I-uh… no? I thought the idea would come naturally honestly.”

“That’s fine! Sometimes, it comes naturally. Sometimes, it doesn’t and you have to push yourself until it eventually comes.”

“Why would you push yourself if it doesn't come naturally? Wouldn’t you just take a break and wait?”

“I could wait, But I prefer not to. I push myself because I want to paint and the lack of ideas won’t hinder me from painting. This is my passion, I want to do this forever. If I took a pause every time I had no idea what to paint, most of my paintings wouldn’t exist and I would’ve given up this passion years ago.”

“What about rest? Do you even take a rest?” he asked as you handed him a small-sized canvas. You thought it was the best for beginners.

You chuckled lightly. “I’m human, Peter. Of course, I rest. But not when I know I’m getting uninterested in painting. When I get over that phase and I’m inspired again, that’s when I rest. I don’t go to bed until I have that fire in me again that dances with the art of painting.”

Now, that was something that hit Peter all the way to his core. How could you even manage to do it? To answer the question he didn’t even know he had in his heart so effortlessly and precisely?

He now knew his mistake—he let the lack of inspiration slowly extinguish the fire in him whenever he was feeling uninspired. He realized now that he didn’t push hard enough. But that would change, starting now.

“I think I know what to paint now. And this size is just perfect, thank you.” 

You watched him put his canvas on an easel. He looked at you, his eyes asking a question about what to do next. 

“You can draw first, sketch what would be the outline of your painting, and then let it guide you when you start painting. Or you could proceed to paint immediately. But if you ask me, I would recommend sketching first so you won’t make a lot of mistakes later when you actually start painting.”

“Okay. I’ll sketch first. Thank you,” he said as you handed him a pencil. He started drawing lines, and then curves, and then came the shapes. 

“That’s really good. Damn, didn’t know you were good at drawing,” you complimented. He laughed lightly. “Thanks, I think I got the genes from my mother. My aunt always told me she was a really good artist.”

Once he was close to finishing his drawing, it dawned on you that he was drawing a sunrise. You wouldn’t tell him, but it reminded you of one of your paintings. It wasn’t a sunrise, but it was similar. Maybe you’d show it to him when he finishes his painting.

“I’m done!” he announced proudly. “Nice!” you replied. “Are you ready to paint?”

“Oh no no no… please, I think that’s enough for me today,” he laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, but that little drawing took a lot of work. I’d like to go back to my camera now.”

DAY 3.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good mo–”

“Morning!” you cut him off as you opened the door. He laughed seeing your proud face. “Come in.”

“Coffee?”

“Actually–yeah. I’d like a coffee,” he answered, yawning.

“Had trouble sleeping?” you asked. 

He nodded. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He felt how the silence almost swallowed the room and how your eyes never left his. Only then did he realize what he said. 

“I–uh-I m-mean ab-about the things… y-yeah about the things you said yesterday w-when you talked about painting an-and your passion and your–uh… like making sure the fire that dances within you stays lit,” he was rambling.

You let out a giggle. Deep inside, you were struggling not to blush. “I understand. You know, if you want me to stop saying deep things about life and other stuff, just tell me.”

He was quick to raise his hand, as if stopping you from doing something idiotic. “Oh no. Please, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop saying things that are so deep that it makes other people unable to sleep just thinking about them.”

“You make it sound like you don’t like it,” you chuckled as you turned your back on him to prepare his morning drink.

He shook his head. “Oh, I like it. I like it when you say things like that. It makes me double-think my life or just life in general. For the better.”

“Thanks. I don’t really have a lot of people to talk to so I can understand if you think I’m being too much.”

“You’re not being too much, I assure you that. You’re just wise… and I love that about you.”

You almost dropped the mug by turning almost instantly to face him. No one has appreciated you like that before, and it certainly felt good. You couldn’t stop—and didn’t want to stop—the smile that formed on your lips.

Click.

You were out of words if you were being honest so you instead chose to ask why he took a picture of you just then. “What was that for? The picture? I wasn’t even painting.”

“It’s for memories… beautiful ones,” he winked and you swore you felt something in your stomach that you never felt before. Oh, this can’t be happening.

“Um–anyway, here’s your coffee,” you said as you handed him the drink. You quickly changed the topic. “I was thinking maybe we should continue doing our paintings? You continue yours and I continue mine. If you need my help or you have any questions, just tell me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

This was harder than Peter expected it to be. There were so many colors to choose from. How could he know what were the right colors to use? This was his first painting and he was being mentored by an incredible painter. He wanted this to be good. He wanted to impress you.

“You could always start with orange or yellow,” you said as you noticed him struggling.

“I feel like I need a reference just to know where the orange starts to blend with yellow.”

“Okay,” you agreed with him. “The internet has a lot of pictures of the sunrise.”

“I know, but I kinda want my own?” he shrugged. “Those pictures are the sunrise from other people’s eyes that they took from their cameras. I want to know the color of the sunrise from my perspective, you know? It’s just that I just realized I’m doing a sunrise painting and I haven’t even seen the sun actually rise… I want to see it for myself and then take my own pictures of it while it happens. Maybe then I could connect more with my painting.”

You stopped painting as you stared at him, feeling extremely proud that you couldn’t help but grin. “You want to connect more with your painting?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it. Tomorrow, let’s meet up at the park early in the morning just before the sun rises. I’ll take you to my secret spot.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m excited,” he smiled and you reciprocated it. He then picked up his camera again to take pictures of you.

By now, the background of your painting was finished. A white picket fence, on the back of it was a brick-walled house. A figure was in front, but it was yet to be painted on. The outline of the man was the only blank surface left on your canvas.

Click.

You were glad Peter still hadn't asked any questions about your painting.

DAY 4.

Different time, different place, different day.

You immediately saw Peter the moment you were close to the park. It wasn’t hard to spot him since it was early and not a lot of people roamed the place just yet—only the ones who jog there every day.

You didn’t notice him click his camera when you rushed towards him.

“Good morning!” Of course, he couldn’t forget about his daily greeting. In response, you greeted him back.

“And before you offer me coffee, I’d like to take you to my favorite coffee shop later. My treat. That is, of course, if you only want to.”

“I’d love to,” you smiled. “Let’s go.”

You held his hand and Peter swore he felt some kind of electric shock. A shock that was so addicting he was willing to get electrocuted if it meant getting to hold you much longer. 

“We’re here,” you announced and Peter was suddenly brought back to earth. The ‘secret spot’ you mentioned was a little hill that was just a mile hike away from the park. The pathway entrance was covered with trees so it was concealed from most people. The view from up there was insanely breathtaking. He could clearly see the city bay and he was sure the sun would rise from where the city bay ended. You still held his hand and he assumed you just forgot you were holding it in the first place. There was no way you would hold his hand for this long.

You absolutely did not forget. But you didn’t do it on purpose either. See, the thing in your stomach that you felt yesterday always visited you whenever he was in your presence. For some reason, there was a need for your body to touch his, and as much as you tried to control it, there was no containing it. That was what happened. Your hand acted on its own and it didn’t want to let his hand go. It was kind of embarrassing and you just wished he didn’t mind it.

Oh, he didn’t mind it, that’s for sure. In fact, he was enjoying it. Although it was taking everything in him not to wrap his arm around your shoulders and keep you close.

“Look,” you pointed at the sun that was starting to peek from where the bay ended in your perspective. And there it was, the sun slowly and magnificently rising above the waters. As much as Peter didn’t want to let go of your hand, he needed both of his hands to capture the moment. You glanced at him as you wanted to watch his reaction to his first time witnessing the sunrise. And while his face was covered by his camera as he took a picture of the scene, you saw his lips form a peaceful smile. You found yourself looking back at the sun with the same peaceful smile on your lips.

You knew he was done taking pictures when the once-darkened place was brightened up by the star that was the sun. It was evident since he lowered the camera from his face and adjusted the strap to let it hang by his neck comfortably. What you didn’t know, though, was that before he put his camera down, he sneakily took a photo of your face joined by the hues of the sun.

“This is our secret spot now,” said Peter.

“Yup,” you laughed. “So, coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, offering his hand for you to take.

Peter brought you to a little cafe not far from the park, it was located near a library which you reminded yourself you would visit some other time in the future.

You were taking your last sip of coffee when you heard the familiar click of his camera. This time you actually posed a peace sign for the picture. Peter chuckled at this, and in return, it made you laugh as well. He seized the opportunity to take another picture.

Click.

“It's nice here… the staff, the view, the ambiance, the food, and of course, the coffee,” you commented.

“So, now you get why this is my favorite coffee shop?”

“Correction. This is our favorite coffee shop now.”

DAY 5.

The next day, you met up back at your studio apartment. After your usual morning greetings and coffees, both of you were busy doing your own paintings. You looked over at Peter, seeing him so focused on his painting. You suddenly had an idea. 

After one last stroke to complete the body of the faceless person you were painting, you stopped. You stood up and went to the table where Peter put his camera on. He didn’t notice you, he was too busy to even notice you standing. You carefully and quietly put the strap over your head and adjusted it to your comfort. You walked little steps towards him, positioning yourself just behind him where you could see his back as he worked on his painting on one of your easels. You adjusted your eye to the viewfinder and just when you found the perfect view, you clicked its shutter.

Click.

The familiar click of his camera forced his eyes to look away from his painting. He looked quizzically at you. When he realized what you were doing, he smiled widely as he carefully put his paintbrush in a brush holder.

“What are you doing?” he laughed. God, you loved his face when he laughed. You couldn’t resist clicking the shutter for the second time.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just continue what you’re doing. You’ll be the painter and I’ll be the photographer for today.”

Moments later, you probably had circled around Peter just to make sure you could capture every angle of him painting. He was smiling for most of them. 

“Am I even doing this right?” he asked, gesturing for you to look at his painting.

You stood beside the stool he was sitting on. “You’re doing great. But I think you should blend this area a little bit more,” you said, moving closer as you pointed out the area you were talking about. “And you might want to go softer on your brush.”

“Have I told you how attractive you are when you teach me these things?” he said suddenly.

That caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do so you just looked at him with an awkward smile. Peter didn’t know where his confidence came from, but all of a sudden, he dipped his pointer finger into the orange paint on his palette and smeared it on your cheek. Your mouth widened with shock but you immediately did the same thing to him. And so, you two had a full-on fight which ended up with both your clothes and faces covered with colorful paints. 

“Oh, I have to take pictures of this,” he stated before running to the sink and washing his hands so he could hold his camera and not worry about smearing paint on it.

He got back quickly, asking you to do silly poses as he took your pictures. You did the same to him, instructing him to do ridiculously funny poses when you took his pictures. After a while, he set the camera down on a table facing the two of you and set it on a timer so he could take photos of both of you together. You two were having so much fun that none of you even cared or noticed that some of the poses you did were both of you being too close to each other’s bodies. 

That was how the day went for the two of you. Covered with paint and indelible memories with each other.

And maybe even growing feelings towards one another.

DAY 6.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Your painting fully dried overnight,” you said excitedly as you opened the door for him. “Would you like to see it?”

“Well–good morning to you too,” he giggled. “Actually, can I go to the bathroom first? I really need to pee.”

“Oh-yes, of course,” you smiled, letting him inside. “It’s up there in the loft beside the bed. It’s the only bathroom so it’s not hard to find.”

As Peter went to pee, you decided to find a painting of yours similar to his sunrise. You were thrilled to show it to him.

You held your painting behind your back as Peter exited the bathroom and went to see his finished painting. “You can touch it,” you reminded him when you saw how his fingers hesitated to touch the canvas in fear of ruining what he’d done. He finally touched it, picking it up with his hand and stroking the piece of art with the other as he admired it. He did this. With his hands.

“It’s beautiful,” you commented. “You seem to be a natural. It doesn’t look like it was your first time. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, I had the best mentor, so…” he smirked. “But in all honesty, thank you so much. For introducing me to painting, for teaching me how to paint, for your wise words—everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said before remembering the piece of art behind your back. “I have something I want to show you. But I’m getting tired just standing, so let’s sit on the couch.”

Once you both settled on the couch, you showed him your painting of the sunset. You put it side by side with his sunrise and it created a perfect contrast together. The same sun, taken from the same secret spot on top of that little hill, but at different times of the day.

“Unbelievable. They’re almost the same,” he whispered, wonder-struck. “May I ask why you painted a sunset?”

“I painted this during one of the hardest days in my life. Why a sunset? A sunset because it reminds me that even though the day is hard, there is an end to the day. A sunset… because it represents the opportunity to rest. It reminds me that if the sun can rest after a tiring day, then there is nothing wrong with closing your eyes for even just a moment.”

He looked at you with deep understanding. “Why did you paint a sunrise?” you asked.

“I’ve always known that a sunrise meant the start of another day. But only when I started to paint it and connect with it did I realize that there is more to that. Why a sunrise? A sunrise because it reminds me that another day isn’t only another ‘day’. It’s also another chance to live and take risks. A sunrise… because it represents the opportunity to start again. It reminds me that if the sun could come back up after a long dark night, then I can too.”

Your eyes glistened with tears as he said those words but you didn’t let him see it. Art really was a voice that spoke beyond thoughts and words. Those paintings weren’t just paintings, they were experiences. Your sunset was a symbol of rest—what you have always wanted to have after all those years. His sunrise was a symbol of hope—what he was searching for for the longest time.

You ended up framing the paintings and hanging them on your wall beside each other. Together, they created the most beautiful contrasting artwork. The two paintings became one—it was like they were always meant to be beside each other.

Click.

“You know, I went through the photos you took while I was painting. They’re really good. The angles? they’re perfect. If you ever want to change careers, just tell me,” he joked.

“I think I’ll stick to painting,” you chuckled. “But thank you, I mean, I had a great mentor so that’s probably why the photos turned out good.”

“You mean me? I didn’t even teach you as far as I can remember.”

“Well, not literally. But when you take pictures, I observe you and the ways you hold the camera. So, I definitely got my ‘skill’ from you,” you admitted.

“You observe me?”

You noticed his lips slowly form a smirk and only then did you realize what you just revealed. “Uhh-let’s not m-make it a big d-deal,” you nervously laughed, feeling the anxiety creep up on you. You never knew how to deal with social situations like this. When things went awkward or you didn’t know what to say, you ran. Hence why you never had a long-time friend. Peter was the only one you lasted this long with.

“I was just teasing you,” he smiled, stroking your arms with his hands to calm you down. You didn’t know how he knew you were slightly panicking on the inside. But somehow, he did. And then he smiled at you with the softest and most caring smile you’d ever seen and suddenly the anxiety and the panic shifted into a feeling of comfort.

You had never felt like this before.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and almost in an instant, the once bright day outside your windows turned into a dark night.

Time really did fly when you were with someone you loved.

Loved.

None of you would admit it yet, but it was definitely there.

“It’s time for me to go…” he announced.

Before he could fully stand up and start to make his way to the door, you held his wrist to stop him. He looked at you with confusion, but the glint in his eyes said a lot more—he hoped you would ask him to stay.

And that you did.

“You can stay here tonight…” you whispered. “Only if you want to, of course.” 

“Do you want me to stay?” he softly asked, glancing at your hand that held his wrist before looking at you again.

“Yes.”

DAY 7.

Different time, same place, different day.

Peter woke up earlier than usual and yet he felt that the sleep he had taken was the most satisfying he ever had. Why? Well, it was because he slept next to you.

Let’s take a few steps back…

Yesterday night when Peter was about to leave, you insisted on letting him stay. He offered to take the couch but you felt guilty that you were about to sleep on a soft mattress while he would sleep on an old couch downstairs so you told him that it was fine if he slept next to you on your bed. He was hesitant because he respected your boundaries but eventually you were able to come to an agreement to put a pillow in between both of you to not make things awkward. None of you knew how it happened, but when you woke up, the pillow was moved to the floor and your hand and his were almost touching. It seemed like your bodies naturally gravitated towards each other—but of course, none of you would admit that. At least not yet.

He quietly made his way down to where you were painting, careful not to disturb you. He grabbed the camera along the way. He would never get tired of capturing photos of you while painting—you were a master of arts in one of their truest forms. You were sitting on a stool with an easel in front. 

He pulled the camera close to his face, aligning his good eye with the viewfinder. He adjusted the lens, zooming it in your hand that held a really old—it seemed to be your favorite—paintbrush. But before he could click the shutter, he noticed how your hands were shaking as you stared at the painting. He immediately put down his camera and stared at it as well and only then did he realize that you haven’t made any progress on your painting today. The painting was almost complete, the only thing missing was the face of the man in the middle. Up until now, he was still faceless.

“You know, this is the longest it’s taken me to paint a person,” you said, feeling his presence behind you. “It’s just a face. Why is it so hard?” you sighed with shaking lips. You were battling the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes.

For the first time ever, he didn’t know how to reply.

“No–don’t answer that,” you let out a breathy laugh, but there was pain underneath. “That was a rhetorical question. Of course, I know why it’s so hard.”

With shaking hands that you tried so hard to steady, you started coloring the face with a skin tone color that matched the rest of the man’s body.

One stroke.

He didn’t know what to say, but hopefully, he knew what to do. Peter moved beside you, intertwining his right hand with your left as you painted with your right. 

Two strokes.

You felt him squeeze your hand, doing his best to comfort you.

Three strokes.

Painting the structure of the face was done. Now onto the details of the face.

You closed your eyes, trying to dig up the memories you had with this man. But it was hard since the man you were painting only stayed for a little while in your life. 

You opened your eyes, picking out a thin paintbrush that was perfect for little details. You started with the lips.

One stroke.

Peter’s presence was giving you not only comfort but courage as well.

Two strokes.

And then another.

The pinkish-red lips stared at you from the painting. You let out a breath. Next was the nose.

You picked up your pencil to draw some lines for a little bit. You only did some to serve as your guide. Next, you cleaned the thin paintbrush before dipping it in another color—black. 

One stroke.

You followed the lines you drew. But they were just lines, you have to paint the details to actually make the nose specific from the rest.

Two strokes.

And then you did some shadows with the outlines to blend them with the skin. It was done.

“I think I’ll continue later,” you sighed sadly, squeezing his hand. “I need to take a breather. S-sorry this is hard for me.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, squeezing your hand back. “Do you want me to join you?” he softly asked.

“No-I want to be alone for a moment,” you smiled to show him you appreciated his concern. 

He watched you leave and was alone for a moment. He glared at the painting, wondering what this person could have done to hurt you this much. How could someone even hurt the most precious person to ever walk on earth?

He heard the door open loudly, making him turn immediately. You were at the other side of the door, looking up at him with your eyes red evidently from crying. He walked past everything—the table and the clutter on the floor—hastily just so he could hug you.

He carefully closed the door as you leaned into him. Your body was weak due to repressed emotions now releasing all at once. He noticed your knees slowly giving up and he guided both of you to sit on the floor.

The camera, the photos, the paintbrush, the painting—all were forgotten the moment he wrapped his arms around you. He cradled your face with his hands, brushing your cheek and wiping your tears.

“I’m a mess,” you said, sniffing.

“You’re beautiful,” he responded, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” he cooed.

“Will it help?”

“I think so. But it’s still up to you,” he replied honestly. 

You nodded. “I know you have questions, ask them.”

“Who’s the man in the painting?”

“My father. Or at least what I remember of him.”

His back was resting on the wall as you leaned into his side, his arm was still wrapped around you.

“And the house in the background, is that your family’s house?”

“It’s the orphanage. I spent my whole childhood there. That’s where I grew up.”

“Did he visit you there?”

“No,” you laughed painfully. “Remember what I told you before? That the best thing about painting is that I can paint whatever I want to see or happen? That painting is one of them.”

He was listening intently. He didn’t want to say anything because he knew that you didn’t want any advice at the moment, you just wanted a listener.

“I never met my mother. The caregivers at the orphanage told me she died when she birthed me. When I asked them how I got there they told me about my father. He took care of me for 4 months, and then I think his heart broke whenever he saw my face because I looked a lot like my mother. It came to a point where he couldn’t look at me or care for me anymore so he put me in that orphanage. I guess the heartbreak was bigger than the joy that I brought. 

“I always imagined him visiting me, getting me out of that place, and bringing me home. But that didn’t happen. So I coped with drawing and painting. Until now, I still wonder what could’ve happened if he came back for me… hence why I’m doing the painting.”

“Do you have any pictures of him?” he asked.

“I only had one. It was a picture of my parents at their wedding. I used to stare at it every day until I lost it and I would never forgive myself for being so careless back then. The last time I held that picture and stared at it was when I was 7. It’s been too long and I can’t seem to remember his face that much.”

“Is that why it’s so hard for you to paint his face?”

“Yes. But also because of the realization that my wishes only come true in my paintings. I wanted him to come back for me or at least visit me. I didn’t get that visit, so I’m getting it in the painting.”

“Have you tried looking for him?”

You nodded. “Of course. But you can’t find who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Did you at least have any people who cared for you like a parent?” he asked, sympathy evident in his expression.

“I had this one particular caregiver who made me experience what it was like to have a mother. She was the one who gave me my first paintbrush and painting set. She was the one who made me discover that I had a talent for drawing and painting.

“But she didn’t stay for long because she had to leave the orphanage permanently to take care of her own family. She told me something happened and she had to take care of a little boy.”

Peter’s face furrowed from the familiarity of that exact situation, but he let it slide eventually. This was your story, this wasn’t about him.

“I have some questions for you too,” you chuckled. Tears were no longer falling on your face. Peter was right again. Indeed, talking about your past helped.

“Shit. Do I have to get nervous?” he joked.

“It depends on what your answers are gonna be,” you joked back. “How did you get your camera? Did you buy it or is it from someone you look up to?”

“The answer is the latter. I had a teacher once in high school, he wasn’t a professional photographer but we shared the same interests. I remember the first time he stepped into the room to teach English but instead of focusing on him the first thing I noticed was his DSLR camera. It was kept and hidden in a bag but I know a camera bag when I see one. I think, over time, he noticed I was always glancing at his camera that one day he called me to stay after his class and gave it to me. He told me that I needed it more.”

“Were you two close?” you asked.

“We were, yeah.” 

“Where is he now?”

“He died a year ago. He’s gone now but I still treasure every lesson he’s taught me.”

“And your parents?”

“They died when I was 4 from a plane crash. Since then, I stayed with my aunt before she was gone too.”

“I’m sorry, Pete. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine. I feel comfortable around you—the heavy things don’t feel as heavy anymore.”

Silence surrounded the apartment, calming the two of you as you held each other. No one needed to speak at the moment, just you in his arms were enough.

Day almost turned into night and you finally stood up.

“You don’t have to finish it today,” he said as he noticed you staring at the painting anxiously.

“I know. But I want to.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “Then I’ll be there with you.”

He walked towards you and intertwined his hand with yours. 

“Thank you.”

Together, you walked until you were in front of the easel again. He picked up the paintbrush and held it in front of you. He gave you an encouraging look and you smiled as you took the brush with courage.

“Here we go.”

You did the eyebrows first, it didn’t take you as long as you did when you did the nose and lips. 

The eyes.

The hardest part because the eyes were what looked into the soul.

One stroke.

Two strokes.

Three strokes.

You weren’t shaking anymore.

Four strokes.

Five strokes.

“You can do it,” Peter encouraged.

Six strokes.

Seven Strokes.

“You’re doing great,” his hand held yours tighter.

The last stroke.

You did it. You painted your father. You remembered his face. And above all, you painted him in front of the orphanage, coming back to get you.

You smiled. 

Peter stiffened beside you. His eyes widened as he looked at your father in the painting. 

“Peter?” you called his name.

He stayed unmoving.

“Pete? Are you okay?”

“That’s him…” he pointed at your father.

You were confused. “Who?”

“My teacher in high school. The one I told you about. The one who gave me my camera,” he collected his camera from the table. “The one who gave me this.”

You were speechless and shocked to the core. “Are you sure?”

“It makes sense now,” he continued. “He once told me in our conversations that the greatest mistake he’d ever made was leaving something he loved because he was so scared he would never be deserving of it.”

You didn’t know what to feel.

“But now I realize, he wasn’t talking about a ‘thing’, he was talking about someone. You.”

“Did he try to come back for me?” you asked, curious but you weren’t hopeful.

“I-I don’t know… I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” you sniffed, wiping your cheeks. Funny, you weren’t even sure when the tears started to cascade down on them.

“You mentioned your teacher died last year, right? That means he’s…”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he softly spoke, even his eyes couldn’t help but tear up slightly.

“It’s not your fault. Besides, he wasn’t even there for me for most of my life. It’s fine,” you reasoned, telling him it was all good but another tear still slipped from your eye.

He hugged your side and stayed like that for a good while as he tried to think of another subject to talk about to keep you from hurting any longer. His eyes caught the brush holder and focused on an old paintbrush that you use almost every time. It seemed to be your favorite. The marks on the wooden handle told him the age of the brush; the bristles that were still intact and usable told him just how much you take care of your art supplies. 

“That paintbrush… you use it every time, is that your favorite?” he already knew the answer but he still asked just to distract you.

You didn’t need to follow where his eyes were looking or ask him anything, you already knew the brush he was talking about. “Yes, it is my favorite. Remember when I told you I had this caregiver in the orphanage that gave me my first painting set and paintbrush?” you said before picking up the brush. “This is the paintbrush.”

“You must’ve taken good care of it all these years,” he commented. 

“I did. It’s special and it holds a lot of good memories.”

“What’s your favorite memory?” he asked, interested.

“Me as a little kid doing my first painting with my caregiver. She was encouraging me every step of the way.”

“What’s her name?”

“May.”

His eyes widened with realization. He remembered asking his aunt what her job was before she took him in after the incident that killed his parents. She had told him she was a caregiver at an orphanage. But the city is wide and big, it never occurred to him that that orphanage was the same one you were from.

“May Parker,” he breathed out.

You looked at him. “Yes! That’s her–I forgot her last name but that’s her. Do you know her?”

“She’s my aunt.”

Now everything made sense and all the why’s were answered. No wonder why you felt a sense of familiarity the first time he put his camera down and you saw his face. No wonder why your heart jumped when you learned his name. May Parker… Peter Parker… holy shit. How come you didn’t notice that before? 

“You’re the little boy she always talked about. Her little nephew who loved taking pictures so much,” you said, eyes once again starting to tear up.

“And you’re the little painter girl she always mentioned,” he smiled. “She promised me she would introduce me to you but life got busy and that never happened.”

“But look at us now. I guess fate still found its way to introduce us to each other,” you stated softly.

Peter once again cradled your face with his hands, slowly stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“That day I met you at the park, I was at my ending point with photography. That day, I was determined to find the last project worthy of my dying passion. Then I met you. And in just a matter of days, I knew you, and it changed my life,” he started.

“You taught me lessons about art and life. You gave me something I’ve been trying to get back for a long time—hope. 

“Above all, you made me remember why I even started taking pictures. You made me realize my purpose. I know now that I never lost the flame, the candle just stopped burning. But you… you rekindled it and suddenly it was back again… and it’s stronger and hotter than ever.

“Now, I can admit, to anyone and myself, I love photography. This is my passion. It’s not just the flame… but the fire within me that sways with the wind.”

He felt your hands gently wrap around his wrists as he continued caressing your face. “Oh, Peter…” you whispered.

“T-there is something beyond words that I feel for you. I-I don't know how to properly say it but I’m still gonna try,” he whispered back. “You’re not just the muse of my favorite pictures, you are my camera. Without you, I’m unable to reach my full potential. You’re the perfect angle I’ve always wanted to find. And now that I’ve found you… everything makes sense. The blank spaces in my heart and in my life aren’t blank anymore because your name is now written all over them.”

You moved closer so your forehead could touch his. “And you, Peter… are the colors that I paint on my canvases. The sunrise to my sunset. Ever since you came, the meaningless life I had before became meaningful.”

Silence surrounded you for a moment. Your foreheads were still touching while both your eyes were closed. Tears stained both your cheeks as the two of you couldn’t stop crying out of adoration and love for each other.

“All the ones who guided us are gone now,” you breathed out.

He placed a long kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“From now on, it’s only you and I.”

After uncovering the past and embracing the present, you were looking forward to the future.

It truly was amazing how art could connect people together.

The hopeless photographer was once again hopeful;

The restless painter wasn’t exhausted anymore.

And soon the two of you would realize that the love you shared was a testament of…

Interlacing fates,

Intertwining lines,

and

Connecting arts.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 ​ @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog

me, as the author, connecting with the story through writing is further proof of how art connects us all together. i can only hope that i wrote this well so that you can connect with it too through reading. thank you all for being patient, this is for all of you.

[leejeongz]

🫧 evnne reaction to you asking for a hug 🫧

pairing: boyf!evnne x gn!reader

genre: fluff (a bit angsty but not relationship angst)

warnings: pet names, mentions of food (seungeon)

a/n: acc most of these were kinda sad because i couldn’t think of happy scenarios 😭 sorry !

⋆ hanbin

“im in my room, angel!” hanbin shouted as he heard you close the front door.

you spied him lying on the bed, waiting for you to come in, which made you smile immediately. hanbin always looked a little bit mischievous, but he was definitely planning something right now.

“please not today,” you groaned, “i’m not in the mood for pranks.”

“what’s wrong? did something happen?” he asked, concerned.

“just a long day,” you sulked, dropping your bag off of your shoulder so it fell into its usual place, beside his desk, “hanbin, can i have a hug?” you asked, which caught him off guard.

more + other members under the cut

“uh yeah of course you can!” it was the quickest you’d ever seen him move off his bed for anything. he flung his arms around you and you rested your head on his shoulder sloppily. he hummed, his chin coming to rest on your head. his arms squeezed you slightly as he felt your head droop further, aa if to remind you that he was there, which made you smile instantly.

“is that better?” he asked, pulling away slightly.

“thank you,” you nodded with a pout.

he smiled back at you sweetly, taking your hand and pulling you to the bed. “or maybe we should cuddle for a bit longer, i was thinking we could watch high school musical again?!”

⋆ keita

“y/n it’s your birthday, why are you here on your own?!” keita finds you in your room, re-reading the birthday card he gave to you. “hiding from hanbin?” he laughs.

you laugh with him as you stand from the edge of your bed. “it’s just a lot to take in, you know?” keita nods, edging closer to you with a sympathetic look on his face, which draws the question out of you that you’ve been wanting to ask him all day. “can i have a hug?”

“a birthday hug?” keita asks, opening his arms as he stops right in front of you.

“just a regular hug,” you respond, your arms wrapping around his torso as he kisses your shoulder.

his embrace feels so familiar. comforting. it makes you forget about all the overwhelming events of the day. his hand gently moves down your back and up again, his breathing syncing with your own as the hectic day stops for just a moment.

“i love you,” keita whispers.

you pull away, content and ready to face the music once again.

“i love you too,” you whisper back, your hands finding his.

“i know.”

the smirk on his face reminds you of the keita you met on your first date, so rightfully confident, yet incredibly soft. “good.”

⋆ jeonghyeon

jeonghyeon was working away on his laptop, his earphones plugged in with his concentration face in action. you walked into the room as he was shuffling in his seat, before he tugged his earphones out and got up off the sofa.

“you made me jump,” he laughed, hoping it wasn’t too obvious as he almost bumped into you.

“babe, can i have a hug?” you pouted, without even meaning too.

“of course, baby,” he responded.

his arms welcomed you into his chest immediately, which you rested your head against. you always felt comfortable in his arms, they were so secure, but not suffocating, they wrapped around you so perfectly, you never wanted to be anywhere else but in his arms whenever you hugged him. his hands gently rubbed at your back in a soothing way, almost lulling you into a dreamlike state.

“are you tired?” he asked softly.

“just needed a hug,” you spoke against his chest.

“well, i’m always here when you need one,”. you looked up to him with a gentle smile and he placed a kiss onto your forehead, smiling back at you proudly. “i needed a hug from you too.”

⋆ seungeon

“seungeon,” you whispered, crouching next to his bed. he was completely out when you left to go to the store and now that you’ve come back, he’s just beginning to stir. your hand finds his hair, a little damp from sweat, but you think it’s cute.

“‘mm” he muffles, swatting your hand away gently.

after a couple of seconds, he manages to wake up and turn onto his back.

“can i have a hug?” you ask.

he’s still not completely wide awake, and so he just holds his arms out above him and waits for you to climb onto his bed and into his arms. you flop on top of him in a playful manner, careful not to hurt him. his arms soon encase you, flush against his body. he took a long inhale and then let it out, clearly very happy with his life currently.

“why?” he wondered aloud.

“you just looked so cute wrapped up in there,” you answered. seungeon rewarded you with an aww and a very faint, innocent kiss on your ear. “and also because they didn’t have the chips you wanted at the store.”

⋆ yunseo

“you won?” he asks, a huge smile across his face as you nodded.

“they didn’t stand a chance,” you bragged, flicking your hair and rolling your eyes sassily.

“i don’t doubt it,” he encouraged, “let me treat you to something special,” his flirting never failed to make you embarrassed, especially when his hand came to your arm, caressing it gently.

“maybe a hug?” you asked innocently.

“really?” his smile fell softer, “you want a hug?” his head tilted and reached out for your hands, pulling you closer into him and placing your arms over his shoulders. his hands soon found your waist, pulling you even closer until you were almost flush against him. as you looked up at him, yunseo couldn’t help but place a little kiss on your lips before his face displayed a proud smile.

“you’re so…” he had so many compliments in his head, but felt shy to say any of them. instead, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, swaying you side to side.

⋆ junghyun

“oh,” junghyun greets you with an awfully hidden shocked face, “you look…” he searched for the right word when you finished his sentence for him.

“… dreadful? i know, i haven’t slept. this stupid assignment,” you point at the computer screen, “junghyun, can i have a hug?” you ask, almost in tears.

he doesn't answer, instead he just walks towards you, waiting for you to open your arms while you’re sat down. you tuck your head between his waist and his arm as he strokes your hair with one hand, the other swooping over your shoulders. he reads over your work as you hug, your writing never fails to impress him, but it’s devastating to know that you stayed up all night to create it.

“babe,” he started. you look up at him once again as the arm over your shoulders becomes a hand stroking the top of your back, “let’s take a break now, okay? i’ll run you a bath, or you can nap, it’s completely up to you.”

“a nap sounds great,” you pause to think for a second “so does a hot bath,” you sulk, “but i can’t.”

“please, y/n, you’ll feel better when you get back to it anyway.”

[cypressnmarigolds]

NSFW Vincent Sinclair HCs

Even though I really, really need to finish writing my Thomas installment of Lesson Learned, I'm gonna share my naughty Vincent headcanons because they've literally been eating my brain.

Contains: Vincent being a creepy little perv.

🚫 Minors, blank and no-age blogs are not welcome on my blog or to interact with my posts. You will be blocked. 🚫

He's a virgin. I'll leave elaborating my reasoning for another time. don't want this getting angsty.

I HC Vinny as a closet perv. Really takes off once you've caught his attention and managed to be allowed to live. If he has his way, you will never catch on, or even find out he's interested in you. He's embarrassed, among other feelings.

Before you came along, he has had plenty dirty thoughts and fantasies. Hell, he's probably read through any and all smutty books he's been able to find in visitors belongings. But after you show up and he has someone to focus all of his thoughts on? HORNY.

Now, I mean he's a ✨pervert✨ He will steal your underwear and jerk off in them, then quickly wash them and put them back before you've noticed they're missing. He will, at some point, somehow catch you naked without you noticing. IDK how he does it but he will.

He will then draw your nude form several times, in many positions.

He will jerk off to these too and would rather let Bo and Lester find them before you.

If he ever overhears you touching yourself or having a steamy dream, he will listen and touch himself to you. If not right then, he will file it away for later.

Lil Blurb

But seriously can you imagine? He manages to catch you changing, or overhears you moaning in the dead of night. He immediately gets hard. Later, he's kneeling in his bed, sweats just pulled down enough to free his cock, desperately jerking himself off to the memory, mask discarded and biting down on the sleeve of his black hoodie to quiet himself even though there's no chance in hell anyone could hear him. He's also done this while "admiring" some of the picture he drew of you. He is a CREEP.

He's embarrassed about how horny he is for you, but don't misunderstand, he doesn't feel guilty about sneaking around without you knowing. He was the good child, he was the favorite. He probably got everything he wanted. And though Bo probably pulled an Uno Reverse on him after their parents were gone and bullies him all the time, Vincent still feels a sense of entitlement. If he wants something, he'll take it. If he wants to see you naked in the shower without you catching him, he will. If you wants to watch you touch yourself without noticing his presence, that's what's gonna happen. Again, CREEP

I'm conflicted on whether or not he'll need you to take the led the first several times, or if once he knows you're interested and gets over the shock, he'll pounce on you and take what he wants. That's if either of you ever make a move.

But let me be clear, he wants to see you come. He wants to see you fall apart under his hands and mouth and cock. Huge ego boost knowing he can make you feel so good.

But he has massive switch energy If you take the lead, lay him down on his back and hold his hips down while you peg him/fuck him/blow him/jerk him off, he's cumming in record time. I can see him being a whimpering, needy pillow princess.

*big sigh* Ok, think I got all my brain eaters out. If you enjoyed this, please feel free to leave a comment, and please reblog. This isn't instagram. Likes do jack shit to circulate content, and no circulating content means fandoms on this site will die.

[svltzmans]

for worse or for better - h.m.

a/n: good morning! another banger request from ??? anon lets all thank them for their contributions to my blog 😭 this is the last fic in my request box so if any of y'all have something in mind you want me to write now is the perfect time to send it in <3

warnings: kinda angsty??? but then fluffy so its fine <3, mentions of periods, unnecessary cursing bc i am a sailor

y/n knew when she woke up that her day wasn't going to go well.

the squeezing pains in her abdomen had already started, and she wasn't having it. not even a little.

messily making her bed and getting dressed, she realizes that even the most mundane of tasks are stressing her out.

much to her dismay, she still had to go to class. and wickery practice, and to study group, and...

ugh.

more than anything else, y/n just wants to stay in bed. maybe shed a few tears and order a pizza. but that is a complete pipe dream.

"y/n! hi!"

it's lizzie, and she's in an annoyingly good mood.

"hey," y/n manages, her mood shining through in her tone.

lizzie feigns a frown. "someone didn't sleep well, huh?"

"i slept fucking fine, if you must know," y/n sneered, becoming irritated by lizzie's ever present charm.

"jeez, y/n. i'm gonna walk away now."

and she does, and y/n immediately feels bad. she knows she's pretty irritable on her period, but she thought she'd be able to control it.

but as it turns out, she's not in as much control as she thought.

y/n takes her usual seat in potions class, usually right next to her girlfriend, hope.

except hope's not there when class starts, and y/n is irritated. the one person that makes her feel better decided not to show up.

she sighs, resting her chin in her arms. she knew class would feel extra long without hope next to her, cracking jokes and sharing the doodles she draws instead of focusing and taking notes.

an hour finally goes by after what feels like three, and y/n is exhausted. she knows she has to go to wickery practice or face the wrath of penelope park.

does she care about that? not much, but she forces herself to change into a t-shirt and gym shorts and make her way to the field. she's sure hope will come eventually, considering that wickery is much more fun than potions class.

the team has already started practicing when y/n arrives, and she decides to just jump in.

making a few decent passes, she thinks her day might just be turning around. still with no sight of hope, y/n's disappointment grows in the pit of her stomach.

she forgets about her misfortune momentarily when she spots lizzie, preparing for the next play. she makes her way over, feeling unnerved that the blonde is still angry about earlier.

"lizzi-"

"y/n, don't apologize. i have a period too."

"how did you...?"

"i just know. that's the only time you ever act like that. well, that and when you haven't had caffeine in a couple of days."

"you know me a little too well. now, give me the ball."

toward the end of practice, y/n sits down on the bench, sipping some water. she scans the field for hope, thinking she might have missed her, but she's nowhere to be found.

it's not exactly unlike hope to miss class, and maybe even an occasional wickery practice, but y/n is getting frustrated. she hasn't seen her girlfriend all day, and hope hadn't made any effort to see her.

as if her thoughts could be read, hope plops down next to her, in her wickery uniform.

"what'd i miss?," she asks, placing a gentle kiss on y/n's cheek as she settles.

"uh, well, where do i start? potions, almost all of wickery practice... where have you been all day?"

"dr. saltzman needed me, we had to go-"

"well why didn't you tell me, hope? i've been worried about you. you can't just disappear all day. you didn't even put in any effort to let me know that i wouldn't see you at all today."

with that, y/n stands and starts walking away. she knows she needs to be alone before she starts saying worse things she doesn't mean.

hope is left completely blindsided by y/n's reaction to her presence. y/n never gets frustrated in that way, especially not with her. she figures something must be bothering her, and without much consideration at all, she comes to a conclusion.

after coming down from her anger high, y/n is consumed with guilt from the way she treated both hope and lizzie. she at least had attempted to apologize to lizzie, even though lizzie had practically done all the work for her.

she decided that she couldn't face hope, not like this. she is almost ashamed of the way her eyes are puffy from the tears that had streamed (and are still slightly streaming) down her flushed face.

just as y/n starts to prepare to sleep, there's a quiet knock on the door.

"y/n? it's me, are you in there?"

it's hope, and y/n decides that she has to talk to her eventually.

"yeah, i'm here," she mutters, voice still weak from crying.

hope creaks open the door, shutting it gently behind her, and sits at the foot of y/n's bed.

"are you okay?"

"totally fine."

"it looks like you've been crying."

"nope. just... allergies."

a silence falls between them, with a worried look on hope's face as y/n avoids her gaze.

"y/n..."

before hope can even start her sentence, tears are welling in y/n's eyes. she crossed her fingers that hope wouldn't notice, but soon the few tears turned into a small stream.

hope moves closer, wrapping her arms tightly around y/n's torso. "oh, baby... it's okay. you're okay," she whispers, gently scratching the back of y/n's head.

"hope... i am so sorry, i don't know what got into m-"

"shh, hey, it's okay. i understand. i get a period too, you know."

"lizzie said the same thing! like exactly!"

y/n can't help but laugh, and hope soon joins her.

"c'mon, let's get some rest, yeah?"

"only if you'll stay tonight."

"y/n, if you think i'm going anywhere, you have lost your damn mind. but, i think i need to borrow some of your pajamas..."

"say less."

before she knows it, y/n is dead asleep, hope's arm draped lightly over her girlfriend.

hope pulls her closer, planting a light kiss on her forehead.

"sleep tight, don't let penelope park bite," she whispers, giggling quietly to herself.

[ya-what--ya-erster]

Mistake, Regret, or Something to that Level

PROOF-READ CREDIT TO: @waiting-makes-me-antsy Thank you!!

Albert/Davey UNREQUITED, prequel to Goodbye Don't Last Forever

kinda angsty, enjoy.

David was lost. Completely and totally lost. How was he supposed to carry on when the center of his world just up and left without a word to him?

He didn't really know how to cope long term, but he knew that a visit to his best friend's house might just help.

Ever since Francis left David (a year ago), David and Albert had become the closest of friends (except for Race and Albert, but Race was off in Australia being an impressive dancer). The two were almost inseparable. Seeing one or the other alone was a rare occurrence which was usually met by some sort of joke about how joint at the hip the two boys were.

So David was on his way to Albert's apartment in January, wearing flannel sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a cute snake drawing on the front (Albert gave it to him). It was cold, and snowy, and he regretted not putting on a coat or a hat or anything, but it wasn't far to Albert's place.

By the time David knocked on the door, he thought he was going to die of the cold, but Albert saw him and immediately pulled him into the apartment and handed him a blanket.

"Dave, are you alright?" Albert asked, taking a seat next to him on the couch.

"No." David leaned sideways onto Albert, burying his face in his shoulder.

"Oh, come here." Albert put an arm around David. "You need to get drunk."

"Yeah I do."

...

Several hours (they think) later, the two are flat-out wasted.

David got honest when he got drunk, and never remembered anything afterwards, and Albert just got crazy (and maybe a little more confident).

"What if she was the only one I was meant to be with?" David asked.

"She wasn't." Albert laughed like it was the silliest thing he'd ever heard.

"But nobody could love me like I thought she did."

"But I love you." Albert's smile spread across his face. "You're my best friend."

"But don't people in love kiss? And boys can't kiss boys."

"I've kissed boys."

"Oh."

The boys fell silent, and then Albert burst into laughter again.

"What's so funny?" David asked (but he was smiling).

"Would you kiss me if I was a girl?"

"I would kiss anything if it were Francis."

"So pretend I'm her, then. It'll make you feel better to kiss someone."

"But-"

Albert cut Davey off with a deep, drunk kiss on the mouth.

And Davey liked it.

Davey wanted more of that feeling.

So he kissed back.

He could do whatever he wanted, he decided. It wasn't like there was anyone to tell him no, except for Albert who had initiated the kiss.

Very quickly, the kiss turned into more. Shirts unbuttoned, hands in hair, and the possibility of several purple marks to appear in the morning.

"Should we keep going?" Albert asked.

Davey blamed it on the fact that he was drunk that he said yes.

...

David woke up not in his bed. Albert's bed, he knew, from the many times he'd slept over.

David immediately felt guilty wash over him. Had he seriously kicked Albert out of his own bet just to fuck some girl that was not even there anymore? He didn’t really know, he couldn’t really remember, but it was fairly obvious in his mind that he had fucked someone. And Albert didn't do well with change in routine, Davey knew that. He was feeling worse and worse about it the more he thought, so he made a move to get up and go apologize.

The headache was not good as he stood up out of the bed and headed into the kitchen area of the apartment.

“Sorry for taking up your bed last night Al.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” Albert smiled. He handed David a glass of water and two ibuprofen pills. “This might help a bit.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“So. Uhm. Happen to know the identity of the girl I slept with in your bed last night or…”

Something flashed across Alberts face. Hurt. But he picked up quickly with a laugh.

“You should be asking who the guy was.”

“The… A guy?”

“Yessir.”

“Okay so uh who was this potential guy that I-“

Albert pressed a quick kiss to the tip of David’s nose, quieting him.

“Hi there.” He said with a little smile.

(Albert was dying inside. He wasn't this forward. He wasn't this confident. He wasn't this person who was flirting shamelessly with his best friend.)

“Oh.”

“Is that… is that okay?”

“Al, I… I didn’t even know- But I don’t even remember it so how am I supposed to know what it felt like? I don’t-“

“I could kiss you again.”

“What?”

“I said I could kiss you again.”

David didn’t respond, so Albert just cupped his face in his hands and kissed him.

Pulling away after a moment, David blinked. “Is that what that’s supposed to feel like? I never- it was never like that with her.”

“Good way or bad way?”

“Good.”

“Well, Dave. It must be really confusing for ya, all this. But… I’d like to help you along the way, if you’ll accept?"

"I don't think... Al, I don't think I can. I don't think I love you like that and I'm sorry-"

"That's alright, Davey. It is what it is."

...

Albert kept a smile on his face for two more hours while Davey hung around in his apartment awkwardly, too tired to walk himself home yet.

Albert, who was majorly stressed out, would have offered to walk him home. But, he didn't want to seem rude, and he didn't want to face the outside world with its flashing lights and loud noises and people bumping into him every five seconds.

As soon as Davey left, though, everything came crashing down.

Albert was stupid. Stupid to have done what he did. Stupid to have hoped that it would work out.

Mostly, though, he was stupid for falling in love with his best friend.

It wasn't fair that Davey was that effortlessly pretty and glamorous and nice and smart and perfect. Albert never even stood a chance.

So who could blame him, really, for crying? He had wrecked his perfectly routine life and possibly his relationship with his best friend.

He called Race in a desperate attempt to feel better, but it didn’t help much because then he just missed Race too. Why couldn’t Race be in the United States? Why did he have to be so far away?

Albert closed his eyes as he sat down on the couch, trying to make the tears go away. Crying made his head hurt.

But, despite that, Albert cried himself to sleep that night.

[tunamayojazz]

the vampire/snake au drawing! i loved toge's expression in it!

AAA THANK YOU!!! that's honestly one of my favorite inuokko aus i've worked on. it's also great practice for expressions bc toge is truly going through it in this one.

bc i miss this au so much here are some angsty, angy and despairing toges!

some very wordy context for each toge below.

caution warning for mentions of blood and violence (towards a cursed spirit)

top left: one of the few times toge lets his guard down is when he thinks he's alone. those are also the times he allows himself to feel just how beaten down and tired by he is because of this "curse" he's struggling with. at this particular moment is when yuta confirms that something is truly wrong with toge. he'd just gotten back from a mission when he sees the boy by himself in the school gardens. he's never seen him look so lost and exhausted, and the sight is something that seriously worries yuta. toge catches yuta staring from a distance and immediately shifts his expression, giving the other a weak smile and waving as though nothing is off.

top right: this moment is mentioned in the first post i made about this au, when yuta tries probing into toge's unspoken struggles (bc he knows something is wrong, and it's killing him to feel this helpless).

"a few more unusual things happen that yuta simply cannot keep quiet about, so he tries his luck finding out from toge himself, and is surprised when on his 5th or so try, toge snaps, and yuta swears tht he saw toge's irises turn into slits for a millisecond and the air around them getting slightly heavier. but together with toge's anger, it vanishes in a flash. toge calms himself and simply signs that "people change". yuta frowns like a kicked puppy."

i would honestly change the tone to something a little more serious: yuta doesn't frown like a kicked puppy, he feels his heart drop to his stomach and is lost for words. toge leaves without saying anything else, leaving yuta to sit in silence, confusion and hurt.

just what had happened in the time he was gone?

bottom: the moment of a horrifying realization. after barely two weeks of experiencing odd changes to himself (heightened senses, bursts of anger, intense dislike to heat, an unquenchable thirst for something he can't quite name), the true extent of this new feeling reveals itself during a solo mission.

it's a tricky cursed spirit to beat and toge feels himself get increasingly aggravated the more the curse tries to play with him. at one point, he snaps. when he shouts "don't move", it doesn't wear off even after the usual duration of the cursed command passes. ruthlessly, he takes his time and tears into the curse with his bare hands, sharp nails digging into whatever he can grip onto and ripping and ripping until there's nothing left. he hadn't even realize he'd been muttering throughout it either, words like "die, just die" contributing to the cursed spirit's violent demise. it takes several moments of silence to take it all in, and it terrifies him when he does.

one: something is happening to him, something deeply twisted and wrong.

two: no one can know.

[jojotichakorn]

for the ask game... toey! 🙌

damn, y'all decided to really indulge me today and have me write out a million headcanons! well, thank you 🥹

choose a character and ask about my headcanons here, if you like

🏳️‍🌈 a sexuality headcanon

biromantic asexual.

🏳️‍⚧️ a gender headcanon

honestly, he's kind of giving binary trans guy vibes, so let's go with that <3

😇 a headcanon about their religion/lack thereof

very religious, buddhist obviously. can't say any more on that, because i am unfortunately not very knowledgable about buddhism, but yeah.

🧸 a headcanon about their childhood

from the little that we know of his parents, it seems like they accepted the fact that he suddenly decided to study art, which is a good sign. he also seems fairly well-adjusted. but we do know he was bullied at school, which means his nice home life was unfortunately up against his shitty school life, so he has had some bad experiences during his childhood for sure.

👻 a headcanon about what scares them

horror movies! cannot stand them. has nightmares after watching them all the time. psychologically, abandonment, obviously (thanks, q /lh).

🎶 a headcanon about music

post-punk for life, actually.

💤 a headcanon about their sleep

he falls asleep really easily ✨ imagining scenarios ✨

💝 a headcanon about their love language

i think quality time wins with him. just being there, next to q, was enough for him. but also acts of service, because he legit giggled and kicked his feet, when q sharpened his pencils.

🫂 a friendship headcanon

despite his charming and adorable personality, he doesn't make friends that easily. he really only got close with matt organically. otherwise, fang and phum started protecting him first, and he got close to our main friendship group through becoming q's mentee.

💔 an angsty headcanon

he spent a lot of time crying and wondering what he's done wrong after q disappeared :(

🪢 a headcanon about their family

like i mentioned, when i talked about his childhood, i think his parents are really lovely. oh, and he is an only child.

📓 a headcanon about their hobbies

to top off skateboarding and drawing, he gives me gamer vibes.

👗 a headcanon about their clothes

he is giving someone who dresses at a store for skaters but doesn't actually care about fashion that much. he has the familiar baggy jeans and shoes and everything, but they don't feel that intentional.

🔪 a headcanon relating to fighting/violence

just absolutely not a violent person at all.

🌟 a headcanon about their desires/wishes

i don't think he's quite there yet, but paired off with my gaming headcanon, i think he's gonna wanna be something like a concept artist for games and stuff in the future.

🥇 a headcanon about what they’re best at

he's great at art! no questions there! he might not have that immediate natural talent like q, but he's really good and he improves daily.

🍫 a headcanon about food

he loves sweet things. can't live without soda and chocolate and snacks.

🎭 a headcanon about what they lie about

to be honest, despite all the shenanigans, i don't think he is big on lying.

❤️‍🔥 a romantic headcanon

he is a very softly romantic person. i don't think he's huge on any "classic" romantic gestures, none of that restaurants and roses and things. but he is very romantic in the big sense, i'm sure the fact that he has been in love with q this whole time and has been waiting for him is proof enough of that. and he definitely loves their special little romantic quirks, like the sticky notes.

😺 an animal related headcanon

he adores animals of all sorts and qtoey are probably gonna have a whole entire zoo at their home in a couple of years.

😭 a headcanon about the worst thing that happened to them

probably unfortunately q disappearing. all the school stuff is definitely a close second, but i think his sticky note crush just caused that special kind of self-doubt, and no one was in his corner (regarding that particular situation) to support him with what he was going through and convince him he wasn't at fault.

😶 a random headcanon!

he is deeply monogamous or, as i like to call it, delusionally loyal. meaning that even if he was approached by someone, who was interested in him, in that period between q disappearing and them getting close again, he would reject that person, because he was waiting for q.

[captain-mj]

Hi!! Um, could we get more Price x Graves, but maybe Graves is on a mission with the 141 and Los Vaqueros and puts himself in danger to protect one of them? Something kinda ANGSTY. (Which hopefully leads to the team kinda trusting him more?) Thanks!

Assume this is in that one series (I'll probably do a masterlist of them soon)

~~~~

Graves went with them. It was the first mission he had been allowed to go on since the betrayal and he was stupidly excited. Obviously, he kept his expressions neutral, tried not to draw too much attention to it in case they changed their mind or found it annoying.

He sat in the front seat with Price, nodding his head along to the music they chose. It wasn't what he preferred but he liked it fine enough and Price was humming along.

"So you actually wear the hat during missions?"

"Course I do. Part of the ensemble."

"He's trying to hide that his hair is thinning." Soap pitched in, smiling. Graves laughed a little but quickly quieted when Ghost made eye contact with him. Price kept insisting Ghost wouldn't stab him for no reason, but Graves wasn't sure what a good reason was to him.

He grabbed his gun and got out, humming quietly. They separated into pairs and he found himself with Gaz which was... awkward. Gaz didn't outwardly show any aggression like Ghost, or avoided him like Rodolfo did. But it was still tense nonetheless. He wished he could've gone with Price, but Price was going to where the bombs were which meant Soap was with him.

"Is his hair actually thinning?" Gaz broke the silence first. Graves thanked God for the first time that this group was rather chatty.

"No. It's not. He takes care of it almost as much as his facial hair."

"I can bet." Gaz didn't smile, but it was slightly tense and Graves was thankful for it. With the angle they were at, Gaz couldn't have seen it, but Graves could.

The faintest glint of a gun around a corner and a hand.

He slammed right into Gaz, knocking them both down. Gaz immediately started cursing, saying he knew he was a traitor and later, Graves could be offended but for now, he needed to see where that guard went. He held his breath and noticed something moving again.

"Shut it, soldier. We've been spotted. Radio in." He kneeling in moments, gun at the ready. He sat next to Gaz while he radioed in without a second thought.

The guy he had seen was stupid enough to poke his head out and Graves put him down immediately.

"Sorry for shoving you down like that. Wasn't sure if he was aiming." Graves smiled down at Gaz. He stood up but stayed over him protectively, giving him time to get back up. He looked down for just a moment.

Gaz smiled back. "No problem. Hell I didn't eve-"

The bullet went straight through Graves's chest. He felt it bash through one of his ribs. In his head, it punctured his lungs and filled them with blood, but in reality, it missed them by an inch. The force knocked him off his feet and he slammed hard into the ground.

His tactical vest did its job. Barely. Kept it from being lethal on impact at least, but as he lay on the ground, he didn't think that would last long.

It burned. The powder of the bullets spilling into his guts.

He heard another gunshot and prayed quietly that it wasn't Gaz. The kid was way too young to die like this. Someone grabbed him and started pulling him up. He recognized the gloves and frowned up at Ghost.

Ghost didn't say anything. Soap said he could read everything about Ghost's thoughts through his eyes, but Graves thought that was stupid. They looked like the deer he hunted in the woods. A feral thing that was harmless until you got too close. Then they'd gore you and leave you bleeding out. And right now, Graves was very, very close.

"Can you walk?" Ghost sounded like he was underwater. The waves swirled around him.

There was a creek where he lived when he was a kid. He used to hold onto the rocks at the bottom. One time, he collected one and his mom explained you couldn't do that. The water always knows when something is taken and one day, it'll ask for it back. He had quickly given the rock back.

Ghost hoisted him over his shoulder like he was a sack of potatoes. Graves groaned, feeling all the blood in his body shift down, pouring from the hole in his chest. His first mission and he was downed.

"Price is never going to let me go back in the field." Graves mumbled, blood dripping down his face.

Ghost was silent for a bit. "I'll put in a good word for you once you're healed."

"Thanks, Ghost..." Graves smiled, eyes starting to close of their own accord. "Wake me up when we get home, yeah? I hate car rides."

"What are you talking about, Graves?"

...

"Graves?"

Graves woke up in bed. For a brief moment, probably due to the heavy painkillers, he wondered if it had been a dream. Then, the pain started to drip into his body, spreading through his chest like tree roots.

He groaned, the last thing he remembered was being picked up unceremoniously. He knew Ghost wouldn't do bridal style but did he seriously have to leave him with no dignity?

Maybe that was his punishment for being stupid and getting shot.

Someone's hand fell on his shoulder and he groaned again. His eyes were so heavy but he pried them open to look.

Price didn't look great. His hat was off, making him look naked. His hair was too short to be messy, yet he had managed. It looked like he had been raking his fingers through it.

"There you, sweetheart." Price said softly.

Graves slumped. "Mission success?"

"Soap and I completed it. Don't worry. Ended up coming back right now when you and Ghost got back."

"Gaz?" Panic started bubbling up in Graves immediately.

"He's fine. He went forward and found us. Alerted us to what happened so we could hurry up and get back."

"Good. Good. Swear if that kid died after I got shot." He groaned softly, moving a little too much.

Fuck.

He pressed the stupid painkiller button for more and immediately relaxed.

"He said you stood over him after knocking him on his ass?"

"Saw a guy couple yards away behind a wall. Thought he was aiming. Didn't want to take the chance. Got Sergeant Garrick and I on the ground and waited for him to pop back up. There was a second one." He closed his eyes. "So stupid. Know better than to just stand up like that. Made myself a giant target."

Fucking idiot.

"You protected Gaz and took the guy down. You lived. All that matters."

"Price, don't patronize me. I know a lot more matters. We succeeded today, but if I had... If I hadn't...." If he had been slower. If he had been standing any different. If, if, if.

Soft lips on his shut up his brain.

Price held his face gently, relaxing as much as he could without putting weight on Graves.

"I'm so glad you're okay, sweetheart."

Graves's heart stuttered in his chest.

"Everyone has been worried. Gaz especially. Feels awful for accusing you of trying to kill him."

Graves's throat started to close and his face felt flushed. There was a pressure behind his eyes that he was trying to ignore.

"If I cry, it's the drugs."

"I won't tell anyone, sweetheart." Price said gently. "You did just get shot."

Graves nodded, still trying not to cry anyway. "Price, go tell them I'm fine. And tell Ghost thanks for the assist."

"Course. Now, get some more rest."

"You need to, captain. Get some sleep. You look awful." Graves looked at him, very aware of the fact that he was saying this while shirtless in a hospital bed covered in bandages.

"And you look beautiful as always." Price smiled at him and Graves blushed.

"Stop it."

"Do you prefer handsome?"

"John."

"Gorgeous?"

"Get out of here."

[kiss-theggoat]

a thought : bo in a zombie apocalypse. if you’ve seen the walking dead, he’d be like a cross between negan and daryl but with their worst (best) traits. could you do headcannons for this maybe please ?

A/N: Thank you so much for this request!!! I haven’t seen TWD so I wasn’t too sure about the character traits, but I hope you like this! I got a little carried away with it so I hope it’s okay 🖤🖤

Bo During the Zombie Apocalypse HC’s

SFW + NSFW ( And there is an angsty little mini fic at the end )

SFW

You and Bo would probably meet during a time where he had to save you. You’d find yourself inside of a decaying building, which you’d entered to find supplies, but ended up being surrounded by a hoard of zombies. You had weapons, but not enough to take on a hoard of this size, until you heard a foreign gunshot. At first, this was terrifying. In the apocalypse, you’ve learned, people were often scarier to come across than zombies. But the man that pushed through the hoard and offered you his hand got you out and to safety.

You ended up walking with him for a while, telling him about your life story and where you’d been since the breakout. He, on the other hand, gives you nothing. He stays silent pretty much the entire time, occasionally nodding or giving you an “mhm” to let you know he heard what you said.

When you arrive at his little base he’s made with his brothers, he immediately leaves you to go to his tent, leaving you to sit by the small campfire with his brother Lester.

Bo knew that getting attached was the worst thing to do, and the moment he saw you, he knew he needed to put some distance between you two. He stayed in his tent for almost two days, only leaving to get food every once in a while.

You finally got fed up with him avoiding you. You’d gotten close with his brothers, Lester and Vincent, learning everything about them, but you still didn’t know a thing about Bo. You finally walked into his tent and sat down, blocking the exit until he spoke to you.

This led to a very explosive and difficult relationship between you two, but one that was so worth it. You’d spend time laying next to eachother by the fire, telling stories about your families before the breakout.

You learned that Bo largely prefers melee weapons. Being able to swing and hit zombies over the head with all the force he could muster is like his stress relief, and without it, he gets irritable.

NSFW

Speaking of melee weapons, something about watching Bo swinging a bat or wielding a machete, putting all his strength behind the weapon as he moved, arm and back muscles flexing as black blood splattered onto his face and clothes…it got you going. After you both went out on a mission to collect rations, it usually ended up with you tackling him before you even got back to base camp.

Bo is a big fan of the danger of things. It gets him going to fuck you over the counter of an old pharmacy surrounded by zombies, covering your mouth and whispering, “you don’t wanna draw ‘em to us, do ya darlin’?”

His favorite thing to do to you is probably edge you in that situation. He’d fuck you until you were so close, legs shaking and eyes rolling back and suddenly he’d stop, pulling his pants back up. He’d say that you got too distracted, and Lester probably needed his “rations” sooner. He’d make you walk all the way back to camp, horny and upset, face burning with anger as he teased and laughed at you.

Knowing that he controlled you got him going. Everything about you made him feel different, but he knew that since he saved your life, you felt as though you needed to repay him in some sense, even if you didn’t realize it, and he used this to his advantage.

Angsty Mini-Fic

TW: Blood, Zombie Bite, Gun, Implied character death

Bo’s chest heaved as he sucked in the muggy air, finally shutting the door, closing the hoard of zombies inside of the tiny grocery store you two had stopped in. This was supposed to be an easy task, go find some food and come back. Bo didn’t expect to see huge groups of zombies moving as one.

He quickly turned around and shoved his shotgun barrel through the handles of the door, keeping it shut for as long as possible.

“Are you okay?” He asked, turning to face you. As he turned, his heart stopped.

There you sat, on all fours in the overgrown grass, small trails of blood oozing down from your shoulder, an angry red bite swelling the once smooth, beautiful skin there. Bo felt his heart beat in his eardrums as he stumbled over to you, falling to the ground beside you. “Oh shit…shit shit shit!” Bo yelled, grabbing your arm.

“Bo…” you winced as you looked over. The bite was too high to sever the limb. Bo knew there was no way to stop the virus, and so did you.

“No you’re gonna be fine, darlin’. We just gotta get you back. Stand up.” Bo’s voice was shaky, his resolve breaking for the first time ever.

“Bo.” You said again, more stern this time. You looked up through bleary, knowing eyes. “I….it’s too high up.”

“No it’s not, dammit don’t say that!” Bo yelled in your face, making you flinch. Tears welled in his eyes as he examined the wound. Purple and red veins spidered out from each tooth imprint, puss leaking from the angry gashes. He knew it was too late. He just couldn’t accept it. You were his everything. His only salvation. When he was with you, it was like nothing was wrong. Like he’d just decided to go camping for a weekend instead of being forced into hiding by a terrifying virus.

You raised a shaky hand and put it over Bo’s, your cheeks already slick with the tears streaming from your eyes. “Bo…” you whispered, “I don’t want to become…I want you to remember me like I am. I don’t want to be one of them.” You knew asking this of Bo was unfair, but as you faced death, you couldn’t fathom turning into the thing you’d been fighting for almost a year now. The thing that’d taken your entire family. The thing that ruined your life.

Bo stared at you for a second, knowing what you wanted from him. His stomach felt like it was full of lava, like he’d throw up if he opened his mouth. He watched in terror as the purple veins slowly spread towards towards your neck and down your forearm. He knew that he needed to give you what you wanted. Your dying wish.

With two strong, trembling hands he grabbed your head, pulling you close. His shaking lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, allowing you to feel the tears falling down his face. As Bo pulled away from you, he slowly stood, wiping his cheeks dry, which was no use because the tears just kept coming. His grabbed his pistol from the holster on his hip, pointing it at your head.

You pressed your forehead against the barrel, closing your eyes tightly. Bo couldn’t look at your face. You looked so scared to die. He closed his eyes too, knowing he wouldn’t ever get the image of you out of his head if he watched.

“I love you, Bo.”

“I love you too, Darlin’.”

The gunshot was deafening, Bo’s finger trembling as it held the trigger flush with the gun. He turned around and collapsed, dropping his pistol away from him. His body felt numb. As he stared forward, he looked into the store, the hoard now clawing harder at the glass doors due to the loud noise, and he knew that he didn’t care if the barrel of his shotgun were to slip from the handles.

[bokutizer]

➵ NANAMI KENTO

summary : Not every mission leaves back physical injuries and scars tags : fluff, angsty, reverse comfort, gn!reader a/n : I miss him.

The fluffy boot-like slippers on your feet barely leave any sound as you slide over the wooden floor of the apartment. It’s past midnight, the corridor would have swallowed you in its darkness if it weren’t for the dimned light at the end of it.

When did he come back? you wonder, your thoughts starting to swirl and something akin to panic crawling under your skin. Why didn’t he come to bed? Did something happen? Is he hurt?

Your shoulders visibly relax once you reach the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as you observe him. From your angle you cannot spot any injuries or bandages which is good, yet you can’t suppress the light pang in your chest at the sight of his hunched over form sitting at the kitchen table. A glass of clear liquid, definitely not water, resting in front of him as he blankly stares in the air.

After a few seconds, you finally dare to cross the few feet that are separating you two. And even though you’re not being quiet and smooth with your movements, wanting to make your appearance obvious without startling him, you frown at the light jerk of his shoulders when you rest your hand on his back.

"Hey. Didn’t hear you when you came back." you speak softly, drawing soothing shapes over the fabric of his wrinkled button up. You notice that he hasn’t even taken off his holster.

Nanami hums mindlessly, a weak attempt to at least acknowledge your presence before he lifts the glass to his lips, the stark smell of alcohol now reaching your nose. Whiskey.

Without a single word, you take ahold of the glass and set it on the kitchen counter out of his reach and snake your body between him and the edge of the wooden table. He immediately understands your intentions and slightly pushes himself back on the chair, making it easier for you to settle on his lap.

Your hand racks through his disheveled hair, the gel worn out after a long day at work and letting the soft golden strands fall over his forehead. Nis nostrils flare at the deep sigh he lets out, and you can’t really tell if it’s out of relief or annoyance but as soon as he nestles his face in the crook of your neck, you know that it’s the former one.

"Bad day?"

Despite the low volume of your voice, Nanami hears the words sound through the kitchen, bouncing off the cream colored walls and mocking him as they repeat in his head. Bad day. Bad day.

A bad day is going out on a rainy day and forgetting your umbrella, a bad day is being teamed up and having to work with piercing blue eyes and an ego that could probably fill an entire apartment block, a bad day is when you bite in your sandwich and a slice of tomato smeared with mayonnaise slips out from between the two slices of bun, falling right on the fabric of your trousers.

Did he have a bad day, though? No.

When you’re a sorcerer you can't get hurt and call it a bad day because it is simply a part of the job. You can't work over-time and call it a bad day (even though it definitely is a nuisance.) because it is part of the job. Seeing people get hurt is part of the job. Seeing them die also is. No matter if it concerns curses or humans, having to face death cannot be considered a bad day when it is your daily companion.

"Lost one, today." you feel his lips move over the skin of your neck as he eventually says something, his voice sounding strained. Your arms tighten around his neck for a short moment before your hand slides back in his tousled hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. "Eleven years old. He was walking home when he got pulled into an empty alleyway. I heard his cries and-"

There is a light shake in the hands resting on your hips as he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. Your eyes burn when you try to blink away tears, tasting the salty liquid on your lips as you press them against his temple and let them linger there for a while until he resumes.

"It was too late when I got there. The curse was not a strong one, got easily rid of it but for a child- He was just coming from the playground."

"I'm sorry, Kento." you say earnestly and pull back to cup his face, hands resting ever so gently along his cheeks as you take in the sight of his eyes, the light sheen of emotion in them glimmering underneath the kitchen lighting.

"I was too late."

"It’s not your fault." you interject, your thumbs stroking the skin along his cheekbones and your heart fluttering when his eyes close at the tender touch. "It's not your fault."

He knows that you’re right, and you're aware of that fact too. He knows that he can’t save everyone, that he cannot give more of himself than he has. Yet, it hurts and you don’t want to imagine how he must have felt seeing the corps, too tiny corps, on the ground for which he would have sacrificed his own life just so he could protect it.

"Some things are out of our control, baby. I know it hurts but you can’t do anything about it. I know that you would have done everything to save him, but in that moment you were just not meant to save him." his ragged breaths fan against your face as you lean your forehead against his, his arms now firmly encircling your waist and pressing you further against him.

"-you were just not meant to save him."

Shit. The whiskey has been supposed to numb him, despite the numbness being only temporary, but you - you do the absolute opposite of numbing. You let him feel every single emotion, give him time to think and say what his heart wants to say and what his head cannot comprehend. Because a bad day can easily be shoved under the rug, trivial and forgotten, yet some other days, like the one today, need to be discected, inhaled and processed.

Because in a world like this, in which death is Nanami's daily companion, the little empathy and remorse he is still able to feel, are the only things that distinguish him from the curses that linger in the darkness of some alleyways.

"I'm glad you’re here." he whispers against your lips, the pillowy skin of his own lips sliding over your cheeks, your jaw, your heart.

"I'm glad you’re here too, Kento." In a world like this, he probably would have drowned in whiskey and numbness if it weren’t for you.

[starry-snippets]

video games.

feeling angsty. also ignore anachronisms i'm just in my feels man (also i totally didn’t know if i should of done a picture of kak or joot, cause it is platonically x joot but like romantically x kakyoin but i picked kak)

synopsis: kakyoin vanishes for 50 days before you could tell him you love him and when you see jotaro return from spending 50 days with him your heart sinks, knowing something is wrong 

tw for implied death and possible spoilers! 

Your console has been untouched for the last week. There’s really no fun in playing you and Kakyoin’s favorite game while he’s away and seemingly unable to contact you. Instead of sitting in your bedroom together with one of your best friends you’re curled into your sheets, anxiety ripping away your sanity. He’s been gone for just about two months without a single call, letter, or text. You have no idea why he went other than to help Jotaro’s family with something. 

As you turn in your bed to get more comfortable, in the darkness of your room your phone chimes. The screen illuminates your whole room it feels like, not giving you any break from its brightness. You can see the message flash across and it’s from Jotaro. 

“I’m at the airport.” 

You immediately spring up, knowing if Jotaro is back it must mean that Kakyoin is too. Of course you’re happy that Jotaro is back as you’ve been his friend for several years as his neighbor – but you can’t deny you’re looking forward most to seeing Kakyoin. You can’t wait to tell him all about school and how your scores rival his, and how you’ve started a video game club at the school that you’re hoping he’s down to join. 

As you rush to the airport you’re greeted by Jotaro and his grandfather Joseph. Both have solemn expressions which are out of place for both of them. Joseph’s cocky grin is replaced with a straight line and eyebrows furrowed. Jotaro has his hat covering most of his face with an ominous shadow. You run to them in both relief and panic since Kakyoin isn’t among them. 

“Jotaro, where’s Kakyoin?” You ask despite fearing the stakes of this trip were higher than you could have imagined. But hearing Joseph’s breath hitch and his gaze turn from you two, you know Kakyoin didn’t make it home. 

Jotaro watches the color drain from your face and your arms fall slack at your sides, grief striking you worse than he’s ever seen. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes until they overflow, an avalanche being witnessed by the Joestars. Joseph and Jotaro watch as you fall apart before them. Unable to stop your quickened breathing at the magnitude of what they just expressed, you cover your mouth with your hand to try and not draw attention to you three in the airport. 

Joseph nudges Jotaro in the side, signaling for him to reassure you. Jotaro somewhat awkwardly raises his stiff arm to your shoulder. He waits a moment to observe what you do – really if his touch is unwelcomed – and when you stare up at him with that hopeless expression he feels himself snap too. 

All that he’s kept inside of him upon seeing Kakyoin lifeless back in Egypt is on the forefront of his mind. He cannot mask his sorrow in the relief that his mother is okay or in the victory of killing Dio. His heart is weighed down entirely by grief at losing his only other friend – the only other person he trusted like he does you. With his hat covering his eyes he begins to cry himself for the first time in likely years. You watch with wide eyes, especially when he pulls you into a hug, unbelieving they’re back and Kakyoin wasn’t so fortunate. Jotaro holds you tightly against him as he slightly cries while you weep in contrast. He hates that he couldn’t keep himself together but he knows you’ll reassure him it’s not weak to cry. Especially over your best friend’s death. 

“W-what ha-happened?” 

“I’ll tell you later,” Jotaro says with the slightest shake in his voice. “Let’s just…” He trails off in his head, unable to think straight with the sorrow rampaging his heart and mind. 

You give him a friendly squeeze while he holds you tightly in his arms, knowing what he’s asking for despite not voicing it entirely. 

“Of course Jojo.” 

[bluegekk0]

Manifesting the biggest hug for you. I don’t know if you’re still having a hard time, but just in case, I’m going to offer some words of encouragement. I’m not the best at this sort of thing, but imma try. Just know this: everyone who’s stuck around for this long adores you and what you contribute to the Hollow Knight fandom. We wouldn���t be here if we didn’t. You’re loved and appreciated, and while we are simply the gay little people on the other side of the screen or even the other side of the world, we’re here to back you up and support you in whatever you do.

What was the design process behind the modern clothes for the FPK family? Lewk in his onesie is absolutely adorable. Holdable. I’d love to know how you arrived at each fit! They all look amazing!

;; thank you so much, this really means a lot to hear. i really do appreciate everyone who's here to support my silly little au, and words like these really brighten up my mood. thank you

---

as for the question, i think it all mostly came down to finding combinations of clothes that would fit their personalities. in general, most of them prefer comfortable clothes, so that's why you see a lot of loose shirts and pants. also, most of them have buttons or zippers on their clothes, primarily because it would be difficult for them to squeeze their large heads with all kinds of horns and spikes into a regular tshirts or other clothes like that

i'll start in the order they appeared on the drawing, so that means lewk is the first one. i had a lot of trouble with his outfit due to his wings. they connect to his body all the way from the shoulders to the tail, and that significantly limits clothing options. i couldn't give him pants with a built in tail sleeve or a band extension/back hook, like i did with fpk, since the wings would get in the way. similarly, the top part of his outfit was just as problematic, especially since pants were out of the equation. so instead, i chose a zipped onesie with a tail sleeve, and two long slit type sleeves for the wings. and i'm very glad i did, not only does it fit the fact that he's the kid of the family, but it also makes him look really adorable hahah

as for grimm, i knew from the start that i wanted him to wear a loose, half unbuttoned shirt. it's just what he's like, he's the flirtatious type, of course he's going to go for this kind of look. i imagine he'd wear suits quite often, but since this is what their everyday clothes are like, he instead opts for something more comfortable. not sweatpants kind of comfortable, that's not his style, but still relatively loose. comfortable, but stylish. that's what he aims for

for fpk, it had to be something that would make you go "yeah, he's an awkward nerd". my friend suggested suspenders, and my mind immediately went to the 11th doctor. and so that was my man inspiration, particularly for the colors. naturally i left out the bowtie, cause that would be too on the nose, but the colors are very similar to one of his outfits. as for his pants, they include a tail sleeve with buttons at the top

(something like this)

now, holly. i knew they would like very comfortable clothes, so i went with a loose shirt and sweatpants. i also knew i wanted the sleeves to be quite wide, so that they have no trouble putting it on with their prosthetic arm on (since it has the junk aesthetic as opposed to a more sleek and modern look, it has a lot of parts that would inevitably get in the way). and, of course, the shirt is buttoned. there's no way they would fit that giant head into a button-less top hahaha. as for the colors, i wanted to keep the green of their regular cloak, so i went with greenish brown pants and a light shirt to give it a nice contrast

hornet is definitely a bit of an outlier. she's a bit of an angsty teenager personality on the au, she's never really matured past that point, so this kind of outfit fits her. she's a bit of a skater type i imagine, she would without a doubt shred it on a skateboard. additionally, i always saw her as someone who would dislike feminine clothes and aesthetic. mostly just a personal preference, but she has a reason to. the white lady and her weren't very close, but she would still try to force hornet into more elegant and royal clothes, usually fancy (and uncomfortable) dresses. not surprising that she ended up hating anything that even resembles a dress, and why she was very insistent on calling her previous outfit a cloak as opposed to a dress. it also explains why her new outfit looks the way it is, and i wanted to reflect that in her modern clothes as well. plus i think it just really fits her personality haha

zote was a bit troublesome. i wasn't exactly sure what kind of clothes he would wear, it's hard to imagine him in anything else than his purple cloak. i wanted to find something that would give the impression of a "wannabe cool guy who gets bullied a lot", and somehow ended up with this sans-esque fit. not complaining, i think it suits him lmfao

also, both hornet and zote have shoes. it's something that's also present in their regular designs. as for the reason why, i'm not sure. part of it is probably because i don't know what their feet would look like (for hornet, i imagine it's a mix between fpk's cat-like feet and something closer to spider feet, but i have no clue about zote), but i think it also fits their outfits. who knows, maybe their feet are just more sensitive than the rest hahaha