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naniwatig3r · 5 months ago

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CONTOUR LINES (18+)

Mingyu x artstudent!Femreader

Summary: You’ve finally broken up with your boyfriend Mingyu. Ignoring him has been hard, but you were finally at peace. But he had other plans, as he shows up to the figure drawing class you T.A…. And as the model.

Warnings: Unexplained breakup (im lazy lol), angst, cute fluff sometimes, art school stress, public nudity, public unprotected penetrative sex (no one is around though!), quickie

a/n: this was a idea i got while messing around with my friend who has a thing for mingyu, lol.

Word count: uhhh, around 7k ? I can’t remember 😅

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Another miss call.

Great, you thought, the tenth missed call from your ex boyfriend Mingyu this week.

It’s been about a month since you broke up with your ex, Kim Mingyu. It was an odd pairing in the first place. You met him coincidentally in the quad the beginning of the year, as you sat at the edge of the school fountain. Your sketchbook open, as you drew the scenery and people around you. A normal activity you did as an arts student.

You were clearly in the zone, drawing the fold in a random college student’s arm, before a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Whoa, you can draw.”

Your eyes snap up, seeing a towering figure, completely blocking your view. No shit, you thought.

“Yeah, I guess.” You say plainly, hoping your short answer would deter this guy. But then the sunlight is back on the page you’re drawing, and you feel his warm presence sit right next to you. Maybe he’s just sitting down to sit down, so you try and finish your life drawing of the current student, but they were gone. Probably going to their next class.

Huffing, you still for a moment to put your pencil down.

“I wish I could draw like that,” You hear, as you glance to your side. Furrowing your eyebrows in irritation as the man leans over to stare directly into your sketchbook. “You’re a really good drawer.” He says in awe.

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” You say curtly, as he continues to stare at your sketches like he’s at a museum. These sketches were nothing compared to a Degas or something, yet he stared at them like it was, his brown eyes flickering around in interest.

He clears his throat, as he looks up to meet your eyes. He smiles, a toothy one where you notice how sharp his canines were. Cute.

He pulls his sleeve up from his wrist to his elbow, holding his large hand out, “Mingyu. Kim Mingyu.” He says, introducing himself. You nod, reluctantly shaking his hand, his grip tight and strong.

“Y/n.” You say back shortly, eyeing him, wondering how long this tall man was going to bother you.

He lets go of your hand, as he adjusts his position to turn more towards you. One leg over the other, leaning forward. His bangs falling so perfectly across his eyebrow, that it made you narrow your eyes. It’s crazy, people like this seriously exist huh?

“Do you do art or something?” No shit.

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a fine arts major.” You respond, giving him a strained polite smile. It felt like you had to, the way this guy has been beaming at you like a puppy as you give the driest replies.

He grins, “Whoa, no way. Thats cool,” He praises, “I’m—“

The rest of the meet cute didn’t matter.

After this, you kept bumping into him, coincidence you thought at first, but thinking back… he had no reason to be near the art school area of the campus.

He always asked to see your sketchbook, or whatever was in your portfolio folder as you tried to get to your studio. Even helping you carry your supplies and folders inside, and once he learned where you worked he came with iced coffee when he could.

At 3 am, he’d lay on the floor of your messy studio, watching you as you mix another color on your palette. Your sweatshirt pushed to your elbows, paint on your hands and face as you work on the gigantic canvas for your final.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” You say a bit softly, your eyes tired despite your multiple energy drinks. “It must be boring to watch me throw paint for the last few hours.”

He shakes his head, sitting up as he looks at you with his puppy like eyes. “No, I like it. You’re so focused…” He trails, “I didn’t think art would be this hard.”

You glare at him for that remark, making him immediately tread back. His mouth gaping open and closing like a fish, “Ah! Not like that it’s easy — just that you’re so passionate you know?” He explains, throwing his hands around.

Rolling your eyes, you put your brush back into the muddy cup of water. “Why? Engineering not doing it for you?” You ask lazily, as you pull your claw clip out of your hair. Massaging your scalp from the tension.

Mingyu’s eyes focused on you, his cheeks slightly flushing. Eyes roving over how strands of your hair effortlessly frame your face. He clears his throat, “Uh, no. I like it. I’ve always been good at studying, and I get the material so,” He says, as he scratches his head.

“But I guess, it’s different watching you. Your eyes are different when you’re drawing, painting, sculpting. Whatever.” He says quietly.

“Different?” You muse, standing up to stretch your legs. Mingyu following instinctively, his tall frame dwarfing you.

He nods, “Mhm, yeah. I thought art was just a major for people who didn’t want to do anything, but getting to know you…” he says, as he follows you to your studio table. As you open the most recent energy drink you got from the vending machine. “You just don’t stop. Like you’re meant to do it.” He breathes.

His genuine words make you raise an eyebrow, turning to him. You give him a small smile, making his heart rate jump. “Yeah? It’s like you, I think.” You say, taking a sip of that battery acid of a drink. “I’ve just been doing this since forever. Natural to keep going.” You say nonchalantly, but Mingyu looks at you like you’re a living genius.

“Thats whats so cool,” He gushes, “You’re just made to do this.” He says, as he glances at your current work in progress. A large canvas with pleasing colors, his eye being drawn to the right areas. The beautifully rendered figure, framed with all the right strokes.

He looks back at you, with such an adoration you think it’s hallucinations from doing so many allnighters.

“Ah,” he starts, as he moves his long legs to shuffle through his bag, pulling out some tupperware. “I forgot, I was making uh, some dinner earlier and I had leftovers.” He lies, knowing full well he made it for you. He turns around, opening the tupperware to reveal a lunch box of different side dishes and protein. It could rival any meal inspo on pinterest, as he even carefully cut out seaweed to make cute faces.

You snicker, making Mingyu’s cheeks pink. “Leftovers huh?” You say, as you grab the lunchbox from him. Your fingers brushing over his, a welcome warmth from the cold air conditioning of the studio. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I was just gonna make some ramen.”

“Yeah no problem,” He strains, smiling. “You need energy to keep on going right? At least eat well if you’re gonna sacrifice your sleep.”

You take a bite, and even though it was cold, you nod in approval at the taste. The annoyingly large man could cook. Your reaction makes Mingyu grin, as you can see shamelessly how much that did to his ego.

“Still, you should go you know?” You say, as you remember Mingyu talking about his week a few days ago as you painted. “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

Oh? He doesn’t focus on the fact that you’re asking him to go. Only that you remembered his schedule. He grins, “You remembered huh?”

You roll your eyes, “Of course I did. You told me.” You say, your own cheeks reddening from how embarrassed you felt from Mingyu’s reaction. Why was he so excited?

He shakes his head, “It’s fine, I was reviewing earlier. It’s in the afternoon anyways.”

You finish the lunchbox, washing it down with your energy drink before going to pick up a new large paint brush. “Fine by me then,” you sigh, not bothering to argue with him. It was weird the first time he accompanied you on an allnighter, but Mingyu’s presence became a normal occurrence since then.

And there he was, sitting obediently like a dog next to you as you continued painting. Your playlist ending hours ago, as the only sounds are the strokes of your brush, and the breathing of both of you.

It was like this for a while, until near the end of the year. This time, you were running out of steam.

Maybe it was all the all nighters the whole year, or the fact you got sick right before finals, but you were stuck in your studio once more. Slaving away as you work on your third painting of the night, trying to get your exhibition finished before sunlight.

You hear the sound of the door opening. He had his own key now — you copied one at one point since he always was knocking. Mingyu coming in with late night take out in one hand, clad in grey sweatpants and a hoodie, ready to tackle the night with you.

You don’t even bother looking behind you, his familiar presence and cologne already telling you who it is. “Hey,” He says softly, putting the food down as he notices your tired state. It was like you were running on fumes, the amount of empty redbulls and monsters around your studio telling him all he needed to know.

You grunt, “Yeah, hey.” You say tiredly, as you wipe your face with the back of your hand. Paint smearing on your cheek. Mingyu comes over with a napkin from the takeout container, huffing as he wipes your cheek with it.

“Whens the last time you took a break?” He asks, a bit worried. Despite hanging out with you for so long, he wouldn’t say he knew anything about art. But he knew you. And the way your wrist movements against the canvas were sluggish, and the way your eyebrows furrowed as the strokes didn’t land and look the way you wanted… he knew you were at your limit.

“Doesn’t matter, I have another painting after this.” You say roughly, “Fuck, I’m such an idiot. I should have painted when I was sick. At least worked on the concepts and colors so I didn’t have to figure it out right now.” You rant, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth.

Mingyu frowns, “No, y/n. What about a fifteen minute break? I got burgers, it’ll help.” He says, but your face isn’t budging, like the strict deadlines for the paintings.

You curse, “God, Mingyu, I can’t stop. All the fucking pieces look like shit, if I stall any longer I’ll never finish this ass of an exhibition.” You say shakily, as you haphazardly throw your brush into the water cup, the muddy water splashing out. You grab another brush to pick up a new color.

He looks around the 10 other pieces littered around the room drying, he doesn’t get it, and he never would. They all looked great, cohesive despite your protests. “Y/n, they look great. You gotta take a break you know? Maybe it’ll help. Maybe your eyes will like, reset or something. You’ve been looking at this painting for hours.” He says, trying to reason.

You don’t listen, as you flick your wrist harshly to create a quick line of color.

clack!

You wince, dropping your brush to clatter on the floor. Your wrist acting up at the worst time, as you curse under your breath. Mingyu’s hands go up instinctively to hold your wrist, holding it still.

“God, now my wrist is flaring up too. Great, just what I need!” You curse bitterly, your head down.

Mingyu holds your wrist gently, despite your angry state you don’t push him away as he gingerly inspects your wrist. “Hey, come on. Lets take a break, and then we can wrap your hand alright?” He says softly, trying to coax you.

He leans down to see your hidden face, and it breaks his heart. Hot tears welling in your eyes from stress, frustration, and the impending deadline.

He doesn’t think twice, leaning down to hold you into an embrace, pulling you off your stool into his arms. Tight, the tips of your shoes barely grazing the floor. You can’t help but cry into his shoulder, “God, why am I so bad? I can’t show anyone any of this,” You sob, as Mingyu rubs your back. His grip tightening around you, holding you close as you basically collapse into his arms.

“Hey, y/n, you’ve just been working too long. Lets take a break alright? It’ll look better once you rest your eyes a bit, I promise.” He coos, “I’ve got some burgers and sweet potato fries, even convinced them to give me extra —“

“Mingyu, why are you always here?” You ask bluntly, choking back your tears. Through the whole year you’ve been tolerating him getting closer. First, random conversations when you bumped into each other on campus, then visiting the art school, coming to your studio, staying to keep you company. You never once tried to push him away, but you didn’t understand how he hasn’t been turned off yet. Your all nighters, your insecurities, the way you reject his invitations to campus parties and events to work. It was all a mystery, especially as you crash out in his arms, over some acrylic and oil on canvas. This must look pathetic to him.

His eyes are a bit panicked at the question, “I uh, do you not want me to be?” He asks reluctantly, still holding you close.

You sniff, your hand against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie into your fist.

“No, I just... Thank you.” You say quietly into his chest, and Mingyu felt his head spin. You could definitely hear it, he thought, the way his heart was pounding out his chest. How you relied on him, telling him to stay. If it wasn’t for the fact you were leaning on him to stay up, he’d probably melt into a puddle on the floor.

Mingyu takes you to the table, helping you sit down on one of the comfier chairs. A foldable one with a pillow he brought at one point, so he could watch you comfortably. He boasted once — y/n look! Found this by the dumpster!

You let out a deep sigh as you sit down, Mingyu bending down to his knees to look at you eye level. A hand to your cheek as you close your eyes tiredly. “Hey, you okay?” He asks, searching your face.

You nod, “Yeah, um, sorry,” You sigh, “I’m just — I’m just stressed. I didn’t mean to have a breakdown in front of you.” You say apologetically, embarrassed by it. But he shakes his head, not affected by it. In fact, it probably caused him to fall harder, seeing how hard you work.

“Don’t apologize,” He says, pushing strands of your hair back. You look up at him, straight into his brown eyes. The way he looks at you so fondly, worried, that his bottom lip juts out slightly as he observes you. The way his fingers felt along your cheek, how he’s warmed you up in the cold room, brought takeout for you.

Fuck, how his hair is tousled under the hood, and the fact his face was a sight for sore eyes after looking at your paintings all day. Something with actual 3d planes staring at you, instead of flat canvas. Maybe it was the all nighters, the fact you’re on multiple energy drinks on an empty stomach, or that Mingyu is there for you.

You lean forward, shutting your eyes shut as you push your lips against his.

It’s warm, soft… might even get lost in it if—

You pull back after a second, as you see Mingyu’s wide eyes.

Oh fuck, did you read this wrong? Shit, at least you can blame it on lack of sleep—

A pair of lips crash into yours again, this time, you part yours as Mingyu’s warm lips mold into yours. Its warm, and comforting and everything nice, as you grab his collar to pull him closer. Making him stumble forward as he holds onto the edge of the chair to steady himself close to you.

You let out a soft breath as Mingyu snakes his free hand around to the small or your back, pushing you close as possible to him. Mingyu compensating for your lack of energy with his, as he kisses you deeply, something he’s always wanted to do. Every since he watched you draw random people at that campus fountain.

He pulls back as you pathetically try to chase his lips, as he kisses you chastely before speaking. “Y/n,” He breathes, “Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted to do that.” He confesses, as he holds your face in his large hands.

You smile softly, “Mingyu, I—“

The box of charcoals clatter, as you accidentally drop it right next to the table of supplies. Sheepishly you bow at the students in class, not meaning to disrupt their focus.

You bend down to pick up the charcoal. What are you doing? It may be the third figure drawing class today, but dropping a box of pencils as you recount your days with Mingyu was horrible. Terrible.

Especially when you boasted to one of your friends as you shared a meal, Ah, Kim Mingyu? Thats over. Lets just focus on grad review.

You sigh, standing back up as you slide the box of art supplies on the table. Checking the time, you slide the notifications of Mingyu’s missed calls away. It was five minutes before class started, where the hell was the model?

And as if on cue, the other T.A. comes skitting towards you, pushing her glasses up as she avoids the boxes of supplies around the room. “Ah, Y/n—“ She starts, talking quietly to not cause alarm.

She stops in front of you, as you furrow your brows. Today the professor wasn’t in. As the consistent T.A., she trusted you to handle today with no substitutes. It wasn’t anything hard. You just helped set up the drawing horses and supplies, adjusted the lights and made sure the models were comfortable. It was easier especially when another T.A. was assigned to assist you today.

“Hm? What?” You ask, as you dust your hands.

She takes a deep breath, “Um, well, the model got food poisoning.” She starts. Leaning in so other students didn’t hear. “I just learned this right now, she’s like in the bathroom in the main hall throwing up like crazy.”

You frown, “What? Is she okay?” You say, straightening up, walking towards the front door grabbing your jacket off one of the stray art horse chairs.

She follows clumsily, “She’s fine! But she can’t model for this class. I know you’re in charge, but I panicked and just called whoever was on the emergency model list.”

You stop, causing the other T.A. to bump into your back, with a little squeak. A small what should have been insignificant memory flooding back.

“You’re TAing now? Seriously?” Mingyu asks lightly, as he fiddles with a loose strand of your sweater, the rough pads of his fingers pulling on it.

You slap his hand away disapprovingly, causing him to pout. “Yeah, just for figure drawing. I want to make a little money anyways, but working at the campus cafe is too time consuming.” You respond, as you continue to draw in your sketchbook. Outlining the foliage in front of you with your pen.

“Hm, what would that mean?” He asks, leaning forward to wrap an arm around your shoulder. Careful not to disturb your drawing, as he rests his chin on your closer shoulder. Watching you draw was his favorite past time nowadays.

“Just like, setting up, taking care of the figure drawing models. Things like that.” You respond absentmindedly.

“Models? Like, thats a job?” He asks, making you crack a smile. You forget how normal people knew nothing about art. You’re just glad he was openminded about basically everything.

You turn to look at him, “Yeah, the school hires people to pose for drawing. Its for studying.” You respond, as you tap your pen against the tip of his nose, where his beloved mole resided. Making him scrunch his nose, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Actually, I should write the emergency contact list. The professor updates every semester of models to contact if theres no shows, and the et cetera. I should just do it now so I don’t forget —“

“Add me on there then.”

You blink.

“Huh, what?” You say confused, looking at him with raised brows.

He straightens up, “You heard me. Add my number to that list. It sounds interesting,” He defends, his tone light.

You shake your head, smiling. “Mingyu, you don’t get it. You have to stand there naked, and do different poses every five to thirty minutes. Its not an easy thing to do.” You say, dismissing his words as nonsense. Sometimes he was too eager to try things just because they existed in your world.

Mingyu doesn’t falter. “Yeah I know. I just, it sounds cool. Also having a bunch of people drawing me, I don’t know… sounds nice. Also its like emergency contact right?” He says shrugging, “It’s not like it’ll actually happen. I know you’d never call me if it was an emergency, but just add me on it. If all models decide they’re not feeling it that day.” He suggests lightly.

You stare at him still in disbelief, narrowing your eyes. He scoffs, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours as a challenge. A little goofy smile on his face, “What? Come on. Just add me to the list.”

The rational side of you knew this would never actually happen. Mingyu had no qualifications, and besides, there was a dozen other numbers to call before him. So you suck it up, sighing, writing his name down. Just for the sake that he’d shut up about it.

“Okay, fine.”

Your heart beats, eyes wide as you try to calm yourself. You didn’t want to release your anger against this girl for trying to fix the situation. It was your fault, really, in the first place to put his number on there. But this never was something that has happened before.

“Which number picked up?” You ask calmly, clasping your hands together as you focus on not exploding on your fellow T.A.

“Uh, just called the first one. He said he was on campus so he was down, and we only have five minutes till class—“

“Jesus, his name please?”

“Kim Mingyu.”

Oh fuck. Fuuuucckkkkk.

Mouth wide, and panicked eyes, you start to speak, before you hear the opening of the classroom door. You turn, and your face practically goes pale.

There he was — Kim Mingyu, just in a simple coat and pants. His eyes immediately landing on you. Its only been a month, but he cut his hair. Slightly shorter than you remember, as you tilt your head.

Stop it. You have to act normal.

You take a deep breath, trying to act professional. There was no time to question why the hell he’d even pick up and walk all the way here. Or why your heart was beating so fast, just looking at him.

“Um, escort him to the dressing room area.” You start, prying your eyes from Mingyu to the other T.A. “There should be a clean robe there too.” You inform, patting her arm as you beeline straight away from them.

You find a haphazardly stacked amount of newsprint, focusing on making all the edges match as you calm your heart. It’s fine, it really is.

For some reason Mingyu was interested in figure drawing modeling before. Maybe he just wanted to cross that off his bucket list, and had nothing to do with you.

The other T.A. comes back to stand beside you, “Is he comfortable?” You ask.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Just seems a little inexperienced,” She responds, scratching her cheek. “He asked if he had to take all his clothes off, and I was like, huh? Yeah? But other that that—“

“Yeah, alright.” You interrupt dryly. “Thank you. I’ll just take over after this.” You say, as you grab the timer from the table.

You walk towards the center, clearing your throat as the art students look up. “Right, hi. Professor Kang isn’t here today, but don’t mind. Today will be quite an easy day.” You start, crossing your arms.

Your eyes immediately follow to the ruffle of the dressing curtain, as Mingyu walks out in a fluffy robe. Brown eyes meet yours, and for a second you think this will be fine. Until the corners of his lips turn up, into a toothy grin only you knew so well.

That motherfucker. Bucket list my ass, he said yes just to mess with you!

You turn away sharply, focusing back on the class. “The model today is Kim Mingyu.” You say shortly, before stepping off the small platform.

You gesture for Mingyu to walk to the center, your face stone cold as you watch him step onto the platform.

He clears his throat, “Do I take the robe off now?” He asks cluelessly.

Great, just show everyone you have no clue what you’re doing. If this was a few months ago, it’d be cute. But Mingyu standing hopelessly waiting for instructions was annoying you, to say the least.

You nod, and immediately, he undoes his robe and lets it fall to the floor.

You can’t help but stare. Your lips pressed into a thin line, your body tense. Stop stop stop! You couldn’t give him a reaction. As an artist, it was normal to see naked bodies. It wasn’t a sexual thing, especially in figure drawing. But Mingyu wasn’t just an old man or something. He was a conventionally attractive, tall, well built man. In more places than one.

“Oh shit, he’s hot.” The other T.A. whispers to you, covering her mouth. You bite back your embarrassment, as you just send her a glare for her unprofessional reaction.

It doesn’t help that other people around the room are pleasantly surprised by Mingyu, as I see pink dusting around people’s cheeks. It was infuriating, to say the least.

“Holy shit, a hot model. Is this real?”

“I thought we had a middle aged woman today. Bro… score!”

“I’ve never stared so closely.”

“Alright, warm ups. Ten one minute poses.” You say plainly, holding up the timer and pressing down on it. Immediately, Mingyu nods, springing into action.

His poses were something else. They were a bit awkward, as he stood there. First putting his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

But he started getting more comfortable. After the ten one minute poses were up, the other T.A. Adds a stool to the platform for Mingyu to sit on.

“One pose, 15 minutes.” You say, setting the timer again.

This time instead of looking at the ground, wall, or ceiling, he stared straight at you. His eyes unwavering. The sight makes your mouth go dry, as the studio lights enhance Mingyu’s features perfectly.

His face framed by the little curl of his bang, light bouncing off his tanned skin as the definition of his muscles are on display. The way his large shoulders balance his proportions, and his skin smooth and tightly wrapped around his toned torso. He always was working out, and it seemed like he kept that up, as your eyes trail from his abs to his bottom half. Your cheeks flushing as he’s so unabashedly bare in front of the whole room.

But it only propelled your anger. How could he? Just step into your domain — the art school wing — and just come here? Posing like a gangly weirdo, riding on his looks so none of the students complained. Staring straight into your eyes as a confrontation. So much it felt like he was telepathically speaking to you.

Why aren’t you returning my calls? Or, how does this make you feel? It was infuriating.

And as if satisfied in your attention on him, he smirks, like he won some imaginary battle. This idiot.

The timer rings, making you flinch against the supply table. Your cheeks flush slightly, as you clear your throat. “Another 6 poses, each 2 minutes.” You manage to choke out, pressing the timer.

As the figure session goes on for the next hour, Mingyu’s confidence was starting to irritate you to no end. At first what was awkward, was now overtly dramatic. His poses of showing off his muscles, flexing his back, it was too much. People were here to draw, not ogle.

You decided to play, not wanting Mingyu to have the upper hand. As Mingyu goes to pick up the robe off the ground, you yell, “Stop right there!”

Mingyu freezes immediately, mainly out of confusion. His eyes drifting to you, a slight furrow of his brows.

“Now, the model will stay still. Do you see how the arm connects to the shoulder blades? Please turn to a new paper and start focusing on that area.” You say, stopping Mingyu in an uncomfortable position in the name of education.

You eye how his leg starts to shake from holding it, but it only fuels you. “Now focus on the thigh muscle, we’ll hold this pose for another 3 minutes.” You say, a little glee seeping into your voice.

Mingyu’s eyes shooting up to glare at you, as you cock your head and smile.

You push Mingyu to do crazy things, like pretending to do a lay up for 10 minutes to talk about line of action. Or when you asked the students to move in closer to draw his face, having twenty people at once hyper fixate on his expression. Now, the class was fun. You completely turned it around.

The timer rings. “Alright, lunch break.” You say, as it’s half way through the 6 hour class.

Theres a collective sigh of relief, as students massage their wrists, and Mingyu putting his robe back on, but loosely. Letting his chest peek out through the fabric, as he walks around the room.

You watch as he circles, smiling and complimenting others.

“Wow, thats really good.”

“Whoa, really love how you drew that one.”

“Is that how I look? I’m flattered! Thanks.”

You huff, looking away as you catch a glimpse of him leaning over a pretty girl’s shoulder as she shows her sketches. Purposefully letting the loose robe drape his exposed chest as he examines the drawings.

Students get up to stretch their bones outside, getting lunch during the break. The other T.A. goes to check on something, leaving only you and Mingyu in the figure drawing room.

You stand, ignoring him as you walk towards the platform, readjusting the power of the studio lights. “Next part of the class is long poses,” You say, twisting the knob. “So it’ll be harsh lights. you just have to sit there, it’ll easy.”

You turn back around, Mingyu looking at you with a small smile, barely a yard away. His hands on his hips, as he looks down at you. “You know,” He drawls, his voice low. “This was a lot more fun than I thought.”

“Is it?” You respond bitterly, “Well I’m glad. Because you’re not gonna be paid for this.” You inform him, as Mingyu isn’t a real model signed with the school.

“Thats okay, I’m getting what I wanted anyways.”

You sigh, as you cross your arms. Deciding not to beat around the bush.

“What are you doing here, Mingyu?” You ask tiredly, finally looking at him straight, your brows furrowed. You boldly looking into his playful eyes.

His smug expression softens, almost reminiscent to how he would look at you before everything. He takes his bottom lip under his teeth, chewing as he looks at you.

“You seriously need me to answer that? Like always?” He says quietly, but with only you two in the studio, he could whisper from across the room and you’d still catch it.

“What, like you actually answer me with anything that makes sense?” You respond back tightly. Sighing, you relax your shoulders, biting your cheek as you glance away from him. A student’s messy pencil case catching your attention, albeit forced.

A deafening silence falls. Mingyu never really liked to fight anyways.

“You’re, you’re difficult, you know that?” He starts, as he ruffles his hair with his hand, as if that would release his pent up frustration. “When I got the random phone call that you guys needed a last minute model, I thought for a second it was intentional.”

He takes a step closer, “But of course not. You looked like you saw a ghost when I walked in.”

You gulp, “Well, to be fair, thats what you are now.” You say quietly. Avoiding his eyes.

“Oh? So I’m just dead to you?”

“No, that would be easier.” You snap, finally looking back to face his eyes. Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his eyebrows knitted, trying to figure you out like an abstract art piece.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a disappointed huff. “y/n.” He starts firmly, in a tone he barely used.

But of course, directed to you, making your skin crawl in the overly air conditioned room.

Hands on his hips, as he takes a long breath, his head facing down as he hides his expression. “For an artist, you’re really shit at expressing your feelings.” He sighs, his bangs hiding whatever you could gather from him.

“Fine.” He concludes, looking up, his shoulders more relaxed. “I’ll stop bothering you about it, since you’re so sure.” He says throwing his arms out. “On one condition.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, wary of whatever condition he was gonna propose. Mingyu could be unpredictable when you pushed him, making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

“Draw me.” He says finally. He glances at the clock on the wall, “They still have that lunch break. So just draw me at least once, before everyone comes back.” He proposes, turning around to walk casually to the platform, as if he’s assuming you would just do it.

Is he serious? You weren’t even together anymore, and yet he wants a free commission from you? Thats crazy, like you’d ever —

“Fine.” You say curtly, “Since you’re so desperate for my attention anyways.” You quip, walking over to the supply table, making sure your shoes stomp against the hard floor. You swipe some spare paper, clipboard, and some charcoal.

The second you were at an art horse in front of Mingyu though, your fire waned slightly. The dead silence of the room was deafening, as you adjust your clipboard. The sound of the metal clips thumping against the paper, the feet of the art horse squeaking as you adjust sitting on the worn wood.

When you gaze up at Mingyu, it was obvious. He really was getting what he wanted, and it was your undivided attention.

Once ready, the charcoal in your hand, Mingyu sits down on the stool, eyes steady on you as he grips the already loose tie around his robe with his large hand. Letting it fall, as he exposes himself once more in the bright lights you set up yourself. He kicks the robe away off the platform, set on you drawing him like this.

You blink back any feelings that threaten to show on your face, readjusting the charcoal in your hand as you avoid Mingyu’s eyes, pressing down to finally start a line.

Its been a while since you last drew figures, and it usually took an hour of continuous drawing before you really found your pace in figure drawing sessions. But it was different this time.

Your heart beats in your ears, a silence of the room highlighting the sound of your charcoal smearing against the newsprint — the sounds of your breathing and of Mingyu’s, as time passes. Agonizingly slowly, yet a focus every artist aches for.

Your hand moves accordingly. Outlining the contour of his silhouette, the way his neck slopes, the soft lines that shape his abs he always was working on. Pressing for pressure with your charcoal as you indicate the weight of him sitting on the stool, hands in his laps loose as you capture his likeness with ease.

But the focus doesn’t last for long, especially when you flicker your eyes back to his. Already flicking a stroke to mimic his right eyelid, before you still. Pressing the tip of your charcoal into the paper, crumbling against the grain as you stare into his large brown eyes.

Fuck. What are you even doing?

Why are you drawing him so intently, when you vowed just a while ago that you never wanted to see Mingyu again?

Your breath hitches, as you raise your arm, flickering back to your drawing. Charcoal in the air, swinging to run a huge line through your figure of him, to smear it, to destroy it, to —

Your wrist stops mid air, as you feel a warm grip tightening around you. Eyes wide, you unfocus on the paper, to look up. Somehow in your tiny melt down Mingyu got down from the platform.

He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. Jaw tense, “You were just gonna ruin it, weren’t you?” He asks you quietly.

You can’t help but knit your brows, a pained expression forming that matches the one in his eyes.

The charcoal clatters out of your hand, landing on the floor in broken pieces.

Tears start welling in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. “You’re right,” You start shakily, “I don’t know… how to address anything unless I’m drawing.” You say weakly.

Mingyu’s eyes soften slightly, swallowing hard as the bright lights highlight the contour of throat bobbing. “Yeah, seems like it.” He replies carefully. You expected him to use this as a told you so, maybe give you a smug smile, like, I knew you weren’t over me.

But Mingyu was never like that anyways. No matter how much he craved your attention, he also wanted your peace of mind. A hard thing to ask from an artist like you.

His grip on your wrist softens, as he kneels down, getting eye level with you as you still sit on the art horse. Holding your hand in his, rubbing a thumb over the veins on the back of your hand gently.

“I miss you.” You finally muster, your eyes focused on his.

“I miss you too.” He responds back, before cracking a small smile.

You strain your brows into a furrow, blinking back the warm tears you naturally formed from the vulnerable moment. A shaky huff also coming out of you, as you decide to lean forward.

Inching your face closer, until the tip of your noses brush, Mingyu stiffening slightly as you shyly graze your lips against his lips. A small breath escaping his lips, fanning over yours before you finally part them.

Your lips against his — it was like home. Finding your way back after such a tumultuous and useless road. The warmth of his lips seeping into you, Mingyu as relieved as you are. His hands finding its way to the sides of your face, pulling you impossibly closer.

It only escalates, as you open your mouth wider to push your tongue against his, making Mingyu groan out as he meets you with similar enthusiasm.

He pulls you forward, off the art horse. Taking you down to the ground, maneuvering you until your back is against the hard floor. Covering you with his large frame, his weight pressing down on you in ways you were having such a hard time admitting you missed.

It was fast, and albeit messy and rushed. Like trying to make up for wasted time as you pull him close, hands wrapped around the back of his neck as your lips go numb, your teeth clashing.

You let out a whine, when Mingyu pulls away with a heavy breath, fighting against your attempts to pull him back for a kiss.

“Y/n — fuck, can we?” He asks hurriedly, his voice breathless. A look of want in his big eyes, but there was also a little responsibility.

First of all — anyone could walk into the studio any second. There was only a lunch break, sure, an hour. But at least half of it has passed.

As you take your bottom lip under your teeth, chewing at your swollen lip as you think. And Mingyu knows exactly what look you were giving him, and he wasn’t going to reject you. Not now.

He leans back in, crashing his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss, breath hot against yours, before moving to your jaw. Leaving open mouthed rushed kisses down your neck, as you move your hands down his back. Feeling the muscles you were forcing yourself to look away from during the whole first half of class.

Touching Mingyu was way better than just drawing him from afar. You’re sure on that.

He moves his hand down, to push your midi skirt up, bunching the fabric to your hips. Your legs exposed to the cold air of the studio, as he wastes no time to slide your panties to the side. Already wet and damp from the heavy making out, and partially to the adrenaline of being in such a risky place.

“Damn, already?” He says, with a slight tease to his voice, making you pinch his arm. He lets out a pained chuckle, before placing his thick fingers against yours core, a gasp escaping your lips.

It helped that he knew you so well already, your legs squirming around the sides of him as he runs his fingers through yours wet folds, his thumb circling your clit as he inserts two fingers in, stretching you out as you gasp, Mingyu attacking your neck with messy kisses as he gets you ready for him.

“Fuck, Gyu,” You whine, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he curls his fingers, hitting the spongy flesh that makes you arch your back off of the floor.

You weren’t the only one worked up, Mingyu being bare this entire time. His dick pressing up against the inner of your thigh, hardening at the sounds of your pleasure.

Your hand shoots down to grab hold of him, helping him get hard as he lets out a moan, as you tighten your grip. Pumping him a few times, lining him up to you as he removes his hand from your entrance.

You both let out soft gasps as you hold his dick to swipe against you, coating him in your arousal, his tip leaking with precum.

He doesn’t even ask, he just knows, as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch. The friction from your pulled to the side panties, to the tight warm walls of your pussy, making him feel lightheaded with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight baby,” He breathes, without even adjusting, he ruts into you roughly. Bottoming out as he knocks the wind out of you.

A whine escapes your throat, as you hold tightly around his shoulders, as Mingyu doesn’t slow his pace.

Its rough, its fast, and overall — desperate. The lewd sounds of flesh colliding echoing in the empty studio. Your mind going dumb at his fast pace, only focused on how he goes in, out. In, out.

The smell of his sweat, the way your hands run down his exposed body, all for you. He did this all for you. To get your attention, to get you back. God, does he even know how that makes you feel?

“Fuck, fuck,” He whines, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Already feeling a little fatigued from abusing your pussy so fast. But it was just too good, he missed it so much. So, so much. And he made it evident, as he pushes the back of your thighs higher to your chest, getting deep as he can. And fucking you like his life counted on it.

You feel the familiar build up of your orgasm, your walls tightening as you grip Mingyu’s shoulders. “Gyu, Gyu, I’m —“ You manage to choke out, as he moves his face from your neck to yours. Catching your cry with his mouth, drowning it as he kisses you messily.

You shudder, squirming under him as you feel the familiar high. Your body tingling with sensitivity and pleasure, as he overwhelms you with what can only be love.

He follows soon after, not being able to maintain his mouth to yours as he lets out a shaky grunt. Spilling inside you, his cum warm and filling, making your cheeks flush in contentment and relief.

He slows, stilling as you both catch your breaths. Pulling out of you with a reluctance. Pushing himself up, to lean back to sit. You follow as well, adjusting your skirt back as you push yourself up to your elbows.

Mingyu was a sight, as he always is. His tan skin glowing with a layer of sweat. The way his toned chest rises from catching his breath. The way his bangs are sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with a rush of blood. A satisfied look on his face, as he sighs, licking his bottom lip as he looks at you.

You can’t help but smile, a warm one. As you gather yourself.

“Lets get you cleaned up before the second half. Where did you throw your robe?”

“Oh fuck. I don’t know. You got any other ones?”

#seventeen #svt #kpop #seventeen smut #kpop smut #kim mingyu #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #svt x reader

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ellewritesx · 1 month ago

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breach of contract

(part six of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: You give him silence. He gives you the truth.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, mentions of past sex, lots of feels, that's it really

A/N: hi lovelies! a lot of you had a lot of different opinions on how this part should go. i wrote it in a way that feels natural to harry and y/n, and to me as the author. i hope you guys love it as much as i do!!! a song that really helped me while writing is ''back to december (taylor's version)'' by taylor swift which captures this part perfectly imo, definitely recommend listening to it as you read this x

Word Count: 3,531

...

The gallery is bathed in a soft light, the kind that glazes over skin and oil paint alike, smearing everything in gold. The room is warm with conversation, the low chatter of art lovers sipping cheap wine and throwing around words like ''contrast'' and ''intent''.

You stand somewhere near the center, smiling softly for the camera, one arm thrown around your friend's shoulder as she beams proudly in front of the exhibit wall.

You're in one of the photos. Well, you are the photo. Printed large, mounted on white canvas, your silhouette lit with honeyed shadows and smoke. You helped out with the shoot weeks ago, before everything fell apart. Before Harry stopped asking you to come over. Before you stopped waiting for him to ask.

Your friend had begged to take your photo when one of her models canceled last-minute. Something about an accident on the highway causing ''an impossible traffic jam, Y/N''. Despite your initial reluctance, you agreed. It was mortifying, being in front of the camera. You had felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you recalled the events to Harry later that same night.

He'd said he would come. Said it so casually, in passing, fingers brushing your hip absentmindedly in bed. You didn't really believe him then, and you definitely don't now.

You wear something new tonight. Bought with your own money. A slip dress in a color that makes your skin glow and your eyes sharper than usual. You didn't put on much makeup, didn't fuss with your hair, prioritizing your own comfort. It'll be a long night, after all.

You don't see him at first.

But he sees you.

Harry walks in through the side entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark wool coat. His hair is pushed back haphazardly, his jaw unshaven, like he hasn't really slept in a few days. He hasn't. Not properly, not since you walked out. The air in the gallery is cooler than he expected, but the moment he sees you there, speaking animately to a cluster of strangers, lit softly by gallery lights like the portrait of you on the wall, his skin heats from the inside.

He had worried he would never see your face again. He was sure you wouldn't hear him out if he asked, and he wouldn't know what to say to you even if you did. But then he remembered you mentioning it, offhandedly, weeks ago. Laying in his bed, bare-legged and sleepy, lips sticky from wine and your marshmellow lip balm. You had laughed bashfully, said something like, "She's showing her exhibition next month. I think she's using one of the shots I'm in. Can you believe it, Harry? Me? Hanging in an art gallery?"

He'd told you he would come. He wasn't sure if he would. Hadn't cared at the time. Or pretended not to.

But now he's here.

And there you are. Fucking radiant.

You're laughing, head tipped back, a glass of wine dangling from your fingers. There's a group of people around you, friends of your friend, probably. One of the guys leans in a bit too close when he talks, not quite flirting, but not just being friendly either.

Harry doesn't blink. Just watches.

Jealousy washes over his body like a current, but he doesn't move. Doesn't stomp over and drag you by the wrist like that night at the bar. He stays near the back, one hand clenched around a drink that's too weak for he's liking. He's not even sure how he got here. It's like he's been sleepwalking for weeks, just going through the motions, only snapping out of it when he saw you just now.

He doesn't belong here. Not in this state, wrinkled blouse, hair curled messily over his ears, a tiredness under his eyes that's deeper than just insomnia. It's regret. Resignation. But he's not leaving either.

And then you feel it.

That prickle at the base of your neck. The weight of his gaze.

You don't turn immediately, don't give in to the urge to search the room for that presence, looming in a dark corner like a storm cloud. But something in you stills. Anchors. When you finally glance over your shoulder, when your eyes land on the tall figure standing at the far edge of the gallery, spine straight against a wall, you know.

He came.

His eyes meet yours across the room. He doesn't look away.

Your stomach drops.

He looks out of place, like he didn't mean to be here but couldn't stay away. Dark trousers, open collar, silver rings glinting as he tugs his hand through his hair. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Like he's been unraveling by the hour.

His jaw is set. You know that look. That rigid line of his jaw, clenched so tightly it could shatter teeth. You've seen it in bars and on planes, in arguments that left you breathless and silent treatments that lasted days. It's his tell, his dead giveaway. That he's spiraling. That he's seconds from doing something he'll regret.

And yet tonight, he stays rooted. One hand loose at his side, the other clutching his drink. Breathing through it. Usually he would have stalked over immediately, pulled you by the wrist, caused a scene. But he's not approaching, and that's the strangest part.

Harry Styles doesn't do restraint. Or at least, he didn't. Especially not when it came to you, when it came to his belongings. Every emotion he felt was something he let devour him, let spill onto you like a heavy rainfall: jealousy, fury, lust.

But now, standing across the gallery floor, you see the restraint in every inch of his body. The way he doesn't interrupt. Doesn't insert himself. Doesn't act like he owns you. And that quiet refusal to unravel says more than any apology ever could.

You're not sure why it matters so much, this one, subtle thing. The way he just stands there and watches. The way he lets you laugh and drink and exist without immediately laying claim. But it does matter. It matters because for once, you don't feel like a possession being policed. You feel like a person. Like someone he sees as separate from him. And God, that shouldn't feel revolutionary… but it does.

Your heart kicks up, but you don't let it show. Instead, you lift your chin and hold your ground as you approach him, deliberately, taking your time. And you're surprised he lets you. Doesn't try to assert dominance by beating you to it. Doesn't move to meet you halfway. For once, he just... watches you come to him on your own terms.

''Didn't think you'd come,'' you say, voice light.

His eyes flick toward the man not far behind you, the one who's already engaged in another conversation but keeps shooting you discreet glances, checking you out. He doesn't comment on it.

''You look good,'' he says instead, eyeing you up and down. His face is indifferent, but his voice is soft, vulnerable. You wouldn't have been able to tell if you didn't know him as well as you do.

You nod once. ''Thanks. I bought the dress myself.''

The words land like a knife. A silence stretches between you, taut and sparkling with tension. You don't offer him comfort. He doesn't reach for you. It's the first time you feel like you're equals.

''Well, it looks beautiful on you. You're beautiful,'' he tells you sincerely, offering you a small nod.

You quirk a brow in suspicion and meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Why are you really here, Harry?"

He swallows, hesitating. You don't say ''You weren't supposed to come''. Because he knows that. You don't say ''I didn't want to see you''. Because it would be a lie.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, "I said I'd come."

You stare at him. ''That was before.''

He nods. ''Still meant it.''

You don't know what to say to that. You blink.

Your mouth opens, then closes. He watches you carefully, as if memorizing your reaction. You can tell he wants to say more, it's clear in the way his lips part, the way his hands fidget subtly at his sides, but he stops himself. You notice it.

You glance back at your friends, who are entertaining a group of visitors that has just arrived while sending you looks that scream ''help!''. You're the one who's supposed to be showing people around the gallery, a task you didn't sign up for, but surprisingly haven't minded doing as much as you thought you would.

''They're waiting for me,'' you say quietly.

''I can wait too.''

That makes you pause.

Harry Styles. Waiting. He's been doing a lot of that today. Waiting for you to come to him, for you to speak. Let's see how long he's willing to wait before he loses his patience.

You nod slowly. ''Okay. Then wait.''

You walk away.

...

Harry doesn't know what he expected, showing up like this. All he knows is that when he opened that last box and saw the necklace, the one he'd put so much thought into, just imagining about how it would rest beneath your collarbone, something cracked. And the silence since then has been loud in a way money can't fix.

You had sent everything back. And yet, he still smells you in his apartment. Still hears your soft laughter in the way the air feels at night. Still wakes up reaching for something that isn't there.

He hadn't planned on coming. Not really. But his car pulled up to the gallery anyway, and he was already halfway through the doors before he realized what he was doing. Something about that damn necklace. The cold finality of it. The way it curled around itself in the box like it understood the weight of the gesture.

And now he's here. And he can't stop looking at you.

You're alive in a way he hasn't seen in days. Weeks, maybe. Your lips shine under the gallery lights, and your dress fits you like a glove, accentuating all your features.

Every second you don't look at him slices clean through the center of his chest.

He tells himself this is fine. You're allowed to live your own life. To have your own space. That's what he's supposed to do, right? Give you space? That's what a better man would do. And after that night, after the way he had let himself take out his anger on you, then discarded you like he couldn't even stand to be around you, he knows he doesn't get to decide anything anymore.

Still, his hands curl into fists every time someone leans in too close to whisper something in your ear.

Especially the guy in the grey blazer, who's had his hand on your waist for a beat too long. Harry swears the floor tilts beneath him.

He wants you to know he's here. Wants you to feel his presence, even if you won't touch him.

He wouldn't blame you if this was what you wanted. If that dress, that laugh, that softness you're wrapping the room in isn't meant for him anymore. Because maybe he really did ruin it. Maybe all the years of being wanted for what he could give, not who he was, have made it impossible for him to understand when someone chooses to stay. Maybe he wouldn't believe you ever would.

But he can't stop thinking about the way you curled into his side after he fucked you. The way your fingertips would brush his wrist when you were trying to say something you weren't sure he was ready to hear. The way you always bite the inside of your cheek when you try to stifle a giggle at one of his dumb jokes.

He can't stop thinking about that night in Paris. Not about the sex. Not about the view. Just the way you both stayed up talking long after the room went quiet, wine glasses half-full on the nightstand, your eyes sparkling in the dim light when you told him he wasn't as unreadable as he liked to think. That you saw through him. And that maybe that didn't have to be such a bad thing.

That was the moment he started to lose.

No, started to fall.

He doesn't want to admit it, not even now. He's not sure he's ready. But he's never been able to forget it.

And that necklace? He doesn't want it in a box. He wants it where it belongs, around your neck, where everybody can see it. Not to claim you. But to remind himself that not everything has to be bought to be cherished. That you chose him.

You glance in his direction, your eyes meeting across the room. You've been waiting. Not out of cruelty or revenge. Well, revenge is definitely a bonus. But mainly because you want to know what he'll do if you don't come running to him for once.

The look in your eyes does something to him. Because when you finally look at him, it's not cold. It's not kind, either. It's something in between. Something that tells him you're still deciding.

He straightens.

Because if you're still deciding… he still has a chance.

He takes a step forward. Your facial expression doesn't change. You don't stop him, but you don't turn toward him either.

So he waits. Just one more second. One more breath. If you want him to come to you, you'll make it clear. And if not… he'll stay here. He'll wait all night.

But if you give him the signal, any signal, he'll cross the fucking floor like he's reaching for salvation. He's not sure when it happened, but somewhere between the first payment and the last goodbye, he stopped wanting to own you.

And started wanting to deserve you.

You nod.

A small, almost imperceptible movement, but he catches it like a bullet to the chest. That tiny gesture is all the permission he's been holding out for. His limbs uncoil, and he moves, slow, cautious, like you're a flame he's afraid to smother. Or be burned by.

You excuse yourself from your group, ignoring the teasing grin your friend throws over her shoulder. Your heels click softly against the gallery's marble floors, the sound steady despite the unstable pounding in your chest. You don't wait to see if he follows.

You already know he will.

The elevator ride is silent. You press the button for the rooftop, never turning to look at him. You can feel his presence like a pull on your skin, taut and tense, straining between want and hesitance. The metal doors close and it's just you two now, caught in that strange in-between where anything could happen and nothing might.

When the doors slide open, you're the first to step out into the cool air. The rooftop is empty, just like you hoped. Everyone else is still inside, drinking, mingling, discussing art. The afterparty isn't for a few hours, so it's quiet here, the hum of the bustling city below you like a soft lullaby. String lights cast a faint golden glow overhead, softening the edges of everything.

But not him.

He's all sharp lines and shadows when he steps up beside you. Hands tucked into his coat pockets, jaw clenched, curls ruffled from the wind and repeatedly running his hand through them.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest, pretending to admire the skyline while your pulse thunders under your skin. He lingers a few feet behind, just close enough for you to feel him. The heat of his body. The heaviness of his stare.

You can tell he's working something out in his head, because he's quiet, but you don't speak right away. Let the silence stretch, let it test him. Because the last time he opened his mouth, you walked out of his apartment with shaking hands and mascara-stained cheeks.

He breaks first.

''I didn't know if I'd ever see you again.''

You inhale slowly. ''And yet you came.''

His eyes flicker to yours. ''Said I would.''

''You said a lot of things, Harry.''

You hear the shift in his breath, a sharp inhale like he's bracing himself. ''You're angry.''

''No,'' you say. ''I'm tired.''

The words hit heavier than they should. He takes a tentative step closer, like he's afraid of startling you over the edge. ''Look, I didn't come here to fight—''

''Then why are you here?” You face him fully now, arms still folded as if to shield yourself from the upcoming conflict. ''Because if you're looking for a reason to punish me again, I'm fresh out.''

He flinches. ''I'm not. I'm not... Fuck. That night, I wasn't trying to—''

''You were angry,'' you cut in. ''And I was convenient. That's the whole point of the arrangement, isn't it?''

''No. It's not.'' His voice sharpens. ''It wasn't supposed to go like this.''

''But it did.''

He looks at you then, and you know he sees it, the shift in you. How this version of you doesn't cry, doesn't beg. You're not trying to change his mind or shrink yourself down just to fit into whatever space he was willing to make for you.

He runs a hand through his hair. ''You think I don't know I fucked up? That night... I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at myself. For letting it get that far. For wanting more. I lashed out. Because that's what I do, isn't it? I ruin things before they can ruin me.''

You look at him then, really look at him. And what you see isn't the controlled, calculated man who drew up contracts and handed you credit cards like they were shackles physically bounding you to him.

What you see is a man who's unraveling in front of you, who's scared, who's hurting, who doesn't know how to ask to be loved without bleeding out.

''You didn't just ruin things,'' you say softly. ''You ruined me, Harry.''

He looks like he might fall apart.

Your voice is steadier than you feel when you continue. ''I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong. What I could've said, or done, to make you want to keep me around. When I didn't hear from you after that night, I told myself that was it. That I needed to be strong. That if this was going to end, I'd end it with dignity.''

That shuts him up.

For a moment, all you can hear is the faint thump of music through the floor, the whistle of the wind around the rooftop. You glance over and find him staring at you like he's never seen you before. Or maybe like he's finally seeing you clearly.

''I got the boxes,'' he says suddenly.

Your stomach tightens. You look away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the concrete beneath your feet. ''Good.''

Something cracks in his chest then. You see it, the way his jaw clenches, how he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek like he's trying not to say something stupid.

''You returned everything,'' he says softly. ''Your dresses. Your perfume. That fucking necklace.''

Your fingers instinctively curl around the necklace you're wearing now. It doesn't mean nearly as much to you as that fucking daisy does. You miss it. The comfort of it, the reminder of Harry.

''You returned everything but the memories.''

You blink. ''What?''

''I've been going insane, Y/N,'' he chokes out, tugging on his hair in frustration. No, desperation. ''I've been moving through my apartment like a fucking zombie. I can't walk into my kitchen without seeing your coffee mug. I can't open my closet without thinking of you in my hoodie. You're not there, but it's like you never left.''

You watch him struggle. Watch him grip the railing before him like it's the only thing holding him upright, before continuing.

''Everything still smells like you. Your shampoo's in the shower. I find your hair ties everywhere. I can't throw out that fucking flower. And those boxes... Those boxes gutted me. Because you didn't just return my money. You returned everything that connected us. Every single thing I used to not lose the privilege of calling you mine.''

You swallow thickly, caught between wanting to scream and wanting to kiss him. ''It was in the contract,'' you say evenly.

''To hell with the contract,'' he spits, voice cracking. ''I'm fucking in love with you.''

The rooftop goes still.

Your heart slams into your ribs like it's trying to claw out of your chest. His eyes widen, terrified of what he just admitted, but there's a strange sense of relief in his expression too, like he just came up for a deep breath after nearly drowning.

You stare at him, lips parted, frozen in place. You don't move. Don't blink. The words hang between you like a match, suspended and burning. Harry stares at you, chest rising and falling heavily, like confessing the truth is the hardest thing he's ever done.

And maybe it is.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan @hoolabalooba @hisparentsgallerryy @txmhxllqnd @harringtonhundreds @freddyselmstreet @caynonmoondreams @matildasatellite @ilovezaynmalik08 @looney-goose @call1800coochie @nostalgiainmybones @billweasleyswife @hailiex @lichi-dunkera @tchlamqtsgf @kiszkas-canvas

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices

...

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whrfchnn · 6 months ago

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에이티즈 ! ୨ KEEP IT JUICY JUICY, EAT THAT LUNCH .ᐟ

⭑ Ateez with a chubby girlfriend .ᐟ

Ateez x chubby!fem!reader (individually)

Warnings ! Not edited :( I fear I went a little overboard with the drabbles in seonghwa’s part + lil suggestive in hongjoong’s at the end also some ethel cain vibes with yunho but we love that. I’ve got a sweet drabble for each members which will be posted soon :3

Mona’s notes ! Something soft for my darlings, I hope you enjoy. 3462k words…whoops. Feedback is welcomed! I’m always looking to improve my writing so don’t be afraid to be straightforward. Reblogs are appreciated! You might like; losing my innocence in the backseat.

✦. ── kim hongjoong .ᐟ 김홍중

𖤐 Joong would 100% design clothing for you all on his own, he knows some brands are blind when it comes to size inclusivity and he hates seeing you go from super excited to self conscious when you finally get the chance to shop for clothes.

𖤐 He’ll spend hours sketching out ideas, finding the right fabrics knowing you’re sensitive to certain materials. Plus this way, he gets to include small meaningful things into his designs that only you two know about, like his initials.

𖤐 He’d constantly remind you that society’s standards are a scam, joong will make it his life mission to make you feel like the most beautiful gorgeous person in the room not only with his designs but with his actions and words of affirmations.

𖤐 I feel like his favourite feature of you would be your waist. When he brings you to a fashion event or anything, he loves wrapping his arms around you so he could slowly and gently rub the side of your tummy.

𖤐 I also feel like if you’re taller than him, he’d be so smitten.

𖤐 Literal stars in his eyes when he looks at you, adoring that soft smile on his face like, “wow…she’s really my girlfriend”.

𖤐 LIKE He loves looking up at you with that cheeky grin, resting his chin on your shoulder he be like, “And what about it?” to anyone who comments on the height difference, “She’s my goddess, of course she’s taller.”

𖤐 If you’re ever feeling down, he will pull out his camera and convince you to model for him. “Trust me, babe, you’re stunning,” he’ll say, positioning you under the best light and capturing candid moments of you laughing or simply existing. Later, he’ll compile all the photos into a little book, labeling it My Favorite Masterpiece.

𖤐 ALSO OMFG

𖤐 Istg he’d wear your initials, either on a charm bracelet, rings, or necklace. He’s wear your full name with zero hesitation or shame but you insisted on the initials for now because of his job sigh.

𖤐 Lil suggestive BUT have you seen those videos of woman doing self portraits with their body? Like sitting on the canvas butt naked with paint on them and going over it to enhance it?

𖤐 YEAH SO imagine gifting him something like that, the outline of your sweet ass and hints of your camel toe drove him up the wall. He hugged the canvas to his body when San tried to see just what was on it that sent joong into a frenzy.

✦. ── park seonghwa .ᐟ 박성화

𖤐 My love, when Seonghwa first saw you it was as if you picked him up by his neck and claimed him as yours.

𖤐 On day one my man was hooked and wanted nothing more than to show you what devotion is.

𖤐 He’s a foodie so he will ensure you eat your meals and snacks daily. I feel like he’d prepare you an over the top dish and write cute notes with it if he’s out and can’t eat with you.

𖤐 Expect self care nights, he loves to take care of you both and pamper you ranging from bubble baths and skincare routines. I’ve got a small drabble for both;

𖤐 Bubble baths !

⤷ The warm water lapped at the sides of the tub as you leaned back against Seonghwa, bubbles piling high around you. It was peaceful, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air. Your eyes were half-closed when you felt the subtle shift of his arm behind you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, voice lazy with relaxation.

“Nothing,” he replied, though the playful lilt in his voice betrayed him.

A moment later, you felt it—bubbles being stacked atop your head, the slick slide of foam as he carefully shaped something.

“Seriously?” you laughed, sitting up slightly to catch his grin.

“Hold still,” he teased, leaning closer to perfect his work. His brows knit together in faux concentration, lips quirked up in amusement. “I’m almost done.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but let him continue, feeling the unmistakable shape of a shark fin forming. When he finally sat back to admire his creation, the pride on his face was impossible to ignore.

“There. Perfect,” he announced with a triumphant chuckle. “My very own bubble shark.”

You turned to face him, water sloshing gently as you scooped up a handful of foam. With a quick swipe, you smeared it across his nose and cheeks, earning a gasp of mock outrage.

“Now you’re next,” you said with a smirk.

𖤐 Skincare routine !

⤷ Seonghwa’s lap was warm beneath you, your knees resting on either side of his hips as you faced him. The faint glow of candlelight flickered across the room, casting a golden hue over the array of skincare products spread out on the table beside you. The soft cotton of the Light Fury headband around your head kept your hair neatly away from your face, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Seonghwa’s matching Toothless one.

“One second Princess,” he murmured, voice low and soothing as he smoothed the face mask over your cheeks with gentle fingers. His brow furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking out slightly as he carefully applied the cool, creamy mixture.

“You take this way too seriously,” you teased, though the fondness in your voice betrayed you.

“And you don’t take it seriously enough,” he countered, his lips quirking into a soft grin as he leaned back to admire his work. “There. Perfect.”

You smiled softly and but couldn’t hide the warmth in your chest as he reached for a towel to clean his hands. Before you could shift or move, his hands found their way to your waist, sliding slowly down to rest on your stomach.

The touch was light at first, his palms gliding up and down your sides, the warmth of his fingers seeping through your oversized shirt. Then he gave your tummy a soft, affectionate squeeze, his thumbs brushing over the gentle curves there.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost shy.

“Appreciating you,” he said simply, his gaze meeting yours with an honesty that made your breath catch. His hands continued their slow, loving exploration, his thumbs drawing lazy patterns as he squeezed you again, this time with a little more intention. “You’re so beautiful.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, trying to hide the way his words flustered you. “We’re supposed to be waiting for these masks to dry, not… whatever this is.”

“Waiting is boring,” he said with a sly smile, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your nose. “This is better.”

You sighed, feigning exasperation, but melted into his touch as his hands stayed firm and comforting on your body, grounding you in the moment. The quiet hum of music in the background mixed with the sound of your breathing, and for a while, the world outside didn’t exist.

✦. ── jeong yunho .ᐟ 정윤호

𖤐 Just carve out his heart and eat it please. Let him become one with you.

𖤐 He’s the kind of man who views his love as sacred, almost religious. To him, loving you feels like fulfilling a divine purpose. You are his universe, his North Star, and he orbits around you willingly.

𖤐 He adores your softness—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

𖤐 He’s constantly touching you, whether it’s tracing circles on your thighs, resting his head against your stomach while lying on the couch, or pressing kisses to your arms while you cook.

𖤐 I’m telling you right now, yunho isn’t shy about expressing his love. He tells you daily, in ways that range from poetic declarations—“You feel like the home I’ve been searching for my whole life”—to soft-spoken affirmations, whispered against your ear when you wake up.

𖤐 He loves seeing you confident, but he thrives on the quiet moments when you’re vulnerable, trusting him enough to show the parts of yourself you usually hide. To Yunho, those moments are where your beauty shines brightest.

𖤐 To me, he’s more so protective than possessive on occasions, always prioritizing your comfort and well-being.

𖤐 Anyone who even tries to make a comment about your body in a negative way will be met with that cold, cutting stare. Yum.

𖤐 He wants to become one with you—not just physically but spiritually. He dreams of the day he can say, “This is the life we’ve built together.”

✦. ── kang yeosang .ᐟ 강여상

𖤐 Yeo-yeo is more of a subtle admirer, he is quiet about his affection but his actions speak volumes.

𖤐 He’d casually drape his jacket over your shoulder, pull you closer with an arm secure around your waist, and compliment you in ways that make your heart flutter.

𖤐 His eyes OMFG, he talks with his eyes. If you were out with friends having dinner or something and see him looking at you, you can easily interpret what he’s saying, “You look beautiful” or “Come here, I want to hold you.”

𖤐 He’s your personal photographer, and not those who stand in one place and take a picture no, he will do whatever to get the perfect shot. If he has to get on his knees or raise his arms while already standing on an elevated platform, he will.

𖤐 He loves capturing candid pictures of you. Whether it’s your soft smile, your laughter, or just the way you look at him, he treasures every photo. And when you criticize yourself in photos, he’ll firmly say, “What are you talking about? You look incredible, don’t you ever disrespect my girlfriend like that.”

𖤐 Also 🥹

𖤐 Yeosang remembers everything you tell him, no matter how insignificant you think it is. Months later, he’ll bring up that obscure snack you mentioned liking as a kid or a book you said you wanted to read, often surprising you with it. “You said you wanted this, right?” he’ll say casually, like it’s no big deal, even though you’re stunned he remembered.

𖤐 If you have a unique fashion sense, he doesn’t just hype it up, he matches your energy. He’ll subtly coordinate his outfits with yours, ensuring you both look like you stepped out of a fashion editorial without stealing your thunder TEHE.

𖤐 This made me cry but

𖤐 If you ever feel down or insecure, Yeosang’s words are like a balm. He’ll remind you of your strengths and beauty without hesitation, often framing his encouragement as a matter of fact. “You’re incredible. Anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve to know you.”

𖤐 While he’s fine with going out, his ideal date is staying in, curled up with you under a blanket while you watch a movie or talk for hours. He loves the intimacy of those quiet moments where it feels like the world is just the two of you.

✦. ── choi san .ᐟ 최산

𖤐 AGH I LOVE THIS MAN.

𖤐 He will NEVER miss an opportunity to tell you how beautiful you are. He’s the type to bombard you with compliments like, “You’re so cute” or “You’re so sexy,” often in the same breath.

𖤐 SAURRR MUCH PDA

𖤐 And he’s unapologetic about being affectionate in public. Whether it’s holding your hand, a thumb stroking your knuckles, full-on bear hugs, wrapping his arm around your waist, or outright kissing you in front of others, San LOVES showing the world how proud he is to have you.

𖤐 He loves wrapping his big arms around you from behind and holding your tummy in his hands, he’d sway you side to side just chilling on you like a koala. If you try to move, he’ll groan and pull you closer, mumbling with a pout, “nope, you’re stuck with me now.”

𖤐 I feel like he’d definitely tease you, he’ll poke your cheeks or pinch your sides and call you adorable, but he never crosses the line.

𖤐 How to keep it playful and always follows up with a sincere, “I love every part of you.”

𖤐 I also feel like if he ever found out he made you cry after teasing you, he’ll dig his own grave. he’d do everything in his power to make it up to you, but he’ll never be able to forgive himself or get rid of that ache in his heart :((

𖤐 If you jokingly ask him something like “can you even lift my weight?” he’ll bench you right there and then, no need to go to the gym to show you.

𖤐 He’s your biggest fan in everything you do. Whether it’s a hobby, work, or even just picking out an outfit, he’ll hype you up like you’re the greatest in the world. “That’s my girl!” he’ll shout playfully, clapping dramatically, making you laugh and blush at the same time.

𖤐 Yk despite his playful nature, San has a deeply emotional and nurturing side. On tough days, he’ll hold you close, stroking your hair and whispering affirmations. “You’re everything to me, you know that? I’m so lucky to have you.” His voice is calm and steady, grounding you in the warmth of his love.

𖤐 If you jokingly ask him something like “can you even lift my weight?” he’ll bench you right there and then, no need to go to the gym to show you.

⤷ “San, I don’t think you can lift me,” you teased, a mischievous grin playing on your lips.

His head snapped toward you, eyes wide with mock offense. “Oh, really? Is that a challenge?”

Before you could respond, he was on his feet, grabbing your hands and pulling you up with him. “San, no!” you squealed, laughing as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Too late,” he said with a playful smirk, easily hoisting you up bridal-style. “See? Light as a feather.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, your arms looping around his neck as he spun you around. “Okay, okay, I believe you!”

He set you down gently but didn’t let go, his arms still secure around your waist. Leaning in, he kissed your forehead softly. “Never doubt me again,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes were filled with nothing but love.

𖤐 He’s so serious about you I can’t even type I’m blushing so hard bye.

✦. ── song mingi .ᐟ 송민기

𖤐 GIVE HIM A CHUBBY BADDIE AND HE WON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO HE’S THAT WHIPPED.

𖤐 Like he’s already smitten, but if you dress up or put in any effort, Mingi is left absolutely speechless, stammering out compliments like, “You… you’re literally the hottest person alive.”

𖤐 He LOVES cuddles and is all about physical affection. He’ll wrap himself around you like a blanket and tell you how soft and cozy you are, he loves pressing his cheek against yours and resting his hands on either your lower back or love handles, being close to you is his happy place, and he’ll never pass up a chance to cuddle.

𖤐 NUMBER ONE HYPE KING.

𖤐 He’ll randomly yell things like, “THAT’S MY BABY!” if you’re walking by him or just doing anything that makes you look confident.

𖤐 He loves boosting your self-esteem in the loudest, most Mingi way possible.

𖤐 I feel like you guys would have this little playful thing where he pretends he doesn’t know you and when walking past you he double takes, turning his body around to check out the bunda with them elevator eyes. He’d jog up to you and ask if you’ve got a boyfriend, also throwing in ‘mami’ mhm idc I said what I said.

𖤐 OOO he’d definitely bling you out so you’re matching. If he’s wearing a chain, you’re wearing a chain. If he got them rings on, so do you.

✦. ── jung wooyoung .ᐟ 정우영

𖤐 Woo is all about showing you off yessirrr.

𖤐 He’ll post pictures of you together on his social media with captions like, “My Queen 🤗” making sure everyone knows he’s proud of you. He’ll talk about you to his friends, constantly raving about how lucky he is. “Have you met her? She’s amazing,” he’ll brag to anyone who will listen — actually that doesn’t matter, he will make them listen.

𖤐 He loves cooking for you, especially if it means seeing you enjoy food without guilt or self-consciousness. “Food is meant to be enjoyed, babe,” he’ll say, feeding you bites of whatever he’s made. He’s adamant on making sure to remind you that there’s no need to feel guilty for indulging.

𖤐 OML ON THAT NOTE he’ll definitely spoon feed you, making sure it's not too hot by blowing on it and checking the temperature with his lips before feeding you (yk where this came from mhm)

𖤐 He’s always got your back and will defend you no matter what, wooyoung has zero tolerance for body shaming. If anyone makes a rude comment, he’ll roast them into oblivion and then reassure you and make sure their stupid comments don't get to you.

𖤐 Wooyoung is extremely protective of you, especially when it comes to anything that could affect your confidence or self-image.

𖤐 If anyone dares to make rude or body-shaming comments, he won’t hesitate to speak up. He’ll roast them in oblivion and make sure they know exactly where they stand. Afterward, he’ll be there for you, reassuring you and reminding you how beautiful you are, inside and out. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re perfect, babe, and I love you

𖤐 He’s the type to always want to be physically close to you. Whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your shoulder, or wrapping his arm around you while watching a movie, he just loves being near you.

𖤐 He’ll even sneak up behind you for surprise hugs or kisses, just to make sure you know you’re loved. “I just want to hold you,” he’ll say, snuggling up to you on the couch or in bed.

✦. ── choi jongho .ᐟ 최종호

𖤐 Baby bear 🥹

𖤐 Jongho’s love isn’t loud or showy, but it’s steady and unwavering. He’s the type to show his devotion through actions rather than words.

𖤐 Whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable or going out of his way to do something thoughtful for you, he always lets you know that you’re a priority in his life without needing to shout it from the rooftops.

𖤐 Jongii is so incredible observant when it comes to you. He’ll remember your favorite foods, the things that make you laugh, and the small gestures that bring you joy.

𖤐 If you’re feeling a little off, he’ll notice it before you even mention it and do something to make you feel better, whether it’s bringing you a hot drink or quietly holding your hand. “I noticed you were quiet today,” he’ll say, his voice soft but concerned. “Is everything okay?”

𖤐 Jongho loves showing off his strength, but he’s soft with you. feeling down about your body, he’ll remind you of all the ways you’re amazing, saying things like, “Your body is strong and beautiful, just like you.”

𖤐 Jongho is a quiet romantic, and nothing says “I love you” to him more than sharing his music with you. He’ll often hum or sing softly when you’re together, his voice like a lullaby that wraps around you.

𖤐 Sometimes, he’ll even make up little songs just for you, serenading you in the most tender way. “You make me feel so lucky,” he might sing, smiling at you as you relax by his side. His voice is comforting, and hearing him sing just for you feels like a gentle, loving embrace.

𖤐 Jongho doesn’t need grand displays of affection to show you he cares; it’s in the little things. He’s the type to send you thoughtful texts during the day, reminding you to take care of yourself. If you’re feeling tired, he’ll offer to take on a chore for you, or if you’re out together, he’ll carry your bags without a second thought. His gestures might be small, but they’re full of meaning, and they’re his way of saying, “I love you and I’m here for you.”

𖤐 Honestly? When Jongho loves you, he loves you deeply. He’s not the type to fall in love lightly, and once he’s in, he’s all in. You’ll find him sharing little details about his life, his hopes, and dreams, trusting you with the parts of him he usually keeps hidden. “I’ve never been able to open up like this before,” he’ll admit, his voice sincere. “But with you… it feels easy.”

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nujeskz · 3 months ago

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Orphic - Hwang Hyunjin

Pairing: Hyunjin x designer!reader

Genre: Friends to lovers, mutual pining.

Synopsis: You and Hyunjin have always been inseparable—best friends, confidants, and, unknowingly, each other’s greatest longing. As a designer, he’s your muse, the canvas for every stitch, every fabric choice, every creation filled with the words you’re too afraid to say. But when years of silent yearning come to a breaking point one late night in your studio, a single kiss threatens to unravel everything—fear, hesitation, and the love that’s been woven between you all along.

warnings: no proofread, mutual pining, emotional tension, slight angst, hyunjin is reader's muse, kisses, let me know if I should add anything else! wc: 1.5k

Author's note: in honor of hyunjin's day! this is something i had in mind for a while, I hope you all like it ! And happy birthday to my bubu♡

Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated!

The steady hum of your sewing machine fills the room, a rhythmic pulse that mirrors the quiet thrum of your heartbeat. Fabric scraps litter the floor, colorful remnants of your relentless creativity, while stray threads tangled around your ankles like whispers of unfinished ideas. You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, exhaustion creeping into your muscles. When your gaze flickers to the clock, it’s nearly midnight.

But that doesn’t stop you.

Without hesitation, you grab your phone, fingers moving with a familiar ease as you type out a message. You don't need to think about the number—you know by heart.

You’re threading a needle when your phone buzzes on the desk, vibrating against the sketchbooks piled high with unfinished designs. The soft glow of the screen reflects the name you’ve come to associate with both comfort and chaos: Hyunjin.

You don’t need to check the message. You already know what it says. He’s on his way, because you called him — like you always do. And he’ll come, because he always does.

A flutter stirs in your chest, one you've tried to suppress more times than you can count and you scold yourself for it. Hyunjin is your best friend, your canvas, your muse. He’s not yours to keep, no matter how much you wish otherwise.

The door swings open without a knock, and there he is, standing in your dimly lit space like he belongs here. His freshly buzzed hair is still damp from a shower, tiny droplets clinging to his skin. He’s wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, the sleeves swallowing his hands, paired with cargo jeans that sag lazily around his waist. He looks nothing like the sleek figure he becomes when draped in your creations—nothing like the version of him the world gets to see.

“What disaster am I modeling today?” he teases, collapsing onto your worn-out couch with a dramatic sigh, legs sprawled like he owns the place. You don’t mind; he’s been a fixture in your space for as long as you can remember, the living canvas to your creations.

You roll your eyes, tossing a cushion at him. “It’s not a disaster. And if you hate my designs so much, stop coming over.”

“I never said I hated them,” he grins, effortlessly catching the pillow. “I just like giving you a hard time.”

Your fingers curl against your sleeve as warmth creeps up your neck. You gesture to the clothing rack, where tonight's creation awaits. The piece you’ve made is bolder than usual — a fitted, asymmetrical jacket, intricate embroidery trailing along the back like poetry, paired with tailored trousers that hug the body just right.

Hyunjin whistles low, standing up to examine the outfit. He stretches, and for a fleeting second, the hem of his oversized hoodie lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. Your pulse stutters.

“You made this for me?” he asks, voice laced with something unreadable.

“Of course,” you murmur, forcing yourself to look away, feigning interest in a stray thread on your sleeve. “Who else would I make it for?”

He disappears into the bathroom to change, and when he steps out, you forget how to breathe.

The sharp angles of his jawline stand out more with the buzzcut, and the clean lines of the outfit mold against him like it was meant for no one else. He’s like a living sculpture, every angle carefully carved, every movement fluid and precise. You’ve memorized his form over the years—his shoulders, the curve of his collarbone, the length of his limbs. But now, standing before you like this, he’s something more.

“Well?” he prompts, spinning around with a smug grin. “Do I look good, or do I look amazing?”

He looks stunning, as always, but it’s not just the clothes. It’s him — the way he carries himself, the way he looks at you like you’re the most interesting person in the room, even when you’re silently stitching for hours.

You swallow hard. “You look… perfect.”

⭑.ᐟ

It wasn’t always like this.

Hyunjin used to live in oversized shirts and beat-up sneakers, his hair long enough to tie back. He had no interest in fashion, claiming it was “too much effort” to care about what he wore. But then you started designing, and he started modeling, and bit by bit, you transformed him.

He let you mold him, shape him, change him.

His closet shifted from basic streetwear to an eclectic collection of pieces that screamed you. And somewhere along the way, your designs changed, too. The pieces you made for him became more daring, more intimate. Low-cut necklines, snug fits, fabrics that clung to his skin like a second layer of you. And not once did he refused.

You taught him how to carry himself differently, how the right clothes could alter his presence. You buzzed his hair on a whim one night, your fingers trembling as they skimmed his scalp. He trusted you completely, letting you shape him like clay, never once questioning why he was always your first call.

And now, when Hyunjin walks into a room, people notice. His presence is magnetic, drawing others in with effortless ease. You pretended it didn’t bother you when he came back with stories of girls slipping their numbers into his pockets. You smiled and nodded, ignoring the ache in your chest.

He never knew the truth — that every stitch, every fabric choice, every outfit was a love letter you were too afraid to write with words.

⭑.ᐟ

“Stand still,” you mutter, adjusting the sleeve of the jacket.

Hyunjin obeys, but you can feel his gaze on you, heavy and intense. You try to ignore it, focusing on the garment instead, but your hands are trembling, fingers brushing against his skin more than necessary.

“Why do I feel like a doll?” Hyunjin murmurs, voice softer now, laced with something unspoken.

“You are,” you reply absentmindedly, fingers brushing against his skin as you adjust the lapel. “My muse.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t notice — or you pretend not to.

Silence settles between you, thick and unyielding. You step into his space again, fingers smoothing down the fabric against his chest. Your brow furrowing in concentration. But Hyunjin… Hyunjin is watching you with something fragile, something raw.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, breaking the silence.

Your heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, shifting slightly. “I don’t know. You get all quiet when I get close to you. Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you whisper, throat tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop, watching you with a softness that makes your chest ache.

You finish pinning the last adjustment, stepping back to admire your work. But Hyunjin doesn’t move.

He just looks at you. He watches the way your teeth graze your lower lip, the way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought. And suddenly, he can’t do this anymore.

He’s loved you for years, silently, hopelessly. But standing here, with you so close, your hands on him, your voice calling him your muse like he’s something precious — it breaks him.

And then—

He moves.

His hands find your waist, tentative yet urgent, and before you can react, before you can stop this, he pulls you in and kisses you.

It’s sudden, messy, his lips pressing against yours with a desperation that steals the air from your lungs. Your eyes widen, body frozen in shock, and as quickly as it happens, Hyunjin pulls away, panic flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, stepping away like he’s been burned. “I—I don’t know why I did that. I’ll go.”

He turns to leave, but you grab his wrist, heart pounding.

And without thinking—without hesitation—you pull him back. And this time, you kiss him.

This time, it’s slower, more certain. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, holding him close, grounding yourself in him. Hyunjin exhales against your lips, his hands tentative as they find your waist.

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the quiet.

“I thought you’d be mad,” Hyunjin whispers.

A shakly laugh bubbles from your throat. “I’ve been in love with you forever, Hyun.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“That’s why you’re my muse,” you confess, voice breaking. “I needed an excuse to keep you close.”

Hyunjin lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he pulls you into his arms. “I thought it was one-sided.”

You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. “You idiot.”

And when he kisses you again, there’s no hesitation, no fear. Just love, stitched between the seams of every design, woven into every thread, waiting—patiently—to be unraveled.

That night, you don’t finish your adjustments. The blazer lies forgotten on the floor as Hyunjin pulls you onto the couch, cradling your face like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

And maybe you are — but so is he.

Your muse. Your best friend. Your love.

Yours. Finally.

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kissandtellus · 1 month ago

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Fractured Ecstacy

🎨Synopsis: Rafayel needs some ‘inspiration’ for a new art piece. The deadline is fast approaching, and so are you.

🎨Warnings: Smut, using paint in the wrong way, body art, brush play(?)

Rafayel’s studio is usually filled with classical music from an old record player, maybe the soft squeak of his wooden ladder to reach the furthest part of a canvas.

But now, the open-aired studio was filled with rough gasps and mewls.

Rafayel had you slipping and sliding across a paint covered canvas.

Rafayel's purple eyes glint with madness and lust as he throws you onto his unfinished masterpiece. Paint splatters everywhere as their bodies soon become the art piece itself. He's brutal - no gentle artist touches here. Only raw passion and violence mixed with acrylics. “My Love...”

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck as he bites down hard. You gasp, arching your back against the wet canvas. He groans, running his hands over the paint-covered curves of her body. “Fucking masterpiece.”

He takes a tube of red paint, squeezing it directly onto her chest, making streaks down her stomach. "You're already a piece of art a perfect canvas..." His voice is rough, almost animalistic. Without warning, he slams into her, painting their bodies together.

He laughs, a rich sound, as he pounds into you, the canvas tearing beneath their love-making. Blue paint mixes with red as it gets smeared on their skin. "Better than any inspiration.” He spins you suddenly, making you yelp as you lands in a pool of yellow paint.

“R-raf! It’s getting everywhereeee” she whines between thrust, her knees and hands slipping and sliding against the massive canvas.

"Exactly where it's supposed to be, Cutie!" He grips her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her back onto him with each thrust. Green and orange paints fly everywhere as he uses her for his twisted art. "You're the centerpiece of my masterpiece now, My Love.”

You whine, feeling the canvas creek under them. The lust in his eyes softens to something almost gentle. He frames your face with paint-stained hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "Shh, love... Even if I destroy my canvas, at least I get to hold the most beautiful model in the world afterwards."

He captures your lips in a tender, contrastingly gentle kiss - his usual brutal pace replaced with slow, deep strokes as he makes love to you on the ruined canvas. Purple paint stains your skin as he marks you with soft bites and whisper-soft praise between thrusts. “My muse... My masterpiece.”

He runs his fingers through your hair, pulling you closer, and captures your bottom lip between his teeth. "Look at those curves... How the hell am I supposed to focus on painting when I have this perfect masterpiece right here?" He trails kisses down your neck, marking you with gentle bites.

Rafayel grabs a discarded paintbrush from the floor. He begins to paint slow, deliberate strokes along your skin, mixing colors to create a beautiful, unique design. Each touch is reverent, worshipful.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re even more beautiful covered in my art... My sweet little muse.” He continues to paint, his touch gentle as he creates a masterpiece on your body instead of the canvas.

He purposefully presses her body into the canvas, letting their limbs spread across the sea of white.

His dark eyes blaze with passion as he positions you just right, smoothing out your hair across the canvas. "Look at how perfect you are against this white... A fucking goddess on my canvas." He traces intricate patterns on your skin with his fingers, mixing paint to match.

He spreads your legs wide, leaving you exposed and vulnerable on the canvas. He leans over you, his breath hot against your core. "This is what I want to paint... Your sweet little cunt, all pink and perfect."

You blush, covering your face in embarrassment. “T-that’s so intimate.” You huff, trying to close your legs.

He chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving your intimate area. "Intimate? Cutie, it's fucking beautiful." He gently pushes your legs back open, running a paintbrush lightly over your inner thighs. "Let me paint you here... Let me make this part of you immortal."

He dips the brush into a soft pink paint, his eyes locked onto yours as he gently begins to paint delicate strokes around your most intimate area. His touch is feather-light, almost reverent as he works on creating something exquisite. “This is art at its finest,” he murmurs softly.”

Your breath hitches, the fine hairs on the paintbrush touching your throbbing clif. “R-Rafayel!”

He pauses, looking up at you with a tender smile. "Shh, love... Let me paint you. Let me make this beautiful moment last." He continues to brush soft strokes around your clit, being careful not to touch it directly yet causing waves of pleasure throughout her body.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your sensitive nub. He begins to paint intricate designs along your labia, using different shades of pink to create a stunning masterpiece. As he works, he occasionally lets the brush lightly graze over your clit, making you whimper and squirm.

He sets the paintbrush down and looks at his masterpiece, a proud smile on his face. "Fucking perfection," he murmurs to himself. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your clit, making you gasp. "And now, the cherry on top."

He picks up a tiny paintbrush and dips it into pure white paint. He slowly, carefully paints a small, delicate star right above your clit. He studies his work, his expression almost boyishly proud. "There. My favorite part of the universe, right there on your pussy."

Your knees are pressed up to your ears in a dirty mating press. Upur panting, sobbing as his cock traces your slobbery cunt. “P-Please Rafayel!”

He groans at your desperate plea, his cock throbbing with need. He positions himself at your entrance but doesn’t push inside yet., “My sweet muse,”he whispers hoarsely,“Do I get permission?” His cock slides along her slit teasingly “To fuck my masterpiece?”

“Y-Yes! Yes please!” You’re nearly sobbing in need. Rafayel was a gentleman after all.

With a deep, guttural groan, he finally thrusts forward, sheathing himself fully inside of your tight, wet heat. His hips move with a slow, steady rhythm as he begins to make love to you again, his eyes never leaving hers. “You feel like heaven, my love.”

~~~~

You’re dressed in a beautiful gown Rafayel handpicked for his newest art reception. As you are walking down the latest pieces of Rafayel’s collection a familiar, broken canvas catches your eye. You mouth falls open as you instantly recognize it

He stands across the room, watching you with an intense gaze as you study his latest piece - a broken, abstract canvas that only he and you understand the meaning behind. It's a depiction of their passionate love-making, captured in shattered colors and chaotic brushstrokes.

Rafayel approaches her, hands folded behind his back as she leans forward to read the nameplate.

As he approaches, he notices you leaning forward to read the nameplate. A small, proud smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, I see you've found it,” he says softly, stopping beside you. “'Fractured Ecstasy'...

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #lnds rafayel #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #rafayel fluff #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut

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chroniclesofskz · 1 month ago

Text

Canvas of Desire

Hyunjin, with his signature buzzcut that's shaggy and free, stands in his studio, a small, cluttered space filled with canvases and paint tubes. The room is bathed in a soft, golden light filtering through the large windows, casting a warm glow on his muscular frame. He's wearing a tight white baby tee that clings to every ripple of his abs and blue jeans that hug his lean legs, accentuating his every curve. He turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and asks, "Would you be my model for a painting I'm working on?"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you paint me like one of your French girls," you tease, quoting a classic movie line, your voice a sultry purr.

Hyunjin's eyes widen slightly, and he drops his paintbrush, the splatter of paint across his crisp white top a stark contrast to his dark jeans. "Are you sure you want this?" he stutters, his voice low and husky, laced with a mix of surprise and excitement.

You step closer, your breath hot on his ear as you whisper, "Yes, I'm sure. I want you to see me like you see your muses."

Slowly, you begin to undress, your eyes never leaving his. You reach behind your back and unzip your silk dress, the soft material shimmering as it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. You step out of it, standing before him in your stark naked glory. Hyunjin's eyes widen, taking in your sexy figure, your bare skin glowing under the soft studio lights. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to maintain his composure, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes roaming over your body like a hungry man. "Like a fucking goddess."

He picks up his paintbrush again, trying to focus on his art, but his hands are shaking slightly. He starts to paint, his strokes confident and sure, capturing your form on the canvas. You pose for him, feeling powerful and desired under his gaze. The room is filled with the sound of the brush against the canvas and your own ragged breathing.

As he paints, you notice his cock growing hard in his pants, tenting the fabric. A smirk plays on your lips as you realize the effect you're having on him. You decide to help him out, wanting to see him lose control.

You walk over to him, your hips swaying gently, and place a hand on his chest. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You're doing so well, keeping your composure," you murmur, your voice a low purr. "But I think you need a little help."

You drop to your knees in front of him, your eyes never leaving his as you unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper. His cock springs free, hard and ready, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. You wrap your hand around his shaft, feeling the velvety smooth skin over the steel-hard length.

Hyunjin lets out a low groan, his head falling back as he surrenders to your touch. You lean in, taking him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his shaft as you take him deeper. He tastes salty and sweet, his cock filling your mouth completely.

His hands find their way into your hair, gripping your scalp as he guides your movements. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his voice strained. "You feel so good. So fucking good."

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each stroke, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing and stroking in time with your mouth. Hyunjin's hips begin to buck, meeting your movements, his body trembling with restraint.

"You're so fucking good at that," he moans, his voice a low growl. "I can't hold on much longer."

Emboldened by his words, you increase your pace, taking him deeper, your nails digging into his thighs, urging him on. Hyunjin's cock throbs in your mouth, his body tensing as he gets closer to the edge.

With a final cry, he comes undone, his hot cum shooting down your throat, coating your tongue, filling your mouth. You swallow every last drop, your eyes watering slightly, your throat constricting as you take it all.

But you're not done yet. You stand up, a wicked smile on your lips as you push Hyunjin back onto the nearby couch. He falls back, his cock still hard and ready, glistening with your saliva. You straddle him, your wet pussy hovering just above his length, your breasts heaving, your nipples hard and begging for his touch.

Slowly, you lower yourself onto him, taking him inch by inch, your eyes rolling back as you feel him fill you, stretch you, complete you. "Fuck, you're so tight," Hyunjin groans, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, his body trembling with restraint. "So fucking perfect."

You begin to ride him, your body rocking against his, finding a rhythm that's as old as time itself. You move slowly at first, savoring the feel of him inside you, the way he fills you, completes you. But soon, you're moving faster, your body slamming down onto his, your breasts bouncing, your body a symphony of sensation.

Hyunjin's hands are everywhere, his fingers digging into your skin, marking you as his, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, dueling with yours. "You feel so good, baby," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl. "So fucking good. Like a dream."

Your body tenses, your orgasm building, coiling in your belly, ready to explode. You ride him harder, faster, your body slapping against his, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, your body a live wire, sparking with pleasure.

Hyunjin's cock is hitting all the right spots, his body moving in sync with yours, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts, his body a beautiful, sweaty, moving work of art. "I'm close, baby," he groans, his voice strained, his body tensing. "So fucking close. Come with me, Y/N. Let me feel you come all over my cock."

With a final cry, you come undone, your body convulsing, your inner muscles clenching around his cock, milking him, urging him on. Your orgasm rips through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it's almost painful, your body shaking, your vision blurring, your ears ringing.

Hyunjin follows soon after, his cock pulsing, his body tensing, his fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you'll be bruised tomorrow. He fills you with his hot cum, coating your insides, mixing with your own juices, a mess of pleasure and passion.

You collapse onto his chest, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Hyunjin's arms wrap around you, holding you close, his lips pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

"That was... incredible," Hyunjin murmurs, his voice soft and content, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "You're incredible. I've never felt anything like that before."

You smile, your head resting on his chest, your body sated and happy, your heart full. "Neither have I," you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. "Neither have I."

As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, the room filled with the scent of sex and paint, you know that this is just the beginning. That this is a love that will stand the test of time, a passion that will only grow stronger with each passing day. And as you sleep, you dream of a future filled with love, with passion, with Hyunjin.

#stray kids #kpop #skz #skz imagines #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin #hyunjin skz #kpop smut #smut #x reader

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angelltheninth · 5 months ago

Text

Through the Eyes of an Artist

Pairing: Rafayel x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, orgasm encouragement, being watched, toy use, clit stimulation, giving instructions, masturbation, body cum shot

Word count: 0.7k

Ao3

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I'm an artist too, I would do the same.

What an honor to be Rafayel's new model. You were all he could paint lately, his only inspiration. You were fine with that, you got to pose for him, wear all kinds of outfits, sometimes no outfits, you got to spend time with him, hours upon hours as he finished his painting. He would let you choose the frame of for the picture too.

Usually there was to be as little movement from you as possible. This time was very different. Having items with you was also something that happened often. On you, not in you, not riding something.

And what's more he still refused to tell you what his subject was.

"Spread your legs more. I need to see it clearly. I know it might be more difficult to ride but I promise to give you a long, rewarding massage after." Rafayel instructed you from behind the canvas, his eyes were the only visible part of him until you did as he suggested. Your legs spread wider on either side of the smooth, purple dildo, the tip catching your clit every time you rolled down. "That's it. Keep your face forward, don't hide from me."

You bit your lower lip as he looked at you intensely, taking in every part of you. Your parted lips, flushed cheeks, your nipples stiff peaks on your breasts, your hips rolling and clit puffy for him to see.

"You still haven't told me why you... want me to do this. Aren't I supposed to be still?" Although if he were to have you sitting on the dildo for hours it might have been worse.

"Not for this. I want to capture pure lust, pleasure, bliss. And you, your face when you have an orgasm, your body tense with pleasure, there's no better subject." He waxed poetically about this but as much as you wanted to believe him part of you thought this was just an excuse to watch you fuck yourself. A clever excuse, you'll give him that much.

You felt so exposed to him. It wasn't the nudity, you've had sex before, a lot when one of his paintings would win an award, but you never did things like this in front of him. It made you vulnerable.

"Hands at your sides. Or your breasts. I need to see." He instructed again and hummed as your hands grabbed your breasts, teasing your nipples with your thumbs. "Good girl. Keep going until you finish."

It wasn't only that you finished once, but four times by the time he set the pen down.

He was quiet the whole time, focused on his craft, but you knew your moans and your whimpers had an effect on him. From how he was sitting his bulge was very visible to you.

"It's still missing something." Rafayel sighed and leaned forward, cock stirring in his pants. He looked down at it, then to you, whose body was shaking from your last orgasm, a puddle beneath you, your leg and thigh muscles burning and pussy swollen from riding the toy. "Of course. The personal touch."

You heard him shifting behind the canvas, the distinct and familiar sounds of his belt and zipper. He walked over to you, his cock fisted in his hand and stopped just out of your reach. "You want my mouth?" Your pussy clenched around the toy again and you hissed, so sensitive around it.

"No. Keep doing what you're doing. You're almost done." He wasn't referring to the painting, but also to you. Rafayel's eyes roamed your naked body. "I'll paint you." Not with a paintbrush but with his cum. Rafayel moaned your name over and over, rubbing his cock and shooting thick, long ropes of cum across your chest, face and stomach too.

Unable to hold back your tongue dipped down to lick the tip, your lips kissing it once, a loud moan silenced against it as you came for the fifth time.

"Yes! Yes, like that, hold still now!" He didn't bother to put his dick back into his pants he quickly grabbed his brush and got to putting the paint to canvas, capturing you in that one perfect moment of pleasure. No one would see this painting, no one but the two of you.

#love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace imagines #rafayel imagines #love and deepspace headcanons #rafayel headcanons #love and deepspace smut #rafayel smut #love and deepspace fanfiction #rafayel fanfiction #lads x reader #lads imagine #lads headcanons #lads smut #lads fanfic #x female reader

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honeekyuu · 10 months ago

Text

talk too much. [suna rintarou x reader]

ten. ruin

previous || masterlist || next

a/n. uhm....... yeah.

warnings: swearing, phone sex

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

“No you didn’t-”

“I did!” Suna laughs on the other end, and you giggle into your cup in response, brain fuzzy and warm. “I walked into a room full of fourth years and pulled out my canvas and when I looked up— boom. Naked ass man, dick in my face-”

“Stop!” you wheeze, shaking your head. “How the hell did you not realize-”

“I was nervous! I was so nervous to be there that I didn’t even realize I was in the wrong fucking room.”

“Did you leave?!”

“No! Of course I fucking didn’t!” You hear two sharp thuds on the other end and know just by the sound that Suna’s pounding his fist on the table. “I tunnel-visioned my way into a nude modeling class as a first year — you really think I had the courage to get up and leave after that?”

You take a long sip of your mixed drink, leaning back against the arm of your couch and sighing deep after you swallow. “So? Then what happened?”

“Uh – I missed syllabus day of Art as Identity and drew a charcoal recreation of some random guy’s penis. Komori has it framed in his kitchen. It’s a talking point for guests and friends alike.”

“I can’t believe you’re this much of an introvert,” you say, shaking your head with a giddy grin. “You’re so loud with me-”

“Okay, go ahead and add salt to the wound-” he barks sarcastically, snickering when you break into laughter.

“You’re funny, Suna,” you say openly after a minute, sighing into the admission. “More people should know how funny you are.”

“Just you’s enough, I think — and maybe your friends, just so they like me,” he responds, quiet filling the space between you for a moment. You chew on your lip while you think.

“What’d you think of them?” you whisper after a moment. “My friends.”

“Your friends?” he repeats, confusion seeping into his voice. “I mean, I always thought Suga was a weird dude, but he’s overall pretty chill and funny. Especially with Alisa – they fight a lot, don’t they?”

You smile fondly. “She likes to make him angry. He’s really easy to rile up.”

“Yeah, I could tell. They seem like good friends. I feel like I got to know you better by meeting them.”

You sigh quietly, the question burned into your mind starting to feel like guilt. You shouldn’t ask, because the truth is that your friends are the perfect friends. They’re both perfect, and you don’t know where you’d be without them. And you’re not in the habit of comparing yourself to your best friend, because you know she’d kill you for doing that.

But still, the question lingers.

“And… Alisa?” you ask, feeling the terrible guilt burn in your throat like bile. “What’d you think of her?”

You can hear the wheels turning in Suna’s head, the silence on his end growing haunting as the seconds tick by.

“I think she’s beautiful,” he says, and – through the horrible, disappointed swooping in your gut – you realize that him being this honest even when he can tell what’s bothering you only makes you trust him more. He knows what you’re looking for, and he makes no move to sugarcoat his thoughts for you. Your respect for him grows. “But me acknowledging that she’s beautiful and me having feelings for you can both be true. Can’t they?”

You shut your eyes, sighing. You feel like an idiot. “Yes.”

“Just because your best friend is beautiful, that doesn’t mean you’re not.”

“I know.”

“I can think she’s beautiful and also think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen-”

“Oh, my God,” you laugh, embarrassed. “I get it, Suna. It was a stupid question.”

“Yeah, it was,” he says, and you can hear his smile. “Promise not to do it again?”

“No,” you mutter. He laughs.

“Okay. I can live with that.” You feel the conversation end there, and, despite the embarrassment, you feel glad that you asked. “I was thinking about something a minute ago actually,” he says, interrupting your thought. “You call me by my last name.”

You quirk an eyebrow, the previous conversation forgotten, and purse your lips. “Is it not your name?”

“Yeah, but…” He swallows audibly and then laughs to himself. “Your friends also call me Suna.”

You warm, seeing where this is going. “Would you rather me call you Rintarou?” His name feels foreign in your mouth, as if your tongue is just as nervous as you are, but you kind of like the taste of it.

His name feels important.

The other end of the line goes completely silent, long enough that you pull your phone away from your face to check that the call’s still connected.

“Shit,” he breathes finally. “I dunno anymore. I was gonna suggest it, but I dunno if I can handle that, Y/n.”

Your name sounds important on his tongue, too.

Your chest starts to flutter with nerves, but the alcohol wants you to push it. “What about Rin?” It tastes intimate and presumptuous, that cut of his name from three syllables to one. You want him to taste it, too.

“Christ,” he laughs. “God, Y/n. You tryna kill me? You sent your friends to wound me critically and now this?”

“I think I like that one, actually,” you breathe. “Rin.”

“Stop it,” he laughs weakly.

“Rin.” You roll it around in your mouth, sinking deeper into your couch while you consider it.

“Cut it out,” he whispers, soft and breathy.

“Rinnie.” You like the way your lips wrap around it. You like the space it takes up and the way your voice cradles it, round and warm.

“Y/n.” His voice isn’t round and warm. It’s sharp. Thick with warning. Dragging your own name down your back like the back of a blade, leaving your skin pebbled with goosebumps and the base of your spine tugging at a knot under your navel dangerously. “Cut it out.”

You shiver and press your thighs together. “Okay,” you breathe, a soft whine coating the sound. The alcohol wants you to push your luck, and it’s so wonderfully easy to listen. “Sorry, Rinnie.”

“Shit,” he groans quietly. “Don’t do this to me, Y/n. Please.”

“Do what?”

“You know exactly fucking what.”

Your stomach flips at his tone, and there’s a pulse of desire between your thighs that has you biting down hard on your bottom lip. Your head is warm and staticky and desperately likes the sound of Suna’s voice, especially when he talks to you like that.

“So?” you whisper, the courage there but incredibly small and entirely driven the liquor in your cup. “Are you hard?”

Suna’s exhale is sharp, surprised. “W-What?”

“You said over text.” Your face burns, but the idea of Suna Rintarou getting turned on by a combination of your voice and the way you say his name has you pushing out of your comfort zone. You want him too much. “That if I called you, you’d get hard. Are you?”

He breathes hard for a beat, the sound shaky. And then he whispers, the sound soft and right in your ear in the most delicious way.

“You know I am, pretty girl.”

“How long?”

“Since you said my name.”

You shiver, pressing your thighs together hard. The flip of your nerves, low in your gut, is sharpened and heightened by the buzz of vodka in your veins, and you gasp quietly, trying to bring your heart rate back to normal.

“You should do something about that,” you whisper, skin vibrating when you do. You’d never be this confident sober.

He whines in response.

Suna Rintarou whines in your ear, desperate and impossible to deny.

You feel your body become addicted to a man you’ve never met.

“‘re you sure?” he breathes. “I don’t wanna do anything that you don’t-“

“Want you to do it,” you whisper, pulse racing and legs damn near going numb from how nervous you are. “Wanna hear you touch yourself.”

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and laced with frustration. “Fuck, Y/n — how am I supposed to say no to that?”

“You’re not,” you try. “Unless you really don’t want t-“

“I do. Fuck, I do.” He sounds the most sober he’s sounded all night, direct and honest and making your heart feel like it’s going to rip out of your chest. “Will-I…” You hear him swallow. “Will you do it, too? Are you turned on?”

Your heart jumps into your throat, hope and desire mixing dangerously with the vodka. “Yes.”

“What’s that an answer to?” he laughs, weak and nervous.

“Both.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Will you? Want you to feel good, too.”

“Really?” Your voice sounds insecure, even in your own ears. You still aren’t used to that — to him.

“Yes,” he urges. “God, yes. I want to make you feel good so badly, baby.” He swallows. “Can I talk to you? Make you feel good like that?” Your shaky exhale must speak for you, because he just gives another weak laugh. “Yeah? Is that okay?”

You’ve never been so full of want that it makes you cry, but you’re pretty damn close at this singular moment in time.

“Okay,” you say, voice wavering. Suna’s exhale on the other line is just as shaky.

“Okay,” he whispers back. “Shit-Uhm. C-Can I have a picture, baby? If that’s okay?”

You whine in protest, already embarrassed, but you can hear how nervous he is. How unused to this he is. That this is just as terrifying and embarrassing for him, that he’s putting himself out there for you.

It would be rude not to reciprocate.

You take a steeling breath and pull the phone away from your face, setting it on the coffee table and putting it on speakerphone. “I look kind of messy,” you say. You start to adjust your clothes, grimacing at the frumpy shirt and shorts you’re wearing.

“I like messy,” he says, and you laugh pathetically.

“It’s not very sexy.” You pull your hair down and ruffle it to be as attractive as possible, and then you consider your shorts for a full two seconds before throwing caution to the wind and getting rid of them. They land on the floor with an audible fwip, and Suna’s silent on the other end.

“Please tell me you didn’t just take all your clothes off,” he breathes finally. “I don’t know if I’m in a state to emotionally handle that right now.”

You giggle, face burning and heart pounding in your ears as you open your camera and angle it favorably. ”Not all my clothes.”

“Shit.”

You cross one arm over your torso and use it to push your breasts up, watching them swell in the camera. A rush of heat burns at your ears and neck, and your lip wobbles while you take the picture.

Lifting the phone close, you examine the photo. You can see all the flaws that you’ve always seen, and it makes you freeze with insecurity. Makes you want to delete it and back out.

But then you hear him, his quiet ‘baby?’ on the other end, and you remember who you’re talking to.

You hope he won’t see all the flaws you do — but there’s a piece of you that knows he will see them, but not as flaws. Because that’s who he is.

Breath held tight in your lungs, you send off the photo, and then your head starts to pound with anxiety.

Will he like it? Will he think it’s awkward? Will he realize that maybe he thinks you’re pretty, but he’s not sexually attracted to you the way he thought he would be—

“Oh, holy shit-” Suna’s voice is tight, thick with an emotion that’s so clearly lust that even you can’t deny it. ”Holy shit, Y/n. You’re so fucking-” He cuts off, taking a shuddering breath. “Fuck, I might start drooling.”

You laugh, the tension breaking a little. “You’re funny-”

“I’m not joking.” Your breath catches at the sharp snap of his voice — your heart lurches, and desire swirls violently in your gut, because Suna Rintarou’s voice is starting to do that to you. “I’m not fucking joking, Y/n — you’re the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You blink, sinking low on the couch. “What?”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Y/n, you turn me on so much. I’m so fucking-” He laughs. “God, it’s embarrassing.”

Your fingers shake as you press the phone desperately to your ear. “You’re so fucking what?” you ask meekly, nervous but craving more with every second that passes.

He laughs again, self-deprecating. “I’m so fucking hard right now. Because of you. Because of this one photo.”

Your free hand drops between your thighs before you can think too long about it. “And you haven’t done anything about it yet?”

“Oh, my God,” he groans, and you can hear the want in his voice. The strain in his tone as he tries to keep himself in line. “God, I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna last with you, Y/n.”

The pads of your fingers press to your clothed clit when he says your name — important, full — and it makes your desire curl and snap. You moan quietly, pursing your lips together to stop the sound — just a moment too late.

“Fuuuck-” he says, reacting immediately to your voice. You hear shuffling, and then a burning, brutal exhale of relief, and you know he’s touching himself. The low whine trapped in his throat tells you as much. Tells you how badly he’s trying to keep his head on straight for you.

You don’t want him to do that. You want him as lost as you are.

So you shut your eyes and lean your head back and let the alcohol take control. Let the fuzzy static in your head grow louder, let the desire throbbing in your core grow stronger. Let the choked whine in Suna’s throat take over, pulling you that much closer to the edge.

“Rin,” you breathe, yielding control to your limbs and smothering all hesitation in favor of slipping your hand past the band of your underwear. When your fingers touch down to your core, cold fingertips to searing hot skin, you moan louder. Loud enough to be heard and not caring enough to stop it. “Fuck, Rin— Can I have a picture, too?” He groans on the other line, shaky and uneven, and you whine in response. “Please? It’s only fair…”

He doesn’t say a single word back — just gives a trembling breath when you beg — but your phone buzzes against your face a moment later.

He’s got his hand down his sweats, the outline of his cock clear and the outline of his hand wrapped around it even clearer. His face is flushed a deep, searing red, and his parted lips are swollen and pink, eyes hooded with desire as he looks up into the camera.

He’s in bed. He’s in bed, drunk and touching himself while thinking about you — the you in the photo, the you on your couch, touching yourself while you think about him, too.

“Christ,” you whisper, eyes flying across the screen while your fingers dip low and slip with terrible ease past your entrance — two fingers in, the stretch heavenly, when your eyes land on the outline of his cock. “I don’t know if I can take you, Rinnie.”

His inhale is shocked and laced with a moan, and then he’s coming undone in your ear.

“You can take it, baby. I know you can take me so well.”

“Oh, God,” you gasp, back arching off the couch and fingers curling hard against your walls. “You would make me-”

“Gonna make you take it,” he finishes in a voice so rough and broken that you know he’s stopped trying to keep control, too. “Wanna make you take it, wanna show you how good you are for me. How much you’re made for me-”

“Oh, my God, I’m-”

“Wanna make you come around me. Wanna make you fall apart on my cock, pretty girl.”

“Rin,” you squeak in warning, your gut curling hard with desire, tension so close to snapping. “Rinnie, I-”

“Want my name on your tongue when I come inside you.” His voice is pitching up, breath stuttering and syllables twisting short in his mouth. “Want my name in your mouth when I ruin you for anyone else.”

It’s only right, then, that you cry his name when your orgasm slams into you full-force, pulsing and crashing down over you without warning.

By the time you come back to yourself, your walls are twitching with aftershocks around your fingers, and your breath is loud and heavy in your ears.

Suna’s own breath is shaky in your ears, too. He whispers your name, tired and drained but still full. Still important.

You might have ruined him for anyone else, too.

#haikyuu smut #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna smut #haikyuu x reader

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some-bunniii · 1 year ago

Text

Lucifer with an artist reader

・❥ You’re hosting an art class, and the nude model is someone you never expected

xx: it’s a long one y’all 😭 we’re still in the pre-dating era! Slowburn, anybody? Forget the crumbs, have the whole loaf of bread, my swans ☺️

warning: brief mentions of nudity & mild swearing

After Lucifer’s initial tour of the hotel, he started coming around much more often.

He was beginning to reconcile with his daughter, and that meant making up for all the years he had missed out due to his self-isolation.

When Lucifer came to the hotel for Charlie, he always made time for you.

At first, when you had still been busy working away at the paintings for the hotel, he had used the excuse that he was just coming over simply to “admire the art.”

Nevermind that he crossed the entire hotel just to look at some paintings, but you never pried him about it. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t waiting in anticipation for his visits.

Sometimes, he would lean against the door frame in silence, watching as your brush glided across the surface of the canvas. He dared not to disturb you while you worked. Too afraid he’d cause you to slip up and place your brush in the wrong spot, ruining your piece.

He never would admit it, but the soft, feather-like strokes you made always seemed to lull him into a state of tranquil bliss.

If he had the opportunity to sit there for hours and watch you paint, he’d probably drift off into a peaceful sleep.

It was ASMR for the King of Hell.

You weren’t always sure whether he was admiring the painting, or you. You were too concentrated on making a leaf of a tree, or the surface of the water just right to trace his gaze.

You’d think with Lucifer being the embodiment of pride and his rank as ruler of the realm, he’d have demanded your attention instantly.

Instead, it was you who usually spoke first. “Are you going to sit down?” You’d tease with a warm smile, greeting him with a bat of your eyelashes as you soaked your brush with fresh paint.

“Of course, I just wanted to see your progress, it’s looks beautiful as always.”

You had hummed a thanks as he strode over to the flat cushion in the middle of the room, and collapsed in it. He had now claimed it as his personal spot ever since he had first used it when you let him use his wings for reference.

Every time he made himself comfortable, he would exhale a large sigh of relief, like he just walked out of a noisy and over-stimulating circus show.

His tolerance for people in general was still pretty dicey, but here, in the quiet corner of the hotel, he could reset his mind.

And with you there? He didn’t feel so lonely. Even in your silence, your presence and the multitude of large paintings leaning against the walls was all he needed to keep his mind from drifting off into darker thoughts.

“Boy, do you work fast. I can’t imagine what Hell would like if you were the one running things.”

“Probably terrible,” You had laughed, “I may be able to create art under time constraints, but the pressure of an entire realm on my shoulders? We’ll let the super-powerful-fallen-angel deal with that.”

“There goes my vacation,” He had sighed dramatically.

Sometimes, he’d catch you humming to an ancient tune, and every time he’d ask you about it.

“What song is this?” He’d ask, genuine interest lacing his voice.

“Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen”

“I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means”

“ ‘Innsbruck, I must leave thee’ ,” you’d laugh, “It’s a German song and is, you guessed it, from the Renaissance.”

“Oh, right. Germany. Yeah, they were our biggest influx of souls back in the early 1900s,” He replied, “Must’ve been fun people.”

You shook your head at that. Right, ‘Fun’, that was a rather.. surface-level take on what that country had gotten into during that period of time.

“You should tell me more about the Renaissance.” He’d ask with puppy-dog eyes, which always made you set down your brush and turn to him. A content smile spreading across your face.

Your knowledge of such a time always intrigued him, the Renaissance as a whole did. For so long, he had desperately clung onto the hope that some of humanity would go on to create great and beautiful things due to his actions. That his Fall wasn't all for nothing.

Slowly, that hope fizzled out, and Lucifer’s growing delusion that Earth mirrored the sinful realm of Hell in more ways than one plagued his mind.

And then you appeared, passionate about Man’s most beautiful creations. Art, music, long-ago writings of sappy declarations of love in the form of poetry, and times when humanity’s intellectual and innovative nature flourished.

“It was absolutely magnificent,” You’d start, drawing from the depths of your mind all the imagery you could remember from when you were alive, “Filled with all kinds of artistic expression, painters that filled the ceilings of churches with heavenly imagery-“

Lucifer had snorted at that. This era in time had such a romanticized idea of what Heaven and their Creators were like. He pitied their ignorance.

“-and beautiful music. They were known for bringing to life a worldview known as Humanism. It was meant to bring back ancient philosophy — like from the Greeks — to uplift people to participate in the betterment of humanity, and to perpetuate much more virtuous actions. There must be a whole city full of them up there, I can't imagine anyone from that period ending up down here with how protective they were of their moral code.”

He’d always listen attentively in silence as you educated him. Sometimes, he’d even pull out the classic yellow rubber duck toy he held so close to his heart, and begin to fiddle with it as you spoke.

When he worked on them in your room, he’d curate them especially for you.

“Look! This one can refill your palette with the bestest freshest paint!” He’d exclaim as he wiggled it in the air, “And it still quacks!”

Every time, you’d pull up a cushion across the table from him, and rest your chin on your hand as you watched in amusement as he demonstrated his work.

In this instance, he squeezed the sides of the duck and it let out a pathetic Sqeaaooo and a glob of paint slid out of its mouth and plopped right onto the table. It splattered, leaving a few droplets on his pretty white overcoat.

Lucifer was a messy fella, and times like this made you growl quietly and reach for a wet cloth from your cleaning bucket. Hastily trying to rid his clothing of the bright red paint. Your movements across his sleeve made his body tense, and his breath quicken.

For someone who easily flustered you with abrupt acts of affection like the first time you met, Lucifer had the uncanny ability to turn his face as red as his cheek spots when you displayed such care towards him.

“It's still a work in progress.” He’d bashfully assure you every time something like that wouldn’t go as planned.

You’d wish Lucifer displayed such creativity outside of the yellow bath toy, but you promised yourself to help him down that path.

You could only imagine how many ideas this man had stored in that head of his, and you had a feeling you’d get him to wake up eventually. The thought of being there for him — with him, made your cheeks hot.

When it was finally time for him to leave the hotel — sometimes hours later, you’d walk him to the door of your little atelier and he’d turn to you, with that charming smirk and half-lidded look.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Charlie?” You had ask, as he adjusted his hat and coat to depart.

“I already did before I got here,” he replied nonchalantly, as if you two existed in completely different buildings. Nevermind that she was a flight of stairs and a few halls away.

There were no more bold kisses to the limbs from him after your first meeting, to your displeasure. Even thinking about it gave you feelings that tugged painfully at your heartstrings and made you beg internally for more.

You desperately wished for him to softly hold your hand once more, to feel his lips graze your knuckles, to drink in the warmth of his touch.

Instead, he clutched his staff tightly, and dipped his hat to you.

“Until next time, Darling,” his voice, like silk, had echoed as waves of gold surrounded him. In a blink of an eye, you were left alone once more. Your heart pounding just like the first time, and every time after that.

Today, your heart was pounding just as fast. Except there was no Lucifer in sight.

Three days ago, you got a call from a good friend of yours who ran an art studio on the other side of Pentagram City. She realized she had double booked her classes, and had begged you to take over one for them.

“I’ve never taught anyone before…” You had trailed off over the phone, apprehensive to the idea.

“Nonsense! You are so well spoken, and you’re fantastic at this kind of stuff,” She exclaimed, “It’s not that hard, all you have to do is sit there while they trace the model and step in a few times to give them some tips on techniques. They aren’t a beginner class, so they shouldn’t need much instruction. You’re also in charge of guiding the model with the poses, but I already have a sheet that has them all, so you just need to follow along.”

You stood there for a moment, thinking. This was something totally strange to you. What were art classes like in Hell, anyway?

“Oh, AND they are going to be nude. At least partially, we make them cover their um, nether regions. That shouldn’t be a problem for you, right? I mean, you get paid for it so…”

Your friend trailed off, and the line went quiet for a moment as you mind raced. You looked around the now -empty atelier, your paintings finished and hung up around the hotel. You had nothing that was stopping you from doing it, not your skills, your time, or even the fact that the model was going to be exposed. You were in Hell, seeing someone like that was an almost daily occurrence. Telling her no just because of your nerves was a douchy thing to do, and you were far above that.

“Fine.” You conceded.

“YAYY!!” She shrieked in happiness, and you had to yank the phone away from your ear before it could start to bleed.

The next few minutes were her telling you where, when, and what to do. You had listened intently, memorizing her words. You didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of strangers that you were teaching.

After hanging up the phone, had you went downstairs and to the hotel’s lobby to inform Charlie of your new job.

“I’m really sorry if this interferes with me working here, but I just couldn’t leave her hanging.”

“Pffft, it’s fine,” Charlie had waved it off, “You accepting the position as my new interior design manager is more than enough, i’m just glad you’re getting out of your comfort zone like this!”

You sighed a breath of relief. Good, no issues. You were worried she would have said no, and the fact she knows about Lucifer visiting you? Well, you weren’t sure how she was taking that. You never dared to ask, nor did she make any kind of indication her feelings about that.

“What’s it like?” She had asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“It’s nothing too bad, I think I might actually like it. I just help them with their techniques on mastering figure drawing by using a model as a reference. My friend says they are still looking for one to pose, so hopefully they find one in the next few days.”

“Interestingggggg” Charlie responded, her eyes holding a mischievous glint to them. You could see the gears turning in her head, but what for, you had no clue. You didn’t ask either.

You had spent the next few days preparing, you even had visited the studio. It was very pretty, and the room you were in was small, but rather homey. You had more confidence with your ability to lead the class now after locating specific areas of importance.

Which lead you to present day. You were hurriedly scrambling around the room, grabbing anything of necessity.

Your eyes jumped to the clock, and a squeak of panic escaped you as the class’ starting time got closer and closer. Finally placing the last pencil in your bag, you raced down the stairs, beelining for the door.

“Where you going in such a rush, Hot Cakes?” Angel Dust called out to you from the bar, Husk next to him as he poured Angel another drink.

“To class, do you know where Charlie or Alastor is?” You questioned them.

A rush of wind tickled your back, and you whipped around to see the Radio Demon himself looming behind you.

“Hello, my friend!” Alastor’s toothy grin on full display.

“I heard you were looking for Charlie, unfortunately she left not too long ago. She said it was something of great importance, and that it could shape the future of the hotel. But do not worry, I am here to assist you!”

You placed your hands together into a praying motion, trying your best to appeal to the demon’s better nature. If he had one.

“Can you pretty, pretty please send me to the Regal Fortune Studio? I’m doing a class there and I need to get there on time.” You begged.

Alastor’s eyes squinted in thought. Before his smile widened more than ever.

“Alright, I suppose so.”

You didn’t get to utter a thank you before the demon snapped his fingers, and dark energy crackled around you. Cold suddenly gripped at your shoulders, and your vision blurred.

You squeezed your eyes shut, unsure of what would happen next.

‘Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me’

Suddenly, light hit your eyelids and you slowly opened them to see the studio before you, just steps away from the front door.

You exhaled a sigh of relief, before yanking open the door.

The door to the classroom was slightly ajar, and you could hear faint voices inside. Indicating that everyone but you was ready to begin.

You crossed the lobby, ready to pull on the handle of the door, before a slight movement in the corner of your eye caused you to turn your head.

At the far end of the room, you could partially see long, blonde hair sticking out into view. Then, you heard the stranger speak to herself. Quiet grumblings of a feminine voice as they berated themself.

You raised an eyebrow.. could it be?

“Charlie?” You asked slowly.

The stranger squeaked, their hair pulled out of view. You heard a thump against the wall, as though they’ve pressed themselves against it in an attempt to hide.

You slowly tip toed the hallway, before whipping your body around the corner, surprising the mysterious figure.

“Charlie!” You shrieked in surprise at the sight of her, crouched against the wall. Her eyes widened in shock, and she let out a shriek of her own. Her eyes darted around, before she pulled herself up to meet your gaze.

“Oh my gosh heyyyyy, I didn’t expect to see you here!” She mocked innocence.

“Bullshit,” you retorted, “I told you where I was going like three days ago. Why are you really here?”

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she bit her lip. As if she was deciding whether to tell you the truth, or another lie.

Suddenly, she let go of the breath she held, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“Okay.. the truth is, when you told me you were hosting an art class I was so thrilled! For you, of course. But then, I thought about how much you and my dad were getting along! Then, I thought about how you guys seemed to have the shared interest of art. So I.. told him about the class?”

“And?” You questioned, irritation lacing your voice. You really did not have time for this.

“And I told him about how you were still looking for a model, and you know how he is. He doesn’t have a problem doing things like that in front of people, and he’s getting better at being around people in general..”

You gripped Charlie by her shoulders when she trailed off again, shaking her.

“Spit it out! What about your dad?!”

“HE AGREED TO BE THE MODEL FOR YOUR CLASS BUT I HAD NO IDEA THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE NUDE UNTIL WE SHOWED UP BUT HE JUST SAID GOODBYE AND WALKED INTO THE BACK ROOM!!”

You stopped dead, your breath caught in your throat. You turned your head slightly, eyeing the classroom door.

“Your dad… is in there… naked?” You finally managed to get the sentence out, your gaze returning to Charlie in a look of disbelief.

This was a joke, right? There was noooo way you were going to walk in there a minute and see Lucifer there. This was just a terrible (-bly good?) dream.

Charlie nodded in defeat, her head hung low.

“I don’t even have the mental strength to go in there. I couldn’t stop him, even if I wanted to. He was dead set on this.”

You rubbed a hand along your face, gathering your thoughts.

“Well, there’s no stopping it now,” You said, rolling your shoulders in preparation, “Guess I have a class to teach.”

“Have fun..?” Charlie smiled innocently at you. Her plan was working, after all.

You shot her a glare before crossing the lobby once more, and pulled open the door. You stepped inside, breath hitched, and gently shut the door behind you.

In front of you, four older women sat behind easels with a blank white canvas attached. If they noticed your arrival, they didn’t show it. Instead, they giggled in the direction of the slightly lifted stage. You couldn’t see who was on the stage, but the familiar voice with giddy amusement told you exactly who it was.

“You’re finally here!” Lucifer called, and you did nothing but stand there for a moment.

Straightening your back, you exhaled a deep breath, and walked forward. Right past the stage. You kept your eyes in front of you, ignoring the golden gaze that trailed your figure.

You positioned yourself between the platform and the women who had finally stopped giggling and whispering to each other, and cleared your throat.

“Hello, everyone. I’m your instructor for today, unfortunately Renee couldn’t be here today. We’ll be going over the usual though, figure drawing with the model present today.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, before opening them with renewed energy.

Slowly, you turned on your heels and pivoted in the direction of the platform. Your eyes widening at the sight.

Before you, on a long, red couch lay the King of Hell. Lucifer Morningstar, in all his glory. Shirtless, with no pants in sight. Thankfully, a thin, barely-hiding-anything sheet covered his waist section.

You met his gaze, a playful smirk etched on his lips. He wiggled his eyebrows at you, gauging for a reaction.

You made sure not to give him one. If he thought he was going a reaction from you in front of all these people, he was wrong.

“Let’s start by doing a quick sketching exercise, take about ten minutes to do your best and draw the model in front of you. Once the timer goes off, we’ll review and go over some techniques, before switching to a much longer pose.”

You clicked the timer, and the faint ticking of its gears cemented you into reality.

“Is that Lucifer?” One of the ladies whispered to her friend a chair over. Her friend shrugged, “I have no idea.. but boy, is he handddssoomee.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to ignore their gossip.

Sitting in the chair farthest from the group, you crossed your arms, your gaze resting on the floor. Was he looking at you right now?

You sat there for a moment, before realizing you couldn’t ignore him forever. He was the model after all. Soon you’d have to be helping him change poses anyway.

You looked up, drinking in the view. He was lazily leaning against the back of the velvet couch,

His hair, with no hat to cover it, stuck to his face messily with sweat. As he adjusted his head, a few strands of curls fell in front of his eyes. His intense stare slightly masked.

Was the room getting hot, or was it just you?

His eyes were locked on you, that stupid smirk still on his face. You sent daggers back to him.

He replied with a wave of his fingers.

You refused to let yours eyes travel any farther than his face, not ready for what kind of images your mind would give you regarding what was underneath the sheet.

“Did you know the Renaissance was pretty famous for constantly expanding its artistic art forms?” A voice smooth as butter filled the silence.

What the hell was he doing?!

“Believe it or not, the naked human was a very big inspiration for many of their paintings. No sheet in sight.”

Some of the women perked up in interest at Lucifer’s words. You couldn’t tell if they were actually interested in what he had to say, or just to hear his voice as it commanded the room’s attention.

“For an era so virtuous,” He teased the last part, reminding you of your discussion days earlier, “They so did love their scandalous marble status.”

He let that sink in, and you rolled your eyes dramatically at him. You couldn’t believe this was how Charlie planned on setting the two of you up.

A candle lit romantic dinner? Nah. A trip to the movies? Boring, apparently.

Were you against the idea of getting closer with the ‘Big Boss of Hell’? Of course not! He made you laugh and was actually interested in your ideas. This was just not how you expected it to go down.

“Keep talking, pretty boy!” One called from behind her easel.

Before he could speak again, the timer shrieked in your palm. You shot up from your seat, clasping your hands together loudly.

You turned your back to Lucifer as you began instructing the class, showing them a few techniques on how to straighten their lines, and how to hold their pencil just the right way that would give them a much thicker line for specific parts of the body.

“Alright, now, we’re going to have the model switch positions.”

Grabbing the paper that held all the different poses, you held it out to him, your finger tapping against the specific one in question. It showed the figure in a front facing view, one hand closed in a fist supported their chin, the other tucked neatly underneath. As if they were listening intently to some hot gossip.

“I’m afraid I can’t see what‘s on the paper. Perhaps, if you come a little closer and show me?

You groaned internally, he was enjoying this too much. You strided over to him. His gaze followed you, his grin only widening as you closed in on where he laid.

“You need to turn facing them,” You commanded the King himself. He pivoted, his body fully facing the group of gawking onlookers. He gave them a wink, and they hid behind their easels, their whispers fast and beathless.

“Now, you have to move your arm.. like this.” You spoke, reaching out one hand. You hesitated for a minute. You’ve never been so.. upfront with like this.

Reaching down, you gently circled your fingers around his wrist. Slowly, you allowed your hand to slip down, reaching his forearm.

His body was hot to the touch, and you felt like melting right then and there. Maybe it was time just to accept defeat, this man was just too good looking.

You felt the muscles of his arms shift, and you halted for a half a second.

Did he just tense?

Maybe you weren’t the only one who could be teased.

You guided his arm forward, and then up. Sliding your fingers, ever so gently, around his knuckles. You squeezed, and his hand enclosed into a fist. You guided it underneath his chin.

“Touchy today, aren’t we?” He spoke quietly to you, his voice dripping with velvet allure as you positioned him as the image on the paper showed.

“You be quiet.” You scolded him, trying your best to bring on your most serious face.

His quiet chuckle in response made you drop the face instantly. It was obvious you were pretty bad at this kind of thing, at least compared to Lucifer.

You grabbed his other arm, and gently tugged it underneath. Letting it lay neatly below him.

Taking a step back, you admired your work.

You were going to return to your seat, before a thought crossed your mind. You took a step forward, closing in on Lucifer again.

“And one more thing…” You started.

Using two fingers, you grazed the bottom of his chin, firmly pressing upward. Instinctually, his head followed the motion. He met your eyes, his gaze intensifying.

“Good boy.” You teased, your voice laced with a hint of sultry satisfaction.

You didn’t miss his pupils dilating into slits and his breath hitching slightly. You just turned on your heels, not giving him a second glance before returning to your seat.

You tilted your head at him slightly, looking at him through your eyelashes. Your lips curling into a provocative smirk as you gripped the timer.

Maybe now this would be an even match.

“Begin.”

Time flew by once more, and this time, Lucifer refused to meet your gaze. Instead, he was purely focused on the easels in front him.

“Tell me, my dear artist,” He began, addressing the demon woman before him. Her eyes widened when she realized he was speaking to her.

“If we were back in the Renaissance, would I make quite the muse?”

“Pardon?” The lady asked timidly, her voice coming out in a whisper.

“How about a statue? Think about that. Tall, Marble-skinned, and… lacking this rather uncomfortable cloth.”

The woman’s face turned bright red. Her mouth opened and closed, her tongue refusing to cooperate. Lucifer knew how to play this game well.

Then, he turned his head to you.

“What about you, stranger? Would you think i’d look good in such a form?”

You crossed your legs, leaning back in your chair.

“If the statue could stay quiet, while the class finished their work. Then, perhaps.”

The angel huffed, averting his gaze. He blew a few strands of hair out of his face, before continuing his blank stare at the wall.

The timer in your palm rang once more. You lifted yourself out of the chair. This was it, the last pose.

You strided back to Lucifer, his smoldering gaze on your figure as you approached.

For this pose, he needed to be off his stomach. You weren’t going to roll him like a log, or go anywhere near his torso. That was too brazen of an act for you to commit to, at least with all the eyes on you. Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the white sheet. You tugged with all your might.

With an oomph he rolled along with it, he shoulder blades digging into the cushions as he landed exactly where you wanted.

Before the ladies could get even a glimpse, you hurriedly adjusted the sheet back onto him.

“Impressive, bending the devil himself to your will.” He commented as you continued to adjust his arms.

Ignoring him, you moved onto his legs, positioning them slightly.

“Careful~” He chided.

You said nothing to that either. Once he was in the correct pose, you released him. You glanced at his hair, now messily covering his face.

You reached forward and, splaying your fingers, pushed his hair back behind his head. You let your nails softly graze his scalp before you tugged them free.

“Sorry, can’t have your curls covering your face for the girls back there.”

“I bet they wished they were in your position,” Lucifer hummed “Few rarely are.”

You chuckled softly, “Please, the view looks better from back there.”

He let out an audible “Ha!” as the words left your lips and you turned away from him once more. You knew that must’ve stung, sending a blow to the prideful king’s ego.

Thirty minutes went by as you sat there, you spent more time examining your hands than meeting the gaze of the angel across the room.

This had turned into quite an eventful class, you couldn’t lie. You also didn’t expect such a shameless attitude from Lucifer, he was much more timid back in your painting room. Perhaps there was a side of him you still had yet to meet.

To be honest, sitting here, watching the clock tick by, you were pretty surprised this man had managed to stay near-perfectly still these past few hours.

Another thirty, and the timer rang its last chime. You had been positioned behind the drawing ladies, giving them critiques on their work.

You ignored the fact it was Lucifer you kept staring at on their canvas, instead simply regarding it as charcoal lines in need of straightening.

You wished them farewell at the doorway as they left. You hoped they had at least a pleasant time, since they’d have at least a good story to tell to their girlfriends over the phone.

Shutting the door with a soft thud, you sat there for a moment before your shoulders dropped in exhaustion. You honestly weren’t used to that kind of atmosphere, since your work consisted of you alone in a quiet room all day.

Taking a few steps backwards farther into the room, your gaze landing on the couch atop the platform. It was empty. Your eyes widened, did Lucifer just leave you here?

You rushed out of the classroom and strode into the lobby, searching for any signs of him.

“Wow, that little sneaky piece of-”

“I’m right here.” Came a familiar voice behind you.

You jumped, whipping around to find Lucifer dressed fully. Hat and all. Now this is what you were used to. Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow.

“What was that back there?” You motioned to the room behind you.

“My daughter invited me to look good in front of people and I did an outstanding job, as usual.”

“As the model? You couldn’t have just used your position as King to get a spot behind the easel instead?”

Lucifer grinned widely, leaning back against the wall. Could this have been his plan, and not Charlie’s? Now you weren’t so sure.

“Unfortunately, not many of us have a skill as perfected as yours with a brush.”

You accepted that praise. You had worked hard for it.

“And, not many people have as great of a photogenic face as me. So, we’re square.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you walked away. Lucifer kept pace as you both exited the studio, heading toward the curb.

“That reminds me,” Lucifer halted, reaching into his pocket to fish for something.

You stopped beside him, the mystery item in his coat pocket piquing your interest.

“I fixed it!” He held the the paint-vomiting rubber duck out to you, wiggling it in delight.

“You did?”

“That’s right. This bad boy can now pop out six different colors, you just have to pull its beak.”

“That actually really cool,” You laughed, taking the rubber toy from him. You turned it in your hands, maybe later you’d pretty it up with some fresh paint.

You looked up at him again, his golden eyes shimmering from the bright neon backdrop. You have much more to say to him, but your thoughts were jumbled from the day. There was one, though.

“You know, next time you should just ask.” You gripped the duck firmly in the palm of your hand, lowering your arm.

“Ask what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Luci. You’re telling me you hijacked my class because you had a change in career choice?”

His smile turned playful again, and he pivoted to face you, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Maybe, maybe not. That depends if i’ll be seeing you next week?” His eyes met yours with a questioning stare.

You gave him a warm-hearting smile, nodding your head.

“As always.”

His smile widened, and with a tap of his staff. Golden waves cascaded around you. It wasn’t cold, like Alastors. Instead, it was warm and relieving, like face planting into your pillows after an exhausting day.

As your vision began to obscure, you saw his face peak into the cascades of light, his hand reaching forward.

“I almost forgot.” His voice echoed, distorted by the magic as it circled them.

His hand enclosed around your own, and planted a kiss right onto your wrist. His lips lingered for a moment, as did his grip around your hand, as if your time together was too fleeting to let go.

You promised silently it wasn’t.

The light rushed over you suddenly, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut to keep from being blinded. Lucifer’s touch vanishing with your sight.

Feeling your feet planting on solid ground, your eyes widened to familiar surroundings of the hotel lobby. You were home, and Lucifer was no where in sight.

“Hey, Hot Cakes!” Angel Dust called, still seated in the same spot at the bar, “How’d it go?”

——————

🤍 alright, let me know what you think of this!! your comments are appreciated, esp if you have any ideas on what to do next!

💜 the kisses are getting higher! part 3?

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #did i do the sexy good?#my asexual ass is trying y’all #this man has been in one ep and we’re all snarling over him jesus

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hugs4jongseong · 3 months ago

Text

❥ His prettiest work - 황현진

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Synopsis • In which you help your best friend with his artist's block by modelling for him.

Pairing • Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

Warnings • friends to lovers, fluff, hyunjin paints y/n naked, no actual smut but like... You're naked.. kissing him.., hyunjin can't keep his hands to himself, making out, idk if I missed any 😖

W.C. • 1,636 (give or take)

A/N • Hi lovelies >.< Everyone say happy birthday hyunjin!! I hope you all enjoy, this is not edited so keep that in mind if it's not perfect & i apologize for any bad grammar. Thank you for reading! <3

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Of course you know why you're here, but you're not sure of how 'hey, hyune, why don't I just model for you?' turned into stripping your clothing off piece by piece until you're completely bare in front of your own best friend.

Lately you'd noticed that hyunjin just wasn't acting like hyunjin. The poor boy hadn't painted in weeks, and it was clearly affecting him, so, being the kind best friend you are, you offered to model for him. Hyune jumped at the opportunity, taking the idea and running with it.

You were so happy to see hyunjin excited to paint. It was the most passionate he'd been in a while. He had so many ideas, and you let him talk your ear off about everything he had in mind until the two of you finally arranged a few days where he could just sit and paint the one thing he finds the most beautiful: you.

God, he was so in love with you.

So here you are, deliberately posed on a large sofa chair with your legs over one arm of it and your back against the other, head leaning gently against the cushion and hands resting on your tummy. Every now and then he'd get up and walk over to you, delicately running his long, slender fingers over your bare skin to adjust your pose, muttering gentle words of praise as shivers run up your spine.

"You're doing so good, angel. so perfect," Hyunjin hums softly, eliciting a sheepish giggle as a faint blush of pink colors your cheeks.

Sure, at first you felt slightly uncomfortable about being literally naked in front of your best friend, but you quickly got used to it. You trusted him more than anyone in the world, and he treated you with nothing but care and intent, handling you as if you were a porcelain doll.

"This might be my prettiest work, y/n. You're so beautiful," hyunjin says, glancing up from the canvas, a small content smile on his lips. Your heart stutters at his words, he had always been affectionate, he'd always called you sweet names, but right now just feels so intimate. It's as if he's looking past just your body or your face and complimenting your soul.

"Is it almost done?" You frown, looking over at him, almost not wanting your time together to end. He simply gives a small nod, that small smile still evident on his lips.

"Do you wanna come see?" He asks softly, and you quickly nod, eagerly getting up off of the sofa and wrapping a thin silk robe around your body before scampering over to his art station.

When you finally see the painting, your eyes widen and your soft, rose petal-like lips part slightly. It genuinely is a beautiful piece of art, one so pretty that it renders you completely speechless. Hyunjin had perfectly captured your essence, perfectly captured your femininity, perfectly captured everything. He looks up at you and laughs softly "do you like it?"

His words snap you back into reality, letting out a small hum and nodding, still staring at the painting until you feel like you have to physically tear your eyes away from the canvas. "It's gorgeous, hyune. It's so, so pretty," you smile softly, flinging your arms around his neck and embracing him tightly. "You're amazing."

Hyunjin lets out a soft, affectionate huff and hugs you back, slender hands snaking around your waist and bunching the fabric of your robe up in his fists at your back as he breathes in your sweet scent. When you pull back, he keeps his hands on your body, moving to rest gently on your beautiful hips that he'd spent so many hours perfecting on a canvas. No matter how accurate or how pretty the painting was, nothing could ever beat the real thing.

"I'm so proud of you, hyunjin," you smile softly and bring your hands up to gently cup his face, running your thumbs over the soft flesh. He smiles up at you before one of his hands leaves your hips to grab one of yours, bringing it to his lips and kissing your palm.

Your heart swells at the sight and you let out a nervous giggle "hyune..."

His smile grows at your reaction, he'd always loved your adorable shy side. "Y/n..." He echos your tone with a grin, interlocking his fingers with yours as his other hand rubs gentle circles into the flesh of your hips with his thumb.

"y/n, do you know how beautiful you are to me?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper. Usually you'd giggle and brush off the compliment, but there was something so different about it. His eyes were wide and almost vulnerable as he looked up at you, gently pulling you closer by your hip. Once again, he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

That same gentle blush from earlier returns to your cheeks, sheepishly glancing away from him. He drops your hand and his returns to your hip. "C'mere," he mutters gently pulling you down onto his lap.

Your eyes widen slightly, but you don't try to fight it, letting him guide you down onto his lap. You knew that the line of friendship might've been blurry for the two of you, but you also knew that this wasn't normal behavior. "Hyunjin what are you-"

The man cuts you off with a gentle hum, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to your neck. If you weren't sure before, now you definitely know that this was crossing the line.

His thumbs massage into the meat of your hips and he keeps you firmly still in his lap as his lips begin to travel about your neck, leaving your skin burning in their wake. "Sat so well for me.." the boy beneath you mutters, moving away from your neck to look at you, his eyes, usually so sharp, now soft and sweet as he looks into yours.

"I love you, y/n," hyunjin says softly, and for the moment, you swear your heart stopped. Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn a bright shade of pink, the sight bringing a small smile to hyunjin's lips.

"Hyune.. I-" you feel yourself start to stammer "you mean- Like, actually?"

He laughs softly at how flustered you get, his hand coming up to brush hair away from your face as he waits to hear your feelings before going any further.

After a moment of staring at him, stunned, you finally snap out of it, smiling nervously before speaking up ever so softly "I love you too."

His smile grows and, with his hand resting gently on your neck, he comes forward to kiss you. His lips press against yours firmly, the emotion behind the kiss telling you that he'd been waiting a while for this.

His hand stays resting gently at the base of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. You melt into the kiss, your lips moving slowly and intently against his, arching your back slightly into him.

His lips start to wander down away from yours, kissing the corner of your mouth, then the small space between your bottom lip and chin, then he peppers a few along your jawline before moving down to your neck. You let out a soft sigh as his lips move passionately against your neck, nipping gently at the flesh.

"hyunjin.." you moan softly, and your hands come up to the back of his neck, keeping his lips on you. He chuckles lowly against your skin, both of his hands now holding your hips, stroking your skin through the thin silk robe.

"loved painting you, darling," he mutters between kisses "your hips... They're so pretty." Then his hands move down to your thighs, rubbing the smooth flesh where the robe had started to fall open. "Mmh, and these legs.."

Hyunjin moves back to look at you, his eyes almost pleading. "Can I see you again? Please?" He speaks softly as his hands run up and down over the slopes of your waist. You giggle at his words, but your heart flutters at how respectful he is.

"you have a perfect painting of me right there, though," you giggle, and you reach teasingly for the strings of your robe.

He's practically pouting at your words. "But it's not the real thing.." he frowns, and the way he's looking at you has you weak.

You giggle as you come down to kiss his jaw, slowly untying your robe until it falls open. You try to make sure that he can't see your face in order to hide any hint of self-consciousness in your eyes, but being the attentive sweetheart he is, he gently hums your name and cups your cheek to get you to look back up at him.

Reluctantly, you lift your head, your cheeks turning a soft shade of red as you watch his eyes roam over your bare body then back up to your face. "Gorgeous girl.." he coos with a gentle smile and leans down to kiss your collarbones, wasting no time to run his hands along your bare skin. "You're stunning... 'm so obsessed with you.."

You feel your entire body heat up, the words making your heart rate accelerate. "Hyunjin.." you say through a breath.

He looks up at you from where he's trailing kisses down to your sternum with a quirked brow. You giggle softly, cupping his face in your hands "you're obsessed with me?"

He nods "terribly obsessed."

You giggle "I love you so much.."

A dumb smile grows on his lips, and you can't help the one that pulls at yours as you come down to kiss him again.

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cynisterstuffs · 2 months ago

Text

Paint me like one of your French girls.

| MDNI - smut fic, will include the ff: anal sex, hate sex??, blowjob, whiny till heh , little to no after care.

NOT PROOF READ

word count: 3.8k

Till's eyes widened and he almost spilled his paint on the floor. He was painting in the art club again. He didn't even need to look back to know who was by the door. It was none other than—

"Ivan" grumbled the silver haired male. "I told you to stop bothering me, especially when I am working, idiot" he scoffs, wiping a bead of sweat from his cheek before turning around to be met with Ivan's cocky smirk.

"I am not bothering you; I am talking business" Says the black haired boy as he closed the door and stepped closer.

"Do you take commissions?"

He repeated, and this time Till was finally paying attention. Well, a little bit, that is.

"What do you think of me? A guy who you can buy with your money—" "200 dollars?" "I... I am not, I have–" "350 dollars"

Blink Blink

Till was... surprised? Who knew rich people loved to throw money around like that.

"Besides, it'll be good practice for you, no?" Ivan added. "Having a model..."

"You want to commission me... for what, exactly?" Till asked, a brow raised, finally actually listening.

"A painting of me" replied the jock. "I really like your art, emo boy"

"Told you not to call me that, jackass" Till scoffs, rolling his eyes before crossing his arms. "So, what do you want done anyways?"

With that question, Ivan smirks and leaned closer, tilting his head to the side. He didn't care if he was up in Till's personal space, why would he?

Ivan smirked, shameless, cocky, and unbothered, leaning in like he owned the space between them.

"Paint me like one of your French girls vibes,"* he said, voice smooth and just a little mocking. "Come on, surely you've seen that movie..."

"You know—just a necklace, perfect lighting, me looking irresistible."

He raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a smug grin.

"Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

The two ended up back in Ivan's dorm which he shared with his roommate, Marty. Ivantexted in advanced that he needed the dorm to himself tonight. He need not elaborate more.

"I am only fucking doing this because I also need to practice my anatomy, okay?" Till scoffs as he sets up his easel to put the canvas on while Ivan was on the couch, smirking at him.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Anatomy practice, commission money... I get it, it's a win-win, emo boy"

"I said don't fucking call me that" Till groaned as he glared at the black haired boy. Gosh, he wanted to snap that stupid snaggletooth out of his mouth.

After setting it all up, Ivan got undressed. First just his white shirt, then soon he began to unbuckle his belt making Till avert his gaze for a second.

"Shy?" "Oh, hell no. I have seen more dick than you have—" Till's eyes widened. "For practice of course! The models are usually males for the art class... studio! I-i have seen tits too, duh! I-I like... tits and–"

Ivan began to laugh as he kicked off his slacks and rolled his eyes at the way Till was overexplaining himself. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You get way too flustered"

Till flipped him off as Ivan was now laid bare on the couch. He was wearing nothing but that silver necklace around his neck, and maybe a cherry lipgloss that made his lips... glossy.

Till was focused. This takes time and lots of effort. Ivan was posing, but Till would often scold him for moving too much and threats about spilling paint on him was blurted from his mouth.

After almost an hour, Till was barely halfway done before he suddenly felt a hand on his wrist, making him gasp. It was Ivan, standing behind him and examining the art piece.

"Oh... that looks good" he murmurs, leaning down, his warm breath hitting Till's ear, which made him blush and stand up from his seat.

It was so easy to fluster him.

"Hey! Models aren’t supposed to move, what the fuck are you doing? Do you want me to finish this or not—! Woah!"

Till’s words cut off as Ivan’s hand shot out, catching him by the waist and pulling him in close. The sudden warmth of Ivan’s bare chest against his sent a shock straight through Till, making him freeze for a second. Ivan didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in, lips just a breath away from Till’s ear, warm air stirring his skin.

Ivan’s voice dropped to a low murmur. "Relax, emo boy."

Till could feel Ivan’s fingers pressing into his waist, his proximity far too intimate. Damn it, it was impossible to ignore the way Ivan’s breath lingered on his skin, how close they were now. Till’s heart raced in his chest. He tried to back off, but Ivan just pulled him in even closer, his body a solid wall.

"Don’t you want me to finish?" Ivan’s voice was teasing, knowing, too confident.

Till’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t think. He could only feel Ivan’s heat, his hands on him, his chest pressing against his own. "You’re such a pain in the ass," Till spat, but his voice came out quieter than usual, less sure of himself than he wanted it to.

Ivan grinned. "I’m just getting started."

And then, before Till could say anything else, Ivan’s lips were on his. No hesitation. No warning. Just a kiss that was all fire and demand, rough and insistent.

Till’s heart skipped a beat, his hands coming up to shove Ivan away—but his fingers brushed against Ivan’s bare skin, and it felt like his entire body short-circuited. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Ivan’s lips were against his, and there was nothing he wanted more.

Ivan dragged him away from the unfinished painting and pushed him against the couch with a cocky grin. Gosh, Till wanted to smack that stupid grin so bad... and by smack, he means by his lips and have a heavy make out session.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Till says panting from their heated kiss while Ivan was leaning back in, pressing him against the cushions of the couch some more.

"Shh," the other male says, placing a finger on Till's lips. "Don't mess with creativity, you should know that as an artist"

The two of them were suddenly enveloped in another heated make out session. Ivan had one of his hands propped beside Till's head, the other on his hips, gripping on him tightly.

Till had no room to think as his hands instinctively grabbed a handful of his raven colored hair as the kiss became rough, deep, reckless...

Ivan was consuming him, kissing those lips as if he owned them–hot, unrelenting, tongue slipping past his lips like he wanted to taste everything he could ever offer.

A low sound escape Till's throat as he tried to keep up with this insatiable man on top of him–half growl, half moan, while his other hand held on his back. Ivan was... well built. He was the captain of the football team after all, what would he expect?

Till's black nails scratched at them while Ivan's hand traced from his abdomen to his chest and to his neck, gripping on it. Not tight, just firm, enough to show who was in control really.

Till gasped, making Ivan pull away panting, his hand letting go slightly. "You good?"

"Don't act like you care..."

Ivan could only chuckled as he licked at the silver haired boy's earlobe. "Sensitive..."

"Shut the fuck up..." Till hissed, and he hated the way his voice cracked, he sounded so wrecked just from a heated make out session.

As Ivan just stared at him, Till groaned leaning his head back, an arm covering his eyes as he sighed. "Well?" he scoffs, leaving Ivan with a confused look. "Don't stop now, what are you trying to do? Edge the fuck out of me?"

The black haired male just snorted as he got comfortable between Till's legs, a hand on his thighs, squeezing through the man's slacks. "Thought you hated me, emo boy" "Shut the fuck up and just– ah... ahhh–"

Till's voice was cut off with his own moan as Ivan palmed at the growing tent in his pants. The jock bit his lower lip, before looking back up at Till who had his eyes hidden under his arm. His chest was heaving up and down, lips swollen and parted. It was erotic. It was hot to know that he was the reason why this silver haired male was a flushed mess.

Ivan didn’t need more of an invitation.

He let his hands trail down, fingers hooking into Till’s waistband as he looked up at him—waiting, teasing, eyes dark with want. When Till didn’t stop him—when he just groaned and shifted his hips like he needed it—Ivan took his time peeling the slacks down, kissing along the skin as it was revealed.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent as he palmed him over his briefs. “Fucking trembling for me already.”

Till hissed a breath, hips bucking up just a little. “If you’re gonna do something,” he growled through gritted teeth, “then do it—”

Ivan didn’t need to be told twice.

He tugged the briefs down in one smooth motion, Till’s length springing free, flushed and aching. Ivan took a second to admire the view. He was... surprised. Well, who wouldn't be? Did you expect the quiet emo nerd looking loser to have a dick shy off almost 8 inches? The pretty pink tip was just calling out to Ivan.

Can Till get even hotter? Yes, he can. Ivan believes so at least.

He gives the underside a slow lick, looking up at him to gauge his reaction. Till's brows would knit together, nose scrunched as he held back a moan.

"Ivan–fuck..."

Ivan chuckles, pressing kisses from his base to the tip. "Are you always this talkative when someone is giving you head, or am I just special?"

"If you're going to do something," Till murmurs under his breath, gritting his teeth. "Just fucking do it. You're so fucking cocky"

"I earned it."

Without giving Till time to reply, Ivan's mouth lowered and wrapped around his pink tip, licking the already leaking pre. He dragged it out on purpose, slowly sinking Till's hard cock into his throat, fitting in snuggly. He wanted Till to feel everything–the brush of his tongue, the way he hummed low that would send vibrations on the other male's body.

Till gasped–loudly, sharply, almost desperately.

His dainty fingers immediately found itself tangled on the other male's soft black hair–not pulling, not pushing–just holding. He needed something to ground him to reality from this other wordly head he was receiving.

Ivan took him deeper, his eyes rolling back slightly as the tip hits the back of his throat, but he won't stop there. He needed to take all of it in for the artist, didn't he? Till arched his back, mouth parted, eyes shut tight under the crook of his arm. He couldn't look down at Ivan or he might just cum. He twitched under his touch, but he didn't try to stop him. Why would he? He gave such a good blowjob.

Was it his first time? No way? Till thought to himself. He probably fucked the rest of the football team, that's why he's the capt– "Oh, fuck~!" his train of thought was interrupted when Ivan has fully put his aching cock deep into his mouth. "Ivan...!"

Till arched his back, hips bucking up—quickly caught by Ivan. "Don't" he says firmly after he pulls off with a slight pop just long enough to speak. "I am not done with you yet..."

He went back down, hungry for more, and much faster. Ever sound Till made–ever choked breath, every curse–only encouraged Ivan to go faster, give him more and more. It was like he wanted to ruin him with just his mouth. Judging by Till's trembling body, clenched jaw, and loud moans... He was succeeding.

"I–Ivan..." he said, voice breathy and hitched. "I–I am gonna–fuck..."

The black haired pulls away again, making Till whine and removes his arm from his face, looking down at the other male with a frown, panting.

"You're not coming yet," Ivan says panting, his voice was hoarse, possessive even. He had a bit of drool slipping down the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin. "Not until I'm inside you."

Till grumbled, frustrated as he was just pulled away from the high he was desperately about to reach. But when Ivan finally kissed him—messy, tasting like himself—he melted.

And then and there, he knew that he would let him do whatever he wanted to do next.

Till's canvas was now forgotten, resting against the easel. Ivan had moved too fast, too confident, and well, Till did not really stop him now did he?

Tangled on the couch, Ivan continued to kiss Till's lips. It wasn't clean, no. Messy, raw, real. That is what this is. Tongues tangled, breaths short, and neither cared how bruised their lips would be later. Ivan kissed like he needed it—gripping onto his hips tightly, before he dragged it up to bunch Till's shirt up to his ribs, teasing that waist of his before he pulls away for a second to slip it off his body.

His hands began to explore the canvas that was Till—not the one on the easel, but the real thing, the man beneath him. Till was lean, almost delicate at first glance. Ivan loved holding onto that narrow waist of his for sure.

"Is this what you wanted too?" Ivan asked after he pulled away, panting, their lips still connected by a string of saliva.

He did not respond with words, instead Till wrapped his arms around his neck and pulling him back for a kiss. But for some reason. this one felt more sensual. Instead of rough and hungry, it was something else—slow, savoring.

"You still haven't stopped me..." Ivan says as they both adjusted their position on the couch that creaked with their movements. He made sure Till was comfortable lying down beneath him while he got positioned between his legs.

The black haired male leaned down, breathing heavily as he nipped and licked at his earlobe making the artist whimper, whining slightly, and before he could "complain", his lips were met with Ivan's fingers coaxing them apart, actually, well, he was hooking his lips open.

"Suck it"

He says with that deep voice of his that made Till immediately obey. While Till's slick mouth covered his fingers with his saliva, Ivan was kissing and nibbling on his ear and down his neck. He had to leave his mark somehow. He was a whining, moaning mess, but the sounds were slightly muffled by Ivan's calloused digits.

After awhile, he pulled it away and pressed it against Till's aching entrance, making him gasp. "Till" he breathes out, watching the man beneath him whimper. "I've got you"

They kissed again which stifled Till's whiny noises as Ivan's fingers continued to prep him.

Aligned to his eager entrance, Till looked nervous as he averted his gaze, biting down his lower lip before Ivan cupped his cheek to guide his gaze back towards his own.

"Last chance..." Ivan murmurs, voice hoarse as his aching tip pressed against Till's hole earning him a low groan. "Tell me to stop"

Till looks up at him—flushed, breathing heavily, eyes dark with desire and lust. "I'll kick you if you do."

With a chuckle, Ivan moved forward. A loud groan was left from both of their lips. Not long after, the room was filled with sighs, soft gasps, and muffled moans filled the room.

Ivan bucked his hips, holding onto Till's waist as the silver haired male wrapped his legs around his waist, whimpering and whining. "Fuck, h-haaa... Ivan"

He only needed to hear those sweet moans to know he was doing it right. "Till..." he calls back, pressing his body against his as Till's tight walls swallowed him inch by inch. Ivan's hands explored his body, wanting to commit it to memory. Every breath was a stuttered gasp, Ivan swallowing each of his moans as their lips connected again, wanting to distract Till from the current pain as he entered him.

"You're too fucking big..." Till complained against his lips. He was girthy, that was for sure. This comment just fed Ivan's ego and he chuckles. "Yet you're taking me so well... don't worry, your tight ass can take it" he teased.

Ivan finally pushed into him, fully, slow but steady, Till’s whole body tensed, then melted. The stretch stung, burned—but it was nothing compared to the feeling of finally being full, of having him so deep there was no space left for anything else.

The easel was long forgotten, paint brush on the floor with some of the paint spilled from it. They were tangled on the couch like nothing else mattered. As Ivan soon buried himself to the hilt, he caressed at Till's hips as he hissed in the slight pain.

As the room filled with their moans, the sound of skin against skin, lips against lips, their high began to build up. The one Till had been chasing for since Ivan wrapped his lips around his cock.

Till's hands fisted in the fabric of the couch, his knuckles white, jaw clenched so tight he could barely breathe. Ivan’s hips moved against his again, slow and deliberate, and it pulled a low sound from the back of his throat—something helpless, desperate.

He hated that he was already this far gone.

Ivan pulled back just enough to look at him. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, hair a mess. “You still good?” he asked, voice lower than before—genuine, but edged with want.

Till nodded once, sharp, like admitting it was a sin. “If you stop now I’ll fucking kill you.”

Ivan huffed a breath of laughter, then leaned back down, their mouths meeting again—but this time, it was slower. Not softer. Just deeper. Like he wanted to memorize every part of him.

Till felt Ivan’s hand curl around him, finally, and his entire body arched off the couch. His gasp was sharp, unfiltered.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” Ivan murmured, stroking him slow, cruel. “I love it.”

The shift came with a change in weight, in rhythm. The way Ivan’s body pressed against his, settling between his legs. There was no room left to think, no room for clever words or witty comebacks. Only heat. Hands. Lips. Breath.

Till clung to him, nails dragging down his back, sharp enough to leave marks. Ivan’s mouth never left his skin—kissing, biting, breathing against the places that made him twitch, shudder, whine.

He gasped out Ivan’s name, half-choked, and that alone seemed to break the last bit of restraint left between them.

Ivan set a rhythm—deep, steady, intense. Every thrust hit just right, stealing Till’s breath, unraveling him piece by piece. Their skin slapped, the room echoing with gasps and curses and groaned-out names.

And Till didn’t care how loud he got. Didn’t care that he was shaking, clawing at Ivan like he needed him to stay, like if he let go he’d fall apart completely.

Because maybe he would.

But right now, he didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to feel anything but this.

Just Ivan. Just heat. Just want.

And it was so good.

Just Ivan.

"I am about to come" Ivan murmurs into Till's ear, panting as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit but got deeper, hitting just the right spots. With one swift motion Till was flipped over by Ivan and now he was on all fours. "I-Ivan–" he gasped when he felt Ivan's chest pressed against his back, his knuckles whitening as he gripped on the couch, babbling incoherent words.

The black haired jock thrusted his hips faster, reaching down with his hands to stroke and pump Till's length, matching his pace. "Can't leave your pretty cock without attention..." he nipped at his ear, a low moan leaving his swollen lips. "I-I am gonna fucking come...!" Till managed to say as Ivan pushed his head down the couch with his hand.

Ass up, head down, fuck he was just so hot like this wasn't he?

"Me too," Ivan hissed as he shuts his eyes, chasing after that orgasm he had been holding back on. "Where do you want me, baby? Come on, speak up"

Till was fucked stupid at this point, all he could do was mutter a train of cuss words and babble about how good Ivan's cock was fucking him. "In... inside..." he managed to say, which made Ivan chuckle. "I'll do as you ask"

A few last thrusts and pumps happened before they both come undone, their moans filling the room, and the creaking of the couch finally stopped as Ivan stilled inside him, burying himself to the hilt. Thick ropes of white spilled into his hands as he continued to pump Till's pretty cock.

Till felt the warm fluid fill his insides, making him whine and whimper, biting down his lower lip.

"You come a lot..." Ivan smirks as Till's cock just kept fucking coming on his hands. The artist could only grumble as his body was so limp, the only reason he was not collapsing on the couch was because the other male held him close. "Don't squirm... I don't want my come to spill on the couch"

This was embarrassing. Till thought to himself as he finally was out of the haze of sex. He was still on the couch, in Ivan's living room, held by his strong arms. He just let himself get fucked by the guy he swore he hate... the captain of the football team, Ivan.

Was it good?

Hell, yes. Best fuck of his life.

Did he still hate the captain?

Of course, duh.

Would he let it happen again?

Absofuckinglutely.

#ivantill #alien stage #ivan alnst #alnst till #alnst smut #alien stage smut #smut #mlm #mlm smut #ivan x till

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wombywoo · 2 years ago

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Ok! I've finally decided to put together a (somewhat) comprehensive tutorial on my latest art~

Please enjoy this little step-by-step 💁‍♀️

First things first--references!

Now I'm not saying you have to go overboard, but I always find that this is a crucial starting point in any art piece I intend on making. Especially if you're a detail freak like me and want to make it as realistic as possible 🙃

As such, your web browser should look like this at any given point:

Since this is a historical piece, it means hours upon hours of meaningless research just to see what color the socks are, but...again. that isn't, strictly, necessary 😅

Once I've compiled all my lovely ref pics, I usually dump them into a big-ass collage ⬇️

(I will end up not using half of these, alas :'D)

Another reference search for background material, and getting to showcase our models of choice for this occasion~

When picking a reference for an actor or model, the main thing I keep in mind (besides prettiness 🤭) is lighting and orientation. Because I already kinda know what pose I'm gonna go with for this piece, I can look for specific angles that might fit the criteria. I should mention that I am a reference hound, and my current COD actor ref folder looks like this:

Also keep in mind, if you're using a ref that you need to flip, make sure you adjust accordingly. This especially applies to clothing, as certain things like pants zippers and belt buckles can be quite specific ☝️

Now that we've spent countless hours googling, it's time to start with a rough sketch:

It doesn't have to be pretty, folks, just a basic guideline of where you want the figures to be.

The next step is to define it more, and I know this looks like that 'how to draw an owl' meme, but I promise--getting from the loose sketch above to below is not that difficult.

Things to keep in mind are--don't go too in-depth with the details, because things are still subject to change at this point. In terms of making a suitable anatomically-correct sketch, I would suggest lots of studying. This doesn't even have to be things like figure drawing, I genuinely look at people around me for inspiration all the time. Familiarize yourself with the human form, and things like weight, proportions, posing will seem a little more feasible.

It's also important at this stage to consider your composition. Remember to flip the canvas frequently to make sure you're not leaning to one side too often. I'm sure something can be said for the spiral fibonacci stuff, which I don't really try to do on purpose, but I think keeping things like symmetry and balance in mind is a good start ✌️

Next step is just blocking in the figures. Standard. No fuss 👍

Now onto the background!

It's frankly hilarious how many people thought I was *hand-drawing* these maps and stuff 😂😂 I cannot even begin to comprehend how insanely difficult that would be. So yeah, we're just taking the lazy copy and paste way out 🤙

I almost always prepare my backgrounds first, and this is mostly to get a general color scheme off the bat. For collage work, it's really just a matter of trial and error, sticking this here, slapping this there, etc. I like to futz around with different overlay options until I've found a nice arrangement. Advice for this is just--go nuts 🤷‍♀️

Next, I add a few color adjustments. I tend to make at least 2 colors pop in an art piece, and low and behold, they usually tend to be red and blue ❤️💙There's something about warm/cool vibes, idk man..

Now we move on to coloring the figures. This is just a basic block and fill, not really defining any of the details yet.

Next, we add some cursory values. Sloppy airbrush works fine, it'll look better soon I promise 🙏

And now--rendering!

I know a lot of beginner artists are intimidated by rendering, and I can totally understand why. It's just one of those things you have to commit to 💪

I've decided to show a brief process of rendering our dear Johnny's face here:

Starting off, I usually rely on the trusty airbrush just to get some color values going. Note--I've kept my sketch layer on top, but feel free to turn it on and off as you work, so as to not be too bound to the sketch. For now, it's just a guideline.

This next stage may look like a huge jump, but it's really just adding more to the foundation. I try to think of it like putting on make-up in a way~ Adding contours, accentuating highlights. This is also where I start adding in more saturation, especially around areas such as ears, nose and lips. Still a bit fuzzy at this point, but that's why we keep adding to it 💪

A boy has appeared! See--now I've removed most of the line layer, and it holds up on its own. I'll admit that in order to achieve this realistic style, you'll need lots and lots of practice and skill, which shouldn't be discouraging! Just motivate yourself with the prospect of getting to look at pretty men for countless hours 🙆‍♀️

I'll probably do a more in-depth explanation about rendering at some point, but let's keep this rolling~

Moving forward is just a process of adding to the figures bit by bit. I do lean towards filling in each section from top to bottom, but you can feel free to pop around to certain parts that appeal to you more. I almost always do the faces first though, because if they end up sucking, I feel less guilty about scrapping it 😂 But no--I think he's pretty enough to proceed 😚

They're coming together now 🙆‍♀️ Another helpful tip--make sure you reuse color. By that, I mean--try to incorporate various colors throughout your piece, using the eyedropper tool to keep a consistent palette. I try to put in bits of red and blue where I can

Here they are fully rendered! Notice I've made a few subtle changes from the sketch, like adjusting the belt buckles because I made a mistake 😬 Hence why you shouldn't put too much stock in your initial sketch~

The next step is more of a stylistic choice, but I usually go over everything with an outline, typically in a bright color like green. Occasionally, I can just use my initial line layer, but for this, I've made a brand new, cleaner line 👍

And the final step is adjusting the color and adding some text:

Tada!! It's done!

All in all, this took me the better part of a week, but I have a lot of free time, so yeah ✌️

I hope you appreciated that little walkthrough~ I know people have been asking me how I do my art, but the truth is--I usually have no clue how to explain myself 😅 So have this half-assed tutorial~

As a bonus, here is a cute (cursed) image of Johnny without his mustache:

A baby, a literal infant child !!! who put this wee bairn on the front lines ??! 😭

Anyway! peace out ✌️

#tutorial #my art #art tutorial #since people have been asking #I remembered to save my process from this latest work~#enjoy 🙆‍♀️

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entitled-fangirl · 1 year ago

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A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict finds himself speechless at the model in his art class. The two later meet, and he realizes maybe she's what he wants.

A/N: Give my man Benedict some LOVEEEE

Masterlist

..................................................................

Benedict sat down and readied his canvas for his art class to begin.

His new found friends leaned over leaned over as the Bridgerton sat down, "Teacher said we were studying dresses today."

"Dresses?" Benedict asked with his usual smirk.

"Yeah. Said something about capturing the flow of 'em. Whatever that means."

"The flow of-" Benedict paused as the door opened and out walked a small figure.

A beautiful model in a thin silk dress.

She scanned the room with nervous eyes. After all, the room was full of eager men who wished to picture her frame.

Benedict felt breath leave his lungs.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

The teacher took the model's hand gently and led her to the middle of the room. "Alright, gentlemen," he called loudly. "Today we shall be focusing on the flow of fabric. Really pay attention to the detail. I want to feel like I can reach out and touch the fabric in your sketches."

The teacher then turned to the girl, "Miss Hemmings, are you ready?"

The girl scanned the room one more time in nervousness, before it set on Benedict. Her nervous eyes relaxed for just a moment before moving away from him to look at the other men. Her voice was meek and quiet, "Yes. I… I believe I am."

The man nodded, "Alright. Pick a direction to look, and I'll situate you from there."

She took a deep breath and scanned the room once more. Once her gaze settled on Benedict, as it had done before, she stopped. "I believe here should suffice?"

Benedict gave a smirk and couldn't look away. She was captivating.

The teacher then reached down, fluffed out her dress just barely, and stood. He turned to face his eager students, "Begin."

And there she was, under a spotlight in a room full of men who were now beginning to sketch her.

And she had to stay still.

Now that all eyes were on her, she decided looking towards Benedict was a bad idea.

He was to always be looking at her. He was sketching her, after all.

And the wall above him was too dark to be anything enjoyable to watch for the next few hours. But she did so. For the first hour anyway.

Eventually, she couldn't help but let her gaze fall to the Bridgerton. He was deep in focus now.

So much so, that he didn't feel her gaze until the third time he had glanced up at her.

He paused involuntarily at the eye contact. He felt the smallest of smiles graze his face.

Her cheeks heated to a violent shade of red. And she couldn't hide it.

She broke the eye contact, looking back up at the wall to avoid accidentally moving and messing up all the other sketches.

But every now and then, she would allow herself to take in the sight of the Bridgerton earnest at work.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

…

The second the class was called to a close, Miss Hemmings completely disappeared.

It confused Benedict.

He had been comparing his finished portrait to her, and had looked up and she was gone.

No matter.

She's just a model.

That's what he told himself, at least.

…

Benedict Bridgerton was making his way downtown, eager to purchase more charcoal for his sketching endeavors.

He hardly heard the sound that was coming from the nearby alleyway.

But he did.

He paused in his step and turned his head in its direction.

Sounded like a woman's voice.

He began to cautiously walk down said alleyway with a low voice, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight.

A woman was practically pinned against the wall by a man much bigger than her.

His hand was wandering down her dress and began to lift the hem of it.

Tears filled her eyes as she tried to push him away with quiet pleads.

"Hey!" Benedict yelled. "What are you doing?"

The man turned his head in his direction and scoffed, "This Miss was being tempting to the gentlemen that walk these streets. But when I tried to take the temptation…" he grabbed at her jaw and growled in her ear, "… She refuses me."

Benedict took a few more steps closer with his hands out, "Leave the lady be, sir."

The man moved away from the woman and the wall, now interested in Benedict, "And tell me, what will you do about it?"

Benedict took a breath and courageously stepped forward, "I'm Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount you hear of so often. I suggest you step away from the woman and continue your day. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

The man paused, "Bridgerton?"

Benedict nodded.

"Ah," the man feigned happiness. "Lord Bridgerton, of course. My apologies. I had no idea she was yours, my Lord."

"'Tis alright." Benedict said. "You may correct your mistake now."

The man nodded, "And so I shall. Good day, sir."

And with that, the man left.

Benedict watched him round the corner before immediately rushing to the woman, "Are you well?" He asked in a hushed tone.

The woman looked up.

Benedict let out a breath.

The model.

She looked down again to wipe the tears from her face, "Lord Bridgerton. I apologize. I… I did not… I didn't mean…"

Benedict felt himself smiling, "Please. Please calm yourself. It's alright. You owe me nothing."

She felt herself take a few steady breaths before she looked up again. Her eyes now focused on his and her face morphed into shock, "You?"

He actually let out a chuckle, "Me? Yes. I'm afraid so. Apparently, I just couldn't let you go, huh?"

She smiled and relaxed. "I suppose I truly owe you gratitude."

He shook his head, "No. Please."

"I do, my Lord." She insisted.

He looked off in thought and smiled. His gaze turned back to her, "Tell me your name."

She paused a moment at his request. "Y/N Hemmings, sir."

His smile grew as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "A pleasure, truly. I'm afraid you have occupied all of my thoughts since the last time I saw you."

She smiled, "You're simply an artist who is immersed with his work, my Lord. That is all."

Benedict nodded, "Tell me what you were doing alone out here?"

She sighed, "I… I make runs here for the upper class who don't wish to be seen in such… slums. They pay me to do so."

He feels his jaw go slack just a bit, "You come to dangerous areas to make extra money?"

She nods, "I have a younger brother to take care of, my Lord. He is everything to me."

He shakes his head in disbelief, "You're a mysterious thing, aren't you?"

She lets out a laugh, "Not as mysterious as you, sir. A Viscount taking artistic classes? Don't you have higher duties? I don't imagine they have time for such… fulfilling things?"

He offers his arm to her, "Then perhaps I may tell you something?"

She took his arm with a curious grin, "You may."

He leans down to her ear, "I am not the Viscount."

She tried to pull away in shock, but he held her arm tightly. "You are not Lord Anthony Bridgerton?"

He laughed out, "No. Heavens no."

She cautiously leaned in, "Who are you, then?"

He smiled, "I am Benedict Bridgerton, the second son residing in Aubrey Hall. I didn't completely lie to you. I am indeed a Bridgerton."

She stepped with him down the alleyway now, "I see. I suppose that makes more sense."

Benedict stops walking as they near the road, "May I be frank with you, Miss Hemmings?"

She tilted her head, "Yes, sir."

"You are the most fascinating creature I've ever seen."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, "Oh. I… what a most welcome compliment, Sir."

He smiles, "I do hope there is no man I must fight for the right to your hand."

She felt her mouth dry. "What?"

"Your hand," he smiled. "Do you have a suitor?"

"Me?" She gasped out. "Me? No. I don't… I've never had suitors."

He nods and smiles wider, "Then may I be the first, Miss Hemmings?"

She considers his words. A Bridgerton. A high ranking family with wealth and charm.

But more importantly, a most dashing artist as a potential husband.

"Only if I may see the sketch you designed of me all those days ago."

He lets out a laugh, "Oh, darling, nothing I sketch would be even close enough to capturing your beauty onto the paper. Even the greatest artist can do no such task. It is meant to be enjoyed in the moment."

She nodded in thought, "Then you must call me Y/N. And you must continue to sketch me until you get it right."

He tilts his head, "But I've just claimed it's impossible to do."

She smiled, "Then we have no excuse to not be near each other, it seems."

Benedict grinned brightly and leaned in, "I suppose you're right. But you have to call me by my own name."

She let out a breath, "I shall do so."

"Excellent. Most excellent." Benedict said as they walked out onto the busy street.

A wife of his own? Benedict thought. That's something he always pictured as a boy.

And as he looked down at her, he realized it was a most beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

..............................................................

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

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sillyhanako · 5 months ago

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╭╯﹒pipo pipo electric sound ！！﹕

🍮﹒⪩⪨ ﹕dates scenarios with the bluck lock boys!

🍮﹒⪩⪨ ﹕STARRING : yukimiya kenyu, bachira meguru and alexis ness ♡ fluff!

🍮꒱﹒a/n﹒one of my best works! Im really proud of this one. Lmk if you want a second part >< contains smau in kenyu and bachira parts and contains soft launches in them all

ー﹕m.list﹐

୨୧ ㆍ yukimiya kenyu

Today was one of Yukimiya's rare days off. He had just finished modeling for a big hit magazine, and his manager insisted that he take a day off to reward his hard work.

and how would he spend it? With his lover, of course! Lately, you both have been struggling to make time for each other, each busy with work or school. But today was conveniently a beautiful sunny day where everything just felt right—the breeze was gentle and the air fragrant with spring flowers. Yukimiya decided that this was the perfect moment for a sweet date.

At three thirty he knocked on your door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates. You were surprised, and Yukimiya could barely see your face, not because of his blindness, but because of how big the bouquet was.

"You didn't have to..! ," you said with joy, unable to contain your excitement and gratitude. "I missed you," he replied softly, placing his gifts on the table and embracing you tightly, as if trying to merge your bodies.

You helped him take off his jacket and handed him a cup of water, engaging in casual conversation to relax after the ride.

"speaking of TikTok, I saw this cute little trend. Look!" You exclaimed, showing him a video of two couples painting each other's t-shirts and a blank dinosaur clay figure.

"I think we should definitely do that. I have spare t-shirts, and instead of clay figures, we can order tote bags. Are you in?" You looked at him with anticipation.

"Yeah sure why not? Should we make matching ones?" "Oh good idea! Ill get the fabric paint hold on-"

after digging for a good 30 minutes in house you finally got what you needed on your living room's table. You laid out your plain canvas bags and soft, white t-shirts like a blank canvas ready to receive your wildest ideas. As you started painting, yukimiya leaned over, his shoulder brushing against yours. “What do you think we should make first?” he asked, his voice playful, and your heart did that little flip it always did around him. You suggested matching sanrio designs— you chose Kiki and LaLa . “Perfect-!” he replied, already splattering some paint onto his shirt in excitement, totally unbothered by the mess you were about to create. You recommended using a starting sketch, so you pulled out your phones getting a clear picture of your character.

Time flew by as you discussed everything varrying from your favorite sanrio products to your dream travel destinations, each topic punctuated by bursts of laughter and playful shoving and thus losing sense of time and making way too many 'masterpieces' . You both decided that every little imperfection you painted was just part of the charm.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with soft hues of pink and orange, you stepped back to admire your creations. They weren’t just tote bags and t-shirts; they were memories smeared with laughter and love. You felt so grateful to have Yuki by your side—someone to share these memories with and made everyone one of them memorable.

“Okay, you know what we should do next? we should to model them!” you declared, striking a silly pose, and it was impossible not to giggle at how silly you looked. You put your new creations on, proudly showcasing your masterpieces, and snapped a few selfies, capturing the essence of the day.

kenyuki our beautiful mess <3 @.ynthediva

bachicha BRO ACTUALLY PULLS?????➜kenyuki Shut yo skin tone chicken bone google chrome no flip phone disowned ice cream cone garden gnome extra chromosome metronome dimmadome genome full nlown monochrome student loan indiana jones overgrown flintstone x and y hormone friend zoned sylvester stallone fsierra leone autozone professionally seen silver patrone headass tf up ➜ynthediva CLOCKED. ➜ryu__shid GAGGED.

slursagi yall look lowk cute 😕 ➜ynthediva thanks 😙 ➜ynthediva WHAT IS THAT USERNAME ➜slursagi STOP IT WAS A DARE ➜ynthediva by who 😭 ➜slursagi that bitchless kurona.

karasuhq one slip up is all i need.. ➜kenyuki blocked. ➜hiyo_yo bro is like a dragon guarding his treasure 😭 pipe down ➜ninin._ninja talking like you pull any 💀😰 ➜hiyo_yo you failed 5th grade. ➜ninin._ninja im sorry sir

୨୧ ㆍ bachira meguru

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the buildings as you stood outside the cinema, glancing at your watch, waiting for someone to show up. The flickering neon lights of the theater were a perfect backdrop for one of your favorite dates with your boyfriend bachira. Your heart raced with excitement as you wished for him to speed up just a little bit.

Just as you were about to check your phone, you heard his signature laugh—bright and infectious. Turning around, there he was, a ball of energy with his messy bee coloured hair and those big brown eyes that youve grown to love.

He zoomed toward you like he’d just spotted a prize in a carnival game, and before you knew it, he had looped an arm around your shoulders squeezing you in a hug.

“Hey! Ready for the movie?” he beamed, his enthusiasm almost tangible.

“Absolutely!” you replied, bouncing slightly on your toes trying to match his seemingly endless energy, seriously where does he get it from?

You approached the entrance, the lively crowd enhancing the thrill of the moment. Chatter filled the waiting room and after grabbing your tickets—he insisted on paying because the date was his idea—you headed to the concession stand.

“Okay, we need the largest popcorn they have. And candy! Which one should we get?” he declared as you stood before the colorful assortment of sweets.

“Hmm, gummy bears?” you suggested, but he shot you a look like you'd just suggested swimming in jelly.

“No way, we need chocolate! It’s a movie must-have!” He patted his chest as if making a proclamation.

You chuckled, and after a quick playful banter about whos the better movie must-have you settled on a massive bucket of honey popcorn and a couple of chocolate bars, and he practically wore a victorious grin as you made your way into the screening room.

Once inside, you found your seats—perfectly positioned in the middle of the theater. The dim lights illuminated the previews casting shadows across the room. Bachira flopped down beside you, as you couldn’t help but snicker watching his exaggerated excitement for the snacks, He lunged for the popcorn, shoving a handful into his mouth, claiming he couldnt wait to devour them, and thats probably going to make the both of you watch the rest of the movie without snacks. Fun.

“mhmff! 'his ish tha befsh parsh of tha 'ovie!" he laughed with his mouth full and a buttery grin "wanth sum?" He offered you a handful of perfectly honeyed popcorn and you could resist the urge to say yes.

You settled in as the previews began to roll, the buzz of the theater fading into the background. He leaned close, whispering comments about the upcoming films, and you found yourself leaning into him, soaking up every moment of this somewhat messy date.

As the lights dimmed fully and the film began, you felt utterly content and couldnt ask for more. I mean your silly boyfriend AND a movie date?, surely you have the capability to muffle some giggles throughout the movie, right?

bachichan me and my skibidi rizzler yall vould NEVER 🤑🤑

leo._.reo how did bachira pull before me 😭 unbelievable ➜kingbarou the real question is how did he find someone that matched his freak bachichan yall just jealous 🤑🤑

➜redprincessa @ynthediva please reconsider and thank you 😊 ➜bachichan solve whatever shit you have between you and that ichigo wannabe 🤑🤑 ➜ku_.niga_.mi im gonna gorge your eyes out. ➜bachichan @redprincessa come get yo dog bih 😭😭

ynthediva the date was so fun 😊 exited for more! ➜bachichan glad to heart dat :DD hihuihihh ➜slurisagi why r u down bad bro ➜redprincessa that brotha gooone

➜aikou20 yoo my number xxx-xxx-xxx if u ever get tired from that schizo <33 ➜ynthediva arent you like 30 ➜aikou20 WHAT. ➜bachichan CLOCKEDDDD

୨୧ ㆍ alexis ness

The sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting playful shadows across the flour-dusted countertop. You stood there, and besides you ness, apron tied snugly around your waists.

He carefully put the ingredients needed on the countertop and fetched the necessary kitchen tools . "Alright, we have everything ready, we can start now sweetheart ♡” Ness’s sweet voice and dimpled smile broke through the quiet atmosphere.

at ness's announcement you pressed the play button on your phone that started a relaxing melody. You rolled up your sleeves, and together you began measuring ingredients, flour flying, and playful banters. As you poured and stirred, he leaned in closer than necessary, your shoulders brushing.

"It hasnt even been long and i already made a mess.." you said defeatedly, apron full of flour and chocolate stains.

“but youre my mess.” he replied, his gaze softening as he caught your eye. You could feel your cheeks heat up, but you just shrugged it off with a smile. "I swear youre such a tease."

Before long, the oven was preheating and the dough was chilling. “Okay, next step — the bake,” you said, wiping your hands on your apron, feeling quite smug.

He looked at you with a sad puppy-dog expression. “i hope i wont be the cause that messed up the cookies... like the last time.. "

You couldn’t help but feel pity for him, remembering the charred remnants of what was supposed to be a masterful treat. “Hey, that just shows how dedicated you are to your art,” you teased, nudging him playfully. "And i still ate them, didnt i?"

As the sweet aroma began to fill the kitchen, you felt a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the oven. It was the way he wanted to be the perfect boyfriend for you, the way he didnt want to dissapoint you again. it was honestly admirable.

“Just wait until they come out of the oven. They’re going to be amazing just wait till you see!” you said, stealing a quick glance at him, trying to hype him up from his wet-cat mood.

“Not as amazing as you.." he muttered quietly, but you fortunately catched it and you noticed the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Okay, flattery will get you everywhere,” you grinned, finally pulling the oven tray that contains now fresh and delicious looking cookies. you didnt miss the chance to shove a hot one to him.

"See? They look appetizing. And i bet theyre tasty too —" You tried one, forgeting it hasnt been even 5 minutes theyre out from the oven. yeah you got burned and got a panicked ness worrying.

alexisn3ss memories with my favourite person 😊💗

anriiiii looks delicious 😮 mind if i get a taste? 🎀 ➜ynthediva yess!! Of course!!! ➜alexisn3ss no go make your own 😊

charliesthebaddie NOOOO who wants to make heart shaped cookies w me 😔😔😔 ➜shidoxox dw i gotchu bro ➜charliesthebaddie bro... 😢

redprincessa i smell wife material 👃 ➜slurisagi from who tho ➜redprincessa alex ➜alexisn3ss call me that again and your acls r gone ➜redprincessa YOU DID NTO ➜ynthediva what do i even say to this 😭 ate or be nice 💔 ➜redprincessa so now ur doubting wether to back me up or not 😒 i thought we had sum smh ➜ynthediva NO PLS I STILL NEED TO KNOW YOUR HAIR CARE ROUTINE

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