#I had planned for these to be in a gallery exhibition at some point

[blackbackedjackal]

I came to the sudden realization how much Piss Christ influenced my edgy dog art.

[f1daydreamers]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @scottlava

Scott Campbell has illustrated numerous children’s books, including SKULLS!, Sleepy the Goodnight Buddy, and Zombie In Love. He was author/illustrator of the much-loved HUG MACHINE. He enjoyed a long career in video games, where he art directed the critically acclaimed game Psychonauts and Brutal Legend for Double Fine Productions. Great Showdowns is his ongoing online series. Scott’s work has appeared in galleries and publications around the world. You can see more of his work at ScottC.com.

Check out our interview with Scott below!

How did you get your start in art, and more specifically, with Great Showdowns?

I went to art school in San Francisco and have been painting, making comics, and designing video games ever since with Double Fine Productions. The Great Showdowns began at the first Crazy 4 Cult exhibition at Gallery 1988 in Los Angeles back in 2007, an exhibition of artwork inspired by the cult classics of cinema. The first 10 little paintings were intended to be snack-sized pieces for people to easily collect. They began with perhaps the most iconic of wild west showdowns from A Fistful of Dollars with Clint Eastwood. I pulled some of my favorite moments from films like Ghostbusters, Predator, Exorcist, and Planet of the Apes and placed them all in simple little dust-colored squares as if they were in the dirt streets of a wild west town. They began as good versus evil but grew to all kinds of showdowns between people and objects and often moments of great love between people. I started a tumblr for them a few years later, and I have been posting them ever since. We have published three Great Showdown books and have had 3 solo exhibitions along with worldwide scavenger hunts. There are over a thousand of them up on the site by now, and i do not plan on stopping any time soon.

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I would like to gather Jim Henson, Walt Disney, and Richard Scarry together for dinner and chats. They have all created my favorite and most joyful worlds. I think we would have some of the most delightful chats.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I love collage, but every time I try it, I get frustrated and just quit. Someday I will get into it when my kids are old enough to really mess around with various mediums. I plan to have boxes of textiles and magazines for them to just annihilate.

What does your work set up look like?

Oh, it’s just a table with an old mug for water and an old plate for my watercolors and not much else. I share a studio with a bunch of very inspiring people who make wonderful things, from fabricated creatures to VR experiences and films. I have probably the simplest little area in the space. I do have an old oak flat file that I love to look at.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

The biggest thing I would push upon everyone would be to not fret about one’s visual style. The style will grow and present itself as you experiment with mediums and expose yourself to various cultural delights. Just have fun and try all kinds of things.

What is one interaction you had from a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?

I gave a game design presentation many years back on a game I had art directed at the time called Brutal Legend at a game conference in Leeds. The game followed a roadie to the age of metal in the land of metal, with demons and chrome volcanoes and hot rods growing from the ground, and rivers of happy and cheering fans. After the talk, I spoke with someone whose work I had seen in earlier portfolio reviews at the conference. She was very shy but incredibly talented. She came up to me after the talk feeling pretty emotional and inspired to the point of tears and sobbing. It was probably the most extreme reaction I have ever gotten from someone, and it touched me deep down in my guts. That’s why we make things! To bring on the tears!

From video games, to illustrations, and children's books, you've worked on many projects. What was the most challenging, yet rewarding one?

Video games take an enormous amount of work over a long period of time and rely on the skills and talent of many like-minded people. It is sometimes difficult to corral such an effort, but it is incredibly rewarding to see it all come together to create such epic worlds. That said, though, children’s books are very enjoyable in a cozy way. It’s just me right there working on a world and all the pressure is on me. I cannot rely on all the talented people around me to make it look great.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

I love perusing old fashion and film blogs and artists like Bob Jinx and Neil Sanders and collections like Its Colossal.

Thanks for stopping by, Scott! Be sure to check out the Great Showdowns over at @scottlava!

[1-49]

𝖳𝖮𝖴𝖱𝖨𝖲𝖳 𝖦𝖴𝖨𝖣𝖤 : The top 7 things you dont want to be doing when in Paris.

Imagine,

the brightest, most perfect winter’s day imaginable. Crisp, chilly, and beautiful. Warm cafés, busy streets, and gentle breezes ──── stellar architecture, metros, and museums. If anything, Paris is the most magical place on earth, but having Sungchan there makes it even more so.

That being said,

here is a list of the Top 8 things and situations to look out for, & don’t indulge in when you are in Paris if you don’t want to fall in love. A doomed guide for both tourists and locals, eh.

tags: fluff, love, sure it carries its angst though ⁝ fun concept to approach given i wasn’t going to write a fic nor it fits exactly into headcanon, so yeah. he has made me dizzy with his paris photos im sooo sorry. wc. 3k

Fan fact: The French term ‘Coup de foudre’ describes when someone feels completely blown away by someone they have recently met. In literal terms, it means lightning strike. If you have been ‘struck by lightning’ in this way, a common feeling is that you can tell the person everything bc they just get you

Good luck!

THE CRASH

A stunning stranger seated a short distance away from you in a small cafe is always a threat—but this is not just any stunning stranger. As you converse with your friend, he’s also conversing with his group of friends. Passing phones and a camera make their giggles sound like a good time. 

Every chance you get, you glance at him while speaking with your friend because it’s so tempting to do so. Little sparks shoot out the moment the stare is returned; when your gazes meet halfway; when he’s caught, too, for naively trying to get your attention.

When your friend catches on to the fact that you’re looking at what is behind her rather than her.

When she turns around to reinvestigate the situation and notices that he’s staring in your direction, she instantly understands.

When she gives him a smile and turns back to face you, who moved too slowly to stop her.

The stranger which then believes that you both had a conversation about him.

The friend who first exposed you is also the one who is now pushing you to use the restroom; for if he meets you halfway again, chances are good he’s into you too.

Her point is validated when you find yourself in a small hallway, pretending to scroll through your phone, as he moves toward you.

Scents of rich vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and wine fill the dimly lit secluded part of the café, which has burgundy walls. His physique is too large to fit in the narrow hallway. His eyes and smile translate love. His confession is full of tenderness, affection, & promising good times.

THE ‘NO’ PLAN

It’s already outside of your plan to plan the remainder of your day. Order breaks out. Chaos ensues. What was already set in motion was interrupted by him, a tourist named Sungchan. But a Paris show-off won’t be a show-off without a museum, so there goes that theory. 

In any case, a museum or art gallery is a must, so thirty minutes later, you are showing him around one of the many museums. The grand rooms echo with silence as you hope that the angels are praying for you to make it to the end of the tour. It’s simply so overwhelming to be next to such beauty. You can’t stop thinking how much he fits the scene. 

The line of his nose; his lips; the shadows of his collarbones; the wrinkles of his smile; the flow of your hair; the trickle of his laugh—for all of these, he is worthy of a museum.

So when you finally get your hands on the previously ‘passed-around’ camera, an exhibit of blue curiosities rests on his shoulders. Quickly, you take some pictures of him with the Rothko piece. It’s impossible to determine which is more beautiful—him or the artwork. 

There are repercussions for that, as he leads you to allow him to take a picture of you—his ulterior motive, though, to have a picture of you forever. You’ll be with him no matter what, even after he leaves this city and you behind.

JUST TOURISTY THINGS

Time will separate the two of you, just as a river divides Paris, but as you continue to stroll beside the Seine, where musicians sing of hopeless love and painters craft their works in the open, the issue of time is not a priority. If anything, all the time in the world at this moment is yours.

He grabs your hands and spins the two of you around, his hair brushed with sun-kissed shades of cinnamon brown. Claiming he isn’t immune to music, so you can’t be critical and should just follow his example.

But when the spinning becomes too intense and he feels lightheaded, he tries to steady himself by staring into your eyes for longer than he should. Your proximity scares you, but you’re concerned and ask if he’s okay. 

A smile appears on his face as a result of your concern for him, while a heavenly presence is tipping from his eyes as he’s making a promise that he’s good, if not better than ever.

A smile that inspires hope & makes you believe. A smile that undoubtedly had great power to bring you both to this point. He’s beautiful in every sense. Mentality, personalty, appearance.

He’s even surpassing the Eiffel Tower in terms of beauty with ease!

Your captured images, with him as the subject, create the most ideal postcards, and as you’re showing them to him, it’s when a feeling of sad nostalgia envelops you prior to even parting ways with him. You come to the realization that you desire to spend more time with him, not just one day.

But all you get is one day... 

A magic day... that is gradually starting to turn into a night—and as the two of you walk on the fresh-washed gravel paths through the Luxembourg Gardens, the wind becomes clearer and sharper.

Even the bare trees, which you’re used to seeing against the sky, seem to be feeling the warmth of his touch as he insists on pushing and spreading his fingers inside your palm. His vibrance makes even the leafless trees feel less lonely. He takes your hand in such a way that you aren’t even allowed to give him a warning look. Hand in hand, you have no choice but to chase after him.

NO DESTINATION BACK UP

Does it even matter that he doesn’t know the city? 

The ecstasy you are running on is surley telling you that it’s all about getting lost and  discovering yourself in unfamiliar places—and that’s all because of him.

The startled look in this stranger’s eyes as you two nearly cross a street at a red light due to his rushing… 

As he begins to apologize while biting his lower lip, claiming he didn’t mean to. 

His deer-eyes in the headlights are all that you can focus on really. It’s tempting to say, ‘It’s okay,’ but there is something about his apologetic expression that makes you feel as though he’s completely enclosing you in his gaze. 

His eyes are hugging you while he apologizes. It has been a long time since you felt something like that—felt completely safe. Sincerely, and risk-free. He’s a walking green light. So then, it’s a bit sadistic of you to wish for his apology to last longer. 

But how can you not?

When his hand squeezes yours even harder, and he turns all starry eyes while biting his lip in fear?

Someone you would definitely want to try and fit into your pocket, regardless of his height or width.

CRAMPED SPACES

When the cruelness of the night finally reaches your bones, chasing a tiny, romantic restaurant is the only way to soothe the cold.

The warmth of the atmosphere meshes with his gray cardigan, and you find yourself moving more and more into his comfort zone due to the crowded space, where many are seeking refuge for the same reason as you two. 

His rich scent fills the air around you and his knees keep touching yours due to the close proximity. The wine glass dangles in his hand and his lips become more and more affected, picking up a cherry hue.

His collarbones exhibit every movement of his body, and for whatever reason, you feel an insatiable urge to reach for the soft, grey wool and uncover more.

You’re so invested in this delicate area it’s making you feel absolutely irrational. The constant spreading of his hand through his lush hair and pushing it behind is only adding to your obsession. Regardless of how often he does this, the silky hair flies back into his eyes every time.

He has this habit of dipping his small fork into your chocolate mousse, taking a bite, then flirting while he listens to you talk and plays with the fork, letting the sharp tips sink into his soft lips.

The gesture merely begs for your attention, so in order to stay true to yourself, you greet him by clinking glasses with him. But as soon as his glass touches yours, you have to look him in the eyes again and be so sincere... You lose either way.

This gorgeous person’s natural flirtatious charm can’t be escaped. His focus shifting between your lips and eyes as he attentively listens to you is quite possibly the hottest thing about him. 

And although he insists on practising some French words, he continually mispronounces ‘croissants’ and ‘creme brulee’. He got ‘Bonjour’, ‘Bonsoir’, and ‘baguette’ right, which is worthy of notice; and the greatest reward would be a peck on the cheek, which he hasn’t yet received...

The fork remains sunk in his lips. If there’s one dessert that can be described as the ‘most scrumptious’, it’s him.

UNDERGROUND MISHAPS

Running with him in hand is a somewhat exciting experience. You aren’t sure where he got his stamina, but you’re sprinting down the stairs and will have some downtime when you two board the next metro.

When you reach underground platform though, a sea of tourists waits impatiently to go home or explore the outside world.

His hand carefully slides around your waist as you wait, standing side by side, your chests exploding from all the running. Whether it’s to protect you or keep you to himself, the intent is unclear.

And just as you’re about to look up to give him another warning glance, you realize that you’ve already forgotten how many there were. His adorable facial expressions are the reason you never succeed.

Obviously, the wine has increased his energy—his feelings are in his eyes. 

His features quickly and suddenly take on an emotive tone. A line appears between his brows and a hint of melancholy on his face as recognition dawns. Maybe the effects of the end of the day are finally starting to catch up with him.

You realize that he’s a lot of fun—the type of person who always sees the glass half full but who is also, presumably, grounded enough to realize that something is in the way and the glass isn’t quite enough full. Though he’ll eventually have to face it... saying goodbye to you is probably the biggest treat.

His hand is trembling inside yours...

... whether from anger, sadness, or excitement, it can be all of them or then

“Sungchan,”

You barely have time to finish what you started before he pulls you in and gives you a hug. Metros, come and go. People are walking past you, but he freezes this moment.

His coat’s lapels seem kind enough to part away, giving you more personal space and allowing your ear to fall directly on his heart.

His hand falls effortlessly over your head, as soft as a snowflake as he says, “It’d ruin everything if we said anything. Let’s not.” He carasses your hair and then plants a kiss.

A hug so strong that it keeps you safe from the passing of time. 

However, even this beam of sunshine has a heart, and it rains. Not even he has the complete ability to stop time from passing. The earth orbits, and the leaves dissipate.

Though what he can do is, 

he can certainly seize some of the light in the circumstance as he pulls on your hand once more, making the promise of, “Trust me.”

FALLING IN LOVE

There is definitely a sense of a ‘Trust me’ irony in the situation however, about how you won’t fall in love with him.

He seems to be pointing you in the direction of the photo booth at the end of the platform, which he noticed while your bodies were merging together. 

You’re fairly certain that those will be your favourite, worst-ever photos of the two of you, but the only memory you can physically hug, so you decide not to argue.

Naturally, the cubicle is small, but what do you expect from a metro photo booth?

The sweet giant battles his height and shoulders to enter, and when he does, he just hovers above you, looking down. His palms pressed against two different walls, and his neck bent at an awkward angle because you have taken all the ‘what can hardly be called a’ seat. 

Like it is your fault, right?

With a tongue poke to his cheek and raised brows, he’s subtly advising you to do ‘this one thing.’

Like hell, “I’m not sitting in your lap,” you bat your eyelashes at him. 

“It’s too late to back out. Plus, I don’t think there’s any other way to make this work.”

The goofy grin morphs his whole face into what it would be to stand under the sun; his cheeks rise higher the more he shows teeth. He’s so cute. It melts your heart.

Your mouth stays open in shock as you say, “But it is you who wanted this,” before you endearingly defend yourself. “This was your idea.” How very ‘trust me’ of him. In the end, you accept. “Okay, fine,” you sulk while pouting.

Satisfied, he clicks his tongue. You both knew that you would accept; you just wanted to have some fun, didn’t you?

You eventually create room for him to sit, but when it comes time for you to sit, you hesitate. But then you feel his hands dragging your waist down, and the next thing you know, you’re in his lap. He has lost all patience.

You sigh with annoyance, but even you know it is all a front. 

Now hesitant to move, your back remains pressed against his chest, and you’re even halfway there trying to maintain your balance on your feet instead of lounging comfortably in his lap. However, his back hug is particularly effective because it feels like his palm is pressing deeper into your tummy, encouraging you to relax even more into him.

His thighs radiate unnecessary heat, and his warm breath tickles the side of your neck as his chin rests on your shoulder. He teases you, whispering, “You can face me you know, I don’t bite.”

There is an absolute anarchy, there beneath his palm, in your belly. Not the whispering tone!! 

You tilt your head back (ironically, letting it rest where his shoulder and neck meet), gazing at the near ceiling and mentally calculating the number of seconds until you lose your mind.

He rests with you, for a minute, or two… his heart densely kicking in your back, but you swear it’s a peaceful moment. He’s able to magically stop the flow of time, no matter what!

Perhaps outside of the small world that you two inhabit, the metro passes by for the fifth time, and perhaps the waiting area is swept by cleaners once more while your shoes peek out from under the curtain, threatening to blow your cover.

However, time never really stops—especially in this place, the City of Light, Paris, a city that never sleeps.

“Let—um” His voice cracks for the first time before he finally says, “Uh—Let us take those pictures.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the angst of the situation to have its way with you before turning to face him.

His brows appear flat, and the crack between them is even deeper than it used to be. Even his lips are fuller than they used to be. Or could it simply be the face-to-face intimacy that is causing them to appear in such a way?

All this time, you thought it was just a playful lust, an undeniable attraction, when, in fact, what you’re finding is love—love looking straight into your eyes.

You no longer need to hold it within you. You just admit it, completely aware that nothing will change but that it will undoubtedly have some significance because it’s better to let things out than to hold them inside.

“Sungchan,” you pause for a moment, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Like you haven’t already felt them, he takes your hand and puts it over his heart, allowing you to feel the butterflies surging through his chest. Your lips to your eyes is the route he prefers to travel most. “I don’t want to leave either,” he admits voice light and airy.

As you look at him, every time the photo booth camera flashes a bright light, the butterflies burst rhythmically—because of that, and as much at the magic, and at the calculated touch of a girl who, in the past, had learned to trust no one. Yet, here you are, choosing to trust someone you have just met & won’t see again.

Your hands tremble against his cheeks as you gently cup his face and begin your slow, careful inspection. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch as you run a finger across the peak of his eyebrow.

You feel an influx of emotions as you begin to understand that this person is an angel. You’re tracing every inch of him into your brain—soaking up every star in his eyes and every mole on his face—because an angel like this can never be met twice...

His greatest quality, you think, even in this kind of ‘damned’ situation, is that he can’t stay serious; a smile lights up his face. The only word that adequately expresses how you feel is wanting to ‘devour’ the damned smile that lingers close to your lips. He’s irresistible.

Cute or sexy are terms that are so confusing with him. You aren’t sure to which he’s supposed to be leaning towards. It’s driving you crazy. He simply can not be defined.

And the more he holds you, the more confident he gets. He started off politely, treating you like a paper bird, and then he abruptly stops apologizing. His lashes start to make out slowly with the narrow look he gives you. His thumb glides over your bottom lip. There is only one meaning to it.

Conversely, the photos taken are sitting in the photo outlet. You whisper, “Sungchan,” gesturing to the pictures and apparently indicating that ‘your work here is done.’ 

His firm grip on your jaw, however, fiercely brings your face into his. His winey breath is coating your lips.

“But,” you knit your brows, “our series of pho—”

His index finger stops your lips from moving mid-sentence. “Let’s make another one.”

“You—you’re getting too comfortable in this,” You stagger over what you are saying as his nose brushes against yours, “for-for well, for something that will never happen again.” 

“That’s exactly why I need those photos,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheeks in response to your somewhat insensitive comment.

“And we—And we,” you keep breaking, “We’ve been her—

“Can I kiss you?” He brutally cuts you off.

His sugary lower lip is already pressed against yours. It no longer interests him what you’re saying. It’s a quiet question, but there is some dangerously real intent behind it.

Yes, but can he beg for a kiss?

Sure,

as if he’s breathing in the air that he knows he’ll be missing out on, his lips remain waiting for a sign before they get messy.

His thumb ignites ‘instant fire’ in every pore on your cheek with each precise circle. It’s more like he is consuming you in advance. 

Your thoughts are numb, and your heart is stuck in your throat. You don’t want to forget any part of it all, and you’re bound to in the high you’re experiencing right now... He was right when he advised it to be documented.

The gaping mouths. The tender lip-stroking. The deep, slow breathing. The hot air exchange.

His teeth clenched in pain. The energy he surrounds you with is so intense.

Your “Fuck!”

& Sungchan’s “Please,”

occur simultaneously.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[rafferty3207]

not to be impatient or ungrateful but too good to be true part 3 when 😩

its funny you say that today of all days bestie

Too Good to Be True (part three)

warning: fem!reader, passing mention of creepy dude, angst (but only at the beginning dw), then tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I hope you like this ending! in my mind this is done but not over - I will definitely be doing drabbles of this pair in future, but for now I hope you enjoy!

____

part one | part two

“Oi, prick, are you even paying attention?” Roy barks at Jamie, who is sitting staring at his phone.

“Er, yeah, coach, it’s just -just-”

“Just what? Spit it out?”

“How do ya access your voicemails?”

“Jamie. What the fuck are you talking about?”

He holds up the screen to Roy’s face.

You have a new voicemail.

“Jamie, I wouldn’t worry about it, it's probably some berk trying to sell you organic viagra or something. Now please can we get back to the football?”

“I just need to check Coach. To make sure of…something, but I’ve never listened to a voicemail before.”

“Christ you find new ways to make me feel old Jamie.” But before he can make another comment, Roy notices the sad look in Jamie’s eyes. He hasn’t been his usual irritating self this morning, no sassy quips or anything, and he looks like he’s barely slept. “Who are you expecting a voicemail from?”

Jamie looks up at him with those puppy dog eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s that girl isn’t it? What did you do now, you silly twat?” 

“I didn’t do anything. I mean I kissed her -”

“Oh my god, that Simone Biles bollocks was about her wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it's an inside joke-”

“Hand me the phone.”

“Er, I dunno-”

“Just give it, Jamie.” Jamie reluctantly passes it over. “You dial a three digit number, which will access your number. You’re on the same network as me so-” Roy types the digits and hands it back. “But once you’re done, you’re doing 50 press ups for wasting my fucking time.” Roy goes into another room.

Jamie raises the phone to his ear tentatively. Of course, it’s you.

___

The gallery session had been, in polite terms, a complete shit show. You were late because you couldn’t figure out how to get into the building, then you couldn't find some of the papers with your plan on them, and therefore you spent several hours using what little you have of your phone battery to try and improvise a plan from your memories. You’re finally done, but by this point it’s almost midnight.

“This is your first exhibition, isn’t it?” Simon, the gallery owner looks at you hunched over, shoving the papers back in the bag.

“Yeah, how did you guess? Don’t answer that, that was sarcasm.” You say, continuing to scramble. “So what’s happening PR wise? Are we sending press releases, inviting reviewers, that sort of thing?”

Simon scoffs. 

“What? I get it I'm a nobody, but what about the big Emin retrospective you’ve got coming up in October? I’ve seen posters for that everywhere.”

“That’s pretty much all her team. Besides, when you’re Emin you don’t need the PR really. Of course, we’ll do our best and we’ve got it on our website and social media of course, but our comms person resigned so at the moment we’re a rather limited team. This is such a short period, it’s an interim show. It’s why we could offer it, but you knew that right?”

“Mhmm, yeah, of course.” You say, biting your lip. You don’t know what you expected, instead wearily picking up your bag.

“Right, I best head off, but I’ll see you in two days!” You power walk off while your voice can still sound fake cheerful. Now how do I go back from here? You wonder, pulling your phone out.

Of course, it dies at that very moment.

“Shit!”

___

You eventually manage to navigate home, although the walk takes three times as long especially after one man seems to walk right behind you for ages until you get to the high street and the tube stops running mid way through, so you have to persuade a nice older woman to look up the bus route on her phone. As you walk into your house and flop onto the couch, you remember.

Jamie.

Fuck. You hoped he didn’t take your note the wrong way. You plug your phone in and sit huddled until the screen turns back on.

11 missed calls. 13 messages.

hey Simone xoxo

out at drinks at the moment but I’ll be back asap xoxo

theres a cocktail i think you’d like here  xoxo

on my way home now! xoxo

where are you xoxo

u alright

u ok???

Where are you??

Just let me know ur home safe (or dont if u dont want to)

Im not asking to be creepy sorry if it came off like that

Im sorry if i scared you off

i shouldn’t have kissed you

Lets just forget it happened

Sorry again

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Let’s just forget it happened. You felt sick to your stomach. You picked up the phone with incredibly shaky hands and pressed the dial button.

_____

“Er, hey Jamie, it’s me. Sorry to leave you a voicemail, it feels old school doesn’t it? I don’t even know how to listen to my own voicemails, not sure why I’m sending you one. Well I do, I’ve rung a few times and you’re not picking up and everytime I try and say what I want in a text it comes off wrong - ugh, sorry I’m rambling. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t reply, my phone has been dead the whole way home and I had to try and find my way back and the tube is shit and buses are shit and all I wanted was for you to come and pick me up in that ugly orange car of yours but I couldn’t. So that’s that. Did you get my note? I completely forgot but I had the exhibition planning session today and everything that could possibly go wrong did and it’s been a fucking nightmare and to be honest Jamie, I don’t know why I’m doing it anymore. I thought this was my one chance to finally become a big shot artist but it turns out I have to market it basically all by myself and I have no time and know barely anyone so let’s be honest, no one is going to come and it will all be forgotten about and I will prove once again I am the failure my father thinks I am.”

Jamie hears a shuddering intake of breath.

“Sorry, I’m rambling again. I’m sorry Jamie. I really did mean to wait for you. I’ve still got your shirt and everything. It’s just, I’m so stressed and I need to finish these paintings but also why should I finish these paintings but also I want them to be perfect and - and - and I don’t want to do this over voicemail but I don’t want to forget about us but also I have so much work to do and I’m so fucked -”

Jamie listens to you choke down a sob, before sniffing.

“I have to go, but call me back or something. Or maybe I could see you at the exhibit? You’ll probably be the only one attending. Goodbye, Jamie. Sorry again.”

Jamie’s heart was breaking, but not in the way he expected. You were so strong for him but all the while there you were, clearly dealing with your own shit and struggling and he hadn’t even noticed. He hated the idea that he had made things worse.

Now, he knew what he had to do.

___

It is the opening night of the exhibit and you are adjusting your hair for the fiftieth time. The gallery had extended their publicity to a small private view with a few glasses of wine and bottles of beer, but that was it. So you had spent the last three days painting almost non-stop, sending the invitations to everyone you know and barely sleeping. You just hoped your makeup would cover the dark circles under your eyes. You had worn your favourite dress and done your hair especially so you would at least feel like the real deal, but that was quickly waning. 

It had been fifteen minutes and not one single person had showed up. The one event staff was already looking at you as if to ask whether they could go home early. You started to look at your phone while downing the glass of wine in your hand. Still not a word from Jamie. You hadn’t heard from him since you sent the voicemail and you felt embarrassed just thinking about it. It seemed like you were going to need more wine.

But then, a man enters. He is wiry, with a blazer and a glorious grey and black shoulder length mane. He is holding a notebook and looking around keenly. You have no fucking idea who he is.

“Can I help you?”

“Ah yes, I’m Trent Crimm.”

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

“I’m here for the exhibit Everything In Its Right Place.” You nod, dumbstruck. “Ah, great, don’t mind me.”

You watch him as he looks at each painting before scribbling in his notepad. That was strange.

After him walks in one of the most beautiful women you have seen, followed by a small man wearing glasses.

“Hello, welcome to the Private View!” You say a little bit too loudly, and you worry that the wine may have gone to your head. The woman leans over to you and of course she smells beautiful too. “Hello, I’m Rebecca. Is it alright if some of my friends come in too?”

“Absolutely, the more the merrier!”

A couple more glamorous women file in, as well as some fancy looking older gentlemen in suits. Behind them is a colourful blond haired woman with an Essex accent and a very fluffy jacket, talking about how her PR firm which is on the hunt for new talent. You made a mental note to talk to her later, and as you do she looks over at you and winks, which makes you feel flustered. 

The events staff comes over.

“Are they on the guest list?”

“Oh yeah.” You keenly nod, hoping they are not paid enough to grass you up.

And then walks in a very familiar moustachioed man.

“Why, you must be the modern Louise Bourgeois our Jamie has been speaking so highly of.” You don’t expect the honeyed Southern twang and you find yourself blushing. He’s more handsome than the small picture by Jamie’s bed gave away.

“I wish! Although Jamie knew who Louise Bourgeois was?”

“I mean, I think he is more of a Georgia O’Keefe guy. But I love old Lou Lou. Art is a guarantee-”

“Of sanity. Very impressive -?”

“Theodore Lasso, at your service ma’am. Although my friends call me Ted.”

“Are we friends?”

“I sure hope to be. Jamie will not stop going on about how great you are, so I thought I best see it in person myself.��� He offers a hand and you feel yourself go even redder.

“Well, it is lovely to make your acquaintance, Ted.” 

You see Trent’s head has whipped around this point and he is striding towards Ted.

“Ted you’re going to love these paintings -” Trend hooks his arm in Teds and Ted waves you a goodbye as he is quickly dragged off. 

You see all of Jamie’s teammates file in after Ted, including Roy who gives you a little nod. They have all brought people with them, including some women who you swear might be famous models, and before long the room is densely packed. You can’t believe it. You even have a few people come up to you to ask for interviews, and once the Trent man has sufficiently shown Ted around the room several times over, he asks if you want to be profiled for one of the big papers.

“I’ve always liked highlighting promising new talent in any field, and I feel you’d be a great match.” He smiles at you and you feel your stomach start to fizz. The one waiter who has been frantically pouring drinks for the last half hour runs over to you.

“A couple of people want to buy the paintings, are they for sale?”

“All the ones without red dots are, yeah.”

“How much do they cost?”

“How much are they willing to pay?” The waiter runs off and comes back, handing a long list of offers. Your eyes boggle at the amount.

“Fuck me.”

“Someone said they wanted to snap you up before Satchel did or something?”

“I assume they mean Saatchi.” The waiter shrugs. “Call Simon, he’ll help with the sales.

“I don’t think he’ll pick-”

“Send him a picture of the offers. He’ll definitely pick up.”

The waiter hurries off and you stare at the piece of paper. You can’t believe all this is happening. But you still check your phone.

Are you coming?

No reply.

“Ted? I don’t suppose you heard anything from Jamie did you?”

He smiles and taps his nose.

“I’m afraid I was sworn to secrecy.”

You get back to your wine. That would be a weird response if he had told Ted he never wanted to see you again. But the whole day was starting to feel very weird. You decided to pop out for some fresh air.  However, as you walk outside you see a very familiar orange car parked outside. In the driver's seat is Jamie in a suit, holding flowers, staring at his phone.

“You know, I didn't order an Uber.”

Jamie jumps.

“Jesus woman, you nearly scared the living daylights out of me!”

“I could say the same of you. Can I come in?”

He gestures to the seat next to him. You walk around and slide into the car. 

“You look stunning.” Jamie says, looking over you and you suddenly feel very naked in this dress.

“Thanks. It’s certainly an improvement from when you usually pick me up.” You fiddle with your hem. “So can you tell me why you’re sitting outside my exhibit instead of going inside? You’re the only person here who is actually on the guest list.”

He looks back down at the flowers.

“I dunno. I guess I was worried you might not want to see me after, y'know" He nods his head towards you. The kiss. Before you can reply, he starts talking again. "That’s why I got everyone else here first.”

“This was all you?”

He looks out the front of the window.

“I mean the boys wanted to come anyway, but I spoke to Rebecca and Ted and Keeley. It was Ted’s idea to invite Trent, because he knows lots of people at papers, and Keeley knows people through her firm and Rebecca knows loads of rich guys because I dunno, she’s rich and fit -”

You reach over and gently touch his arm.

“Thank you Jamie, this means a lot - ”

“Any time. I just want you to be happy, you know?” You grip his arm a little tighter.

 “But you didn’t have to do any of this. I would have been happy if you were the only person who showed up.” Jamie finally looks at you. You just stare at each other for a moment, saying nothing. At this point you reach over and tenderly place your lips on his. He doesn't resist, immediately putting his hand on the side of your neck. Your hands start wandering down his torso before he pulls away suddenly.

“I don't want you thinking I'm trying to buy you or something. Me and Roy watched Pretty Woman the other week but I swear-"

"I know Jamie. Besides, you haven't even bought a painting yet." You try to laugh him off but he holds you firm.

"I just want you to remember you earned this. You are really, really talented, it's just - it's just everyone needs help sometimes"

You are suddenly struck silent for a moment, your eyes watering.

"Ah fuck, I didn't want to make you cry again!"

You sniff. "This is good crying though, I swear! I just never realised you were so wise."

"Oi you cheeky mare, I'm trying to be nice!" You both laugh, before he reaches over and threads his fingers between yours. "I think I’m in love with you, you know?"

He looks up at you, uncertain. Your stomach is fizzing, but in a way that makes you feel like you could fly. You smile.

"I know. The thing is, I'm in love with you too, Jamie Tartt." You stare at each other, before your lips crash into each other, your hands crawling all over your torsos and necks, your breathing becoming more ragged before Jamie pulls away again.

"Now come on you, this is your big night, remember. We better get inside before we have to go right here in the back like a pair of teenagers."

You place a hand on his thigh. "I mean, that sounds good to me."

""You are gonna be the death of me, I swear." He opens the car door. 

"Actually, to be fair there is one painting I think you should see."

The two of you stroll into the gallery holding hands.

"Fucking finally." Roy exclaims, before patting Jamie on the shoulder. "Now don't fuck it up Jamie, I like this one." You and Roy share a smile. You felt like you had something to thank him for, but you weren’t sure what.

"I see you met Jamie." You turn around to see a small old woman in colourful clothing.

“Sylvia? What are you doing here, I thought you weren’t back for another week?”

Sylvia gestures to a handsome older gentleman in the corner “Of course I had to see your exhibit darling! Now don’t worry darling, I’m staying with one of my good friends.” She winks before leaning in conspiratorially. “You’ll have the flat all to yourself.”

“Sylvia!” You swat her arm.

“What? Your mother told me you were going through a dry spell. I’m just so glad you and Jamie finally got to meet.”

Your mouth is agape. You said that months and months ago -

“Jamie darling, it's so nice to see you again!” Sylvia airkisses Jamie, before swanning off. You lean into the crook of Jamie's shoulder. You’d say you hate how natural it feels, but you fucking love it.

“Do you think Sylvia set this whole thing up? Between you and me?”

“Well, she did keep telling me she knew the perfect woman for me, with a fantastic arse-”

“Jamie!” You poke his cheek. “Although speaking of fantastic arse, let me show you my painting!” You drag him over to the biggest painting in the room. It is rich and vibrant and while somewhat abstract, almost definitely a nude. “What do you think?”

“I think it will be perfect in my living room. Well, almost perfect.”

“Almost? What else could be more perfect than this?” You gesture to the bum cheeks.

Jamie rolls his head as if mulling it over.

“You?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god Jamie Tartt, where did you pick up such a naff line? You’re lucky you are very handsome.” You reach up to kiss him, your fingers brushing his neck and jaw. and he leans to whisper in your ear. 

“You know, now you’re gonna be a famous artist now, someone may actually try to kidnap you. You might need some form of security.”

“True. Do you know anyone?”

“No.” You laugh. “But I do know an excellent driver. And he does know a lot of excellent private spots.”

“How soon can he start?”

“How about right now?” You take his hand in yours.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

---

Ah hope you all enjoyed this two silly billys in love! Pls send me requests of any headcanons/drabbles you'd be interested in seeing that I can bash out while working on this new juicy Roy Kent fic!!

@thebookwormlife @taytaylala12 @eugene-emt-roe @skewcherries @okkkkkkkksure @beingalive1 @gothicwidowsworld @atjamesbbarnes @e-mmygrey

[lauraneedstochill]

First time for everything (modern!Aemond Targaryen, college au — part 2)

✨ part 1 — “All yours”

words: ~ 6900 (it’s worth it, though ;) warnings: a TON of fluff (is anyone surprised at this point?), smut (minors DNI), you may feel a little sad that he’s not your boyfriend (I certainly do)

author’s note: this was supposed to be mostly romantic headcanons but then something came over me... honestly, I blame it on the goddamn golden chain! can’t believe I wrote this, I’m drinking holy water as we speak

⋙ You think you should be concerned with how easy things are with him. With how fast he sneaks into your thoughts, and his hand effortlessly finds yours, and you relish in the simplest touch, in the feeling of comfort that he brings, and he knows all the right words, and the two of you fit like puzzle pieces.

With anyone else, you would’ve been concerned but Aemond gives you no reason to be.

⋙ Your first date comes in a week, and you’re not nervous about it but more so ridiculously curious — he only mentions that you should dress casually, and you think of dinner or maybe a picnic. But when the cab brings you to the city center, and Aemond opens the door for you — you find yourself standing at the steps of a gallery and you instantly know where he brought you to. It’s a three-week exhibition of Mexican artists, the one you’ve been dying to go to. You only mentioned it once and in passing weeks ago, frustrated that the tickets were sold out in 15 minutes, and since then you have long forgotten about it. But Aemond hasn’t. The realization that he remembered that little detail makes you stupidly sentimental, and you can’t utter a word. He brings you into a hug, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“We can get another Uber and go to my place and watch every rom-com you can think of if it makes you feel better.”

With your head nuzzled to his chest, you hear his heartbeat, the sound of it calming like a rumble of waves. When you shyly look up at him, the color of his eyes is dusted with scattered sunlight.

“Aemond, but you planned — ”

“I planned to spend time with you,” he hushes you with that same tone of gentle certainty. “Everything else is just decorations we can easily switch up.”

His reassurance sounds more like a promise, and you have it engraved in your memory, along with him, looking at you like this. And you think he should make some memories, too, so you take him by the hand and lead the way.

⋙ You opt for an audio guide since both of you aren’t keen on following crowds, and you enthusiastically walk from one painting to the other, sharing the earphones, your fingers intertwined with his, and you can’t help but talk over the guide. Aemond doesn’t complain once. Every time you look at him, he’s smiling brightly at you, and sometimes he leaves a quick peck on the bow of your shoulder. Somewhere in between Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, you realize that you really want to kiss him.

⋙ Part of the exhibition is a screening of a documentary played in a small dark hall, and Aemond is naive to think you actually want to watch it. You drag him in, and the place is empty, only lit by the movie screen, and before he can ask a thing, you pull him down by the collar of his shirt and kiss him until you’re both out of breath. And then you tell him it’s the best date you’ve ever had.

“You mean, the best so far,” he remarks cheekily — and trails for your lips again.

⋙ On the next date, you learn that he loves to cook. The man who can live off protein shakes and steaks actually owns cookbooks and lets you pick a meal but forbids you to help him, saying that you deserve a break. Still, you charm your way into the kitchen to assist him with making the sauce, and Aemond is unable to say no. You are a chaotic cook and he follows the recipe but somehow you make a great team — he’s good at cutting vegetables and measuring, you pick all the right spices and know what al dente is. He looks absurdly gorgeous in an apron, and you end up sitting on his lap while he lifts a forkful of pasta to your mouth. You bashfully confess that you’ve always wanted to re-enact the kissing scene from “Lady and the Tramp”. He grins at your confession — and gladly helps to make your wish come true. A couple of times.

⋙ You do go on a picnic — you feed him cherries and Aemond reads you his favorite book out loud, you wear his hoodie again and his perfume lingers on your hair. He takes you to the biggest library in town and you spend hours looking for that one old copy of Sylvia Plath’s book of poems, and he steals a few kisses from you in between endless rows of shelves. You go to a fancy french bakery and he buys you one of each kind of pastry, and you are both all sugared up — and in love.

⋙ When Aemond has to leave for a competition, it’s not necessarily tragic — since you knew it was coming — and it’s only for five days, but you get blindsided by the realization of how attached you’ve become. On the night before his departure, he invites you in for a movie marathon, brings you popcorn and makes you laugh to tears, and then you doze off in his arms. He moves you onto his bed and tucks you in, and you wake up when his side of the bed is still warm. You find freshly made waffles in the kitchen — and there’s a blue post-it note on the fridge that says: “I’m gonna miss you more. — A.”

He leaves you a spare key to his apartment.

Your breakfast tastes like tears.

⋙ The first day without him is pure misery, but you eat your waffles and follow the routine, and Aemond sends you texts every chance he gets. You make him a playlist called “Kick some ass” (he does), and you kick yourself for not coming up with an excuse to go with him. On the second day, you pull out his hoodie in a poor attempt to find some comfort but his scent had almost dissipated, and his seat next to you stays empty, and each class only reminds you of his absence. On the third day, you are up to your ears in studying and you miss Aemond’s phone call, and your heart all but erupts from yearning.

On the fourth day, Mr. Harrold brings up Marina Tsvetaeva’s love poems, and you think that must be some cruel joke. You spend half an hour pretending to be deaf, but then the professor quotes:

“to kiss the lips is to drink water,” 

— and suddenly you are nothing but thirst, and you feel like you are about to burst into tears again. You don’t know how you manage to sit through the rest of it but as soon as the class is over you sprint out and buy a train ticket. You don’t bother yourself with packing, only picking up your toothbrush, a face wash and Aemond’s hoodie. And you know for sure that you’ve fallen hard for him.

⋙ You arrive by the time their morning training is over, and the guys are piling out of the locker rooms already. Aemond is one of the last to come out, his hair still wet and his t-shirt clearly not ironed, and his face is too sad for your liking. His best friend Cregan notices you first, elbowing your boyfriend with a smile. Aemond follows his gaze with indifference — and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. A second later his face lights up. And then you do the cheesiest, right-out-of-the-movies kind of thing — you run to him, he scoops you up, you wrap your legs around his waist.

“I didn’t know that you would come,” Aemond is grinning ear to ear. “I would’ve picked you up to save you some time and — ,” you can’t stop yourself from kissing him, a tad modestly but with ardor nonetheless, and he forgets what he wanted to say. You card fingers through his hair and notice a shadow that spread under his eyes. You want to cook him dinner and pepper kisses all over his face and wrap him up in blankets so he can get some rest. Aemond bumps his nose into yours.

“Please don’t skip classes for me,” he entreats but his tone suggests that he’s delighted that you did. His gaze warms you up like sunlight.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve never done it before,” you lower your voice as if it’s a well-guarded secret. “But I was feeling adventurous.”

He plays along with a mischievous smile:

“First time for everything, huh?”

You two leave right after the awarding ceremony, and Aemond doesn’t bother to stay for the farewell party. He ends up falling asleep on your shoulder, with his hands wrapped around you, and some old lady on the train ‘awws’ at you. He naps in the cab, too, his fingers ensnared into your palm, and you’re overcome with emotion, wishing that the ride to his apartment lasted a bit longer. You order take-out while he’s still fighting off sleep but does so while cuddling you on his couch. There’s another, internal battle that he’s having as his face goes more somber than tired but your kisses and food seem to help.

That is until Aemond pulls you in bed, back into his arms, his breath tickling your neck.

“It was no fun,” he finally admits, “leaving you.”

You interlock your fingers with his, your lips graze his knuckles before you turn to face him.

“But it will get easier,” you promise — both him and yourself. “And I missed you, too.”

His lips melt into yours to seal the promise, and you breathe in a lungful of his scent. Aemond passes out in no time, and you watch his chest rising and falling, the steady rhythm of it eventually lulling you to sleep. Right before that, you think that it was your first separation out of many to come, but in the end, it’s all worth it when he’s the one you are waiting for.

⋙ Another thing you two are yet to cross off your list is, surprisingly, sex. Aemond is the one to suggest taking it slow, and it does make sense at first — with his competitions scheduled back to back and you being swamped with homework, both of you doing the bare minimum to help each other deal with exhaustion. He sends you reminders to take a break, you help him with meal planning and spend evenings reading together, most times with his head on your lap. Aemond leaves you snacks and post-it notes with his favorite quotes of Russian poetry, which brings some excitement into your studying — and you come to his training, being the supportive girlfriend that you are.

And that turns out to be a problem.

⋙ Watching Aemond train is quite a spectacle — enthralling at first, but also unspeakably arousing as you come to learn fairly soon. He is focused and fast, his toned body flexible and moving with energetic precision. He’s got a quick reaction and there’s a glint of threat in his gaze that makes some of his competitors feel uneasy. He’s not the one to rip t-shirts apart and flex muscles (much to some girls’ disappointment) but to you, it only fuels the anticipation that spills in your lower abdomen. But your lusting wanes when you see the weary look on his face, and you only snuggle up to him as closely as possible, deeming that enough for now.

One of these days Aemond comes out of the locker room with Cregan whose arm is draped over your boyfriend’s shoulder, his hold tight like a bear trap, but the intent is friendly.

“Y/N, you need to side with me on this one,” Cregan enthusiastically pleads. “I’m throwing a party and this monk doesn’t want to go! I was hoping you’d make him socialize.”

“I will not make him do anything,” you retort politely, and Aemond gives you a look of gratitude. “But we can negotiate once you stop holding him hostage.”

Cregan lets out a bellowing laugh, freeing Aemond with a pat on the back.

“I’ll never force our star boy to bear having a good time but I’d love for you two to join us,” he warm-heartedly explains. “Just think about it!”

He leaves you in the cooling stillness of the evening, and Aemond plants a kiss on your temple.

“We don’t have to go,” he immediately assures.

“Your friends can’t be that bad.” 

“They get a bit wild when drunk,” he chuckles softly into your hair. “And Cregan is set on having a dress code each time.”

“Is it something wild, too?”

“No, mostly formal, and the guys usually end up throwing away the ties.”

“Doesn’t sound bad to me,” you draw circles on his palm. “Maybe we can have some fun,” your smile is a tad impish, and his looks surprisingly pleased when he agrees.

The sky is painted by the sunset, pink tones of it reflecting on Aemond’s face. You’d like to see him all dressed up. And then strip him of his clothing.

⋙ You hate shopping for dresses so your best friend tags along, and she dismisses at least a dozen of options before managing to fish out the perfect one — knee-length and with a deep cut on the back, it’s the color of a sea storm with a splash of purple. Once you put the dress on, she comments approvingly:

“He will fuck your brains out.” 

“Arya!” you hiss at her but she looks unamused.

“What? I thought that’s what you wanted. Kinda surprised he hasn’t jumped your bones yet.”

“We are taking it slow,” you remind her while staring in the mirror. You try not to think of how easy it will be to take this dress off.

“Very PG-13 of you,” she huffs with a smile. “But I guess I should thank him.”

“How so?” you raise a brow at her.

“I fear, once you get a taste,” Arya gives you a suggestive look, “he will keep you in bed for days. At least for now I still have a chance to hang out with you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up at the mere thought of it. And you hope that’s exactly what happens.

⋙ Aemond comes to pick you up on Friday evening. He buzzes in through an intercom and you let him in, opening the front door in advance. You go back to your room to put on the heels, briefly stopping to fix your hair. Aemond walks in with no warning, his voice brimming over with boyish excitement:

“I was just thinking — ,” and then he falls silent, seeing you standing with your back to the door.

You look at Aemond over your shoulder, moving your hair away from your neck to expose more skin, and turn to him slowly.

“You, um... I-You — ” he clears his throat. Then does it again, eyes roaming over your body. “This dress looks really good on you,” he manages to say while you take him in.

The color of his suit is almost black and it sets off his dark blue shirt, crisp and carelessly unbuttoned. His jacket is an excellent fit, framing his shoulders and sitting tightly around his arms. But what catches your attention is the golden chain that snakes along his collarbones, part of it coyly hiding in the depths of the dark material. Your eyes fix on the shining jewelry — for a brief moment, you contemplate staying at home and undressing him to find out where the chain ends.

You blink that thought away, remembering that it’s time to leave as both you and Aemond hate being late. You walk over to him, running your hand over his jacket:

“You look quite charming yourself,” you give him a smile instead of a kiss. “What were you saying?”

Aemond seems startled and supposedly oblivious to the effect he has on you but you catch a twirl of darkness condensing in his gaze. In the depths of it, there’s a flicker of need, of hunger — and you wonder if he’s been ravenous this entire time, too.

“You should come over tonight,” he suggests, and you don’t need him to give you a reason.

“Sounds like a plan,” you move your hand away, suppressing a frustrated sigh so he won’t get the wrong idea. Or the very right idea that you try your best to push aside, at least for a couple of hours.

On your way out of the apartment, you can feel him gazing devouringly at you. You let him.

⋙ Cregan is a combination of a party animal and a homeboy — he pours drinks with one hand and threatens to rip anyone’s head off for leaving as much as a scratch on his family’s porcelain tea set. He jokes and generously compliments all the girls he meets but he also respects boundaries and makes sure to pay the same attention to his fiancee, Alysanne. She doesn’t mind, her black curls bouncing while she laughs and warmly greets the guests. You catch her eye in no time — she’s smiley, her gaze filled with curiosity.

“Everyone is dying to meet you,” she takes you under the arm and leads away to introduce you to a motley group of girls, and within a minute you are caught in the current of voices and faces. They bombard you with questions, chatty but not too prying, some already a bit tipsy and way more friendly than they would’ve been otherwise. But you let yourself enjoy the talks and gossip, mostly for Aemond to have some fun with his friends. And he actually does.

They talk sport, as expected, their arguing innocuous, followed by toasts and some banter. They play poker although half of them barely remember the rules so it’s hardly gambling but they do get rid of ties pretty fast. Cregan puts on some music, breaks a few glasses and calls for your boyfriend to join them for beer pong. Aemond has no intention to get wasted so Cregan takes it upon himself while your boyfriend throws the ball into the cups with ease. Other guys call it cheating, Cregan says it’s an allocation of duties.

Aemond laughs — sincerely, with his dimples showing, but you note that he never refills his glass of whiskey. And every time you throw a glance at him, his eyes are on you, and the golden chain seems to attract every ray of light in the room. You only have one drink — a watered-down gin tonic, but you feel like you can liquor up just by looking at him. In an hour, when they move to the pool table, Aemond slings his jacket over one shoulder and rolls up his sleeves — and you’re dazed, lust swelling in you, sweet and viscous like honey.

He aims the pool balls and makes the shots but each one echoes in your lower belly. You try to think of a reason to leave but you can’t think straight, and Aemond seems completely unaware of your torment but then one of his mates makes the wrong shot, and a ball falls off the table, rolling at your feet. You move to pick it up — as gracefully as your dress would allow it, and walk to them, and suddenly Aemond watches your every step. You only lean on the side of the pool table, with no intention to tease or bend over, yet his eyes scan over your whole body, his hold on the cue tightening.

“Earth to Aemond,” Cregan mutters with a smirk. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he musters in reply. “I think I’ve had enough socializing for one day.”

He stares at you, and you nod with a silent agreement that comes with a delectable foretaste.

⋙ Cregan walks you two to the cab, red in the face from all the alcohol but still good-humored. He gives you a big hug, politely keeping his hands at your shoulder level, and then embraces Aemond, too.

“I’m so glad you came!” he rumbles excitedly and then adds, “I was afraid I’d never live to see the day.”

“Man, we see each other pretty often,” Aemond laughs off.

“No, I mean this,” Cregan gestures at you. “Finally, you got the girl!”

Aemond looks at you — happy and proud, his hands finding your waist, and your heart sings with glee. You all but drag your boyfriend away as Cregan guffaws and waves you goodbye.

“He’ll stop his teasing eventually,” Aemond chortles once you get into the car, and it sounds like he mostly wants to reassure himself.

“Well, he does have a point — you took your time with me,” you giggle, straightening his collar. “I was kinda expecting you to kiss me in the locker room,” you jokingly pout.

“You mean, the place that smells like a bunch of sweaty men? Nope, that’s not how I imagined our first kiss to be,” he rebuts but then his face freezes, and you realize he didn’t mean to let it slip. You turn your head to him, and the reddening of his cheeks is visible even in the dim lighting of the car. He avoids your gaze — your tall, handsome, annoyingly hot boyfriend — because he’s clearly flustered. Every time you think he can’t get any more attractive, he somehow does.

You move closer, your arm bumping into his.

“Was it the only thing you’ve imagined us doing?” you ask quietly.

He looks at you in an instant, and when your eyes meet, you bite your lower lip, a twinkle of a smile in the corners of your mouth. You can only hope that he takes the hint — and, by the look on his face, he does. 

“No,” Aemond gulps. “Definitely not the only thing.”

You place your hand on his knee and then leisurely move your palm higher, stopping at his upper thigh, letting your fingers slide to the inner side of it, all of that while maintaining eye contact. He’s holding his breath the entire time.

“Dare to share?” you lean in, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Or better... show me?” the question is only meant for him to hear.

There’s a shift in the air and your pulse skyrockets, and you feel like you’re ten seconds away from straddling him right here and now. But then Aemond covers your hand with his and says:

“Yeah, I can show you.”

⋙ You expect him to be all over you once you’re in the elevator but no, he’s the epitome of restraint. If only it wasn’t for his jaw clenched and his back tense — and him literally closing his eyes because there are mirrors around the perimeter, and he physically cannot avoid looking at you. He rushes out of the elevator but does his best to slow the pace as he knows you won’t be able to keep up with your heels on.

He unlocks the door with one turn of the key and then moves away to let you in first, you hurry in, he follows suit, the door closes with a bang. The apartment is dark, the street lighting shyly peeking through the windows, your heart is pounding so loud, you can barely hear a thing — and then your turn to Aemond, and he’s already looking at you. And the world stands still.

He takes a step toward you, one after another, shamelessly leering at you, and the sheer intensity of his gaze is enough for you to feel the all-familiar throbbing between your legs.

“I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you,” he rasps when you’re barely a meter apart. You can’t tell who closes the distance first but in the next second his lips collide with yours — as eager and vehement as ever — and your mind goes blank, your body overflowing with lust that spreads with blood and rages like fever.

His hand nestles under the angle of your jaw, his mouth avidly capturing yours, drinking your little sighs, while your fingers are tugging at his shirt — they accidentally slip down, and Aemond groans, his own arousal making his pants tight. He spins you around, your back resting against his chest as he lowers the straps of your dress — and rapidly pulls the upper part of it down. You are not wearing a bra, your bosom heaving with shaky breaths, and he inhales sharply at the sight. He moves to gently squeeze your breasts, hands full of supple flesh, and then he tentatively rolls your nipples between his fingers. Your head falls back on his shoulder, a low moan escaping your mouth, and you grind against him, desperate to feel more.

“You are so sensitive,” Aemond coos, his breath warm against your neck, your nipples hardening in his hands. “So beautiful.”

He goes for your zipper, pulling it down, and his fingers slide under the slinky material, raring to touch your skin. You wiggle your way out of the dress, and he helps to take it off, his hands following every curve of your body, stirring you up. Turning around, you claim his lips, your tongue finding his in a frenzy as you push the jacket off him, your shoes already lying around in the hallway, and he maneuvers you toward the bedroom. Aemond roughly swings the door wide open — and then he tenderly lays you down on the bed like you are his most prized possession.

He undresses at the speed of light and, at any other time, it would’ve made you laugh but it only turns you on more — the growing anticipation, the hunger he has for you, the all-consuming desire that fills you to the brim. Aemond strips down to his boxers — and he looks god-like, slim and muscled, and it feels like a blessing when he kisses you again. He hooks your panties with one finger and breaks the kiss to drag them down, his touch leaving a burning trail from your hip to your heel.

And then he gets on his knees.

Aemond places a hand on your ankle, massaging small circles there as he slowly pulls you toward the edge of the bed. Your breath shudders at the realization of what he’s about to do, and he grins — greedily, darting his tongue to wet his lips. Aemond moves you closer and puts one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving kisses up your calf. He uses his hand to spread you wide for him and hums with contentment upon seeing you glistening with arousal.

“I wonder who made you so wet,” he teases, fixing his gaze on you.

You intend to answer him but the six-letter word — his name — is stuck in your throat as he runs his thumb up to your clit — and, without a warning, repeats the movement with his tongue, licking a wide stripe and then diving right in. Your eyes flutter shut and you can feel him opening his mouth wider, his lower lip moving down along your folds, his tongue lapping at you with a voracity of a starved man, jolts of pleasure rippling through you within seconds. You have to cover your mouth with a hand to muffle a long-drawn moan, afraid that his neighbors will hear although you can’t even remember if he has any.

Aemond looks up at you, the lower part of his face obscenely wet.

“I feel that you are holding back,” he says in a husky voice, his eyes dark with lust. “But I can fix that.”

He gives you no time to catch your breath as he sucks at your clit and slides a finger into you, making you cry out loud, your hips unwillingly bucking upward. You really want to know how the hell is he so good at this but you can’t concentrate on anything but the feeling of his tongue, your body trembling in his hands like a guitar string. Aemond adds a second finger with ease, curling them both inside you, and then you feel a distinct vibration as he can’t hold back his own moan, seeing you like this, tasting you like this — and it sends you over the edge.

Aemond helps you ride out your orgasm, leaving soft kisses around your navel as you come down from your high, your mind hazy and breathing ragged but you keep your eyes focused on him. With a blink of an eye, he’s fully naked and with a condom on. He’s bathing in the moonlight that outlines his tense muscles, his face flushed pink but with no hint of shyness, and when he locks his gaze with yours, it flares up your desire all over again, and he notices it right away.

Aemond has a grin on his face as he hovers over you, lips contouring your jawline, and he presses his tip at your entrance but doesn’t push it in, instead coating it in the wetness that’s already pooling between your legs. But his teasing is short-lived as he lasts for barely a minute, sliding his cock up and down — and then his eyelids flutter, and a small moan leaves his lips. You wiggle your hips, clenching around nothing, and look at him, whimpering “Aemond” — and that’s all it takes.

He sinks in you in one swift motion, so thick and filling you up so perfectly, your mouth falls open in a silent cry.

“Fuck, I — ,” he sucks in a breath, not moving an inch. “I-I need to go slow or I will not last.”

He lowers his face, leaving a trail of kisses from your breasts up to your neck, and they burn like bruises on your heated skin. His hips roll against yours agonizingly slow, and you feel like your whole body is on fire, and you need him deeper, and you crave more of him, all of him. A glint of gold catches your attention, your eyes moving to the chain that dangles down his neck, and you pass the cool metal between your fingers. You lightly tug at the chain with your lips and then release it with a wet sound, looking at Aemond through your lashes. You feel his breath hitching, his gaze not leaving your mouth.

You part your lips, letting the chain slip in, and then grit your teeth, the gold glimmering between them. You push the chain out with your tongue, swiping it over the jewelry and sucking the chain back into your mouth. Aemond is so spellbound, he stills his movements, his pupils dilated to the rim. He brings his hand to your face, tracing your lower lip and then opening your mouth again to pull the chain out, his lips slanting over yours.

“Aemond,” you breathe out into his mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

His restraint snaps and crumbles and dissolves completely. He pulls out for merely a second before slamming back into you, and the movement electrifies every nerve in your body, eliciting a yelp from you. Before you know it, he’s pounding into you at an ungodly pace, his hips harshly snapping forward, finding just the right spot, while his grip on you is still gentle, and you feel an overwhelming pressure building up, your moans turning into wails, your body going weak and pliable, aching for release.

“I-I am so close, I need... ,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, throat soar and voice strained. “I — Aemond... — please.”

He understands it perfectly and smiles breathlessly at you.

“So fucking polite,” he purrs, his teeth grazing your neck. “And all mine.”

His hand slips between your bodies, zeroing in on your clit, and then he starts tapping on it, the movement precise and fast, fanning your overstimulated skin, and it makes your whole body quiver violently as your orgasm washes over you like a heatwave, and you don’t care if the whole neighborhood hears you. Aemond’s eyes never leave your face while you come undone, your back arching as your walls tense and pulse around him, and he follows soon after, his moans muffled by the crook of your neck.

It takes a minute for you to come to your senses as he pulls out and rolls on his back, bringing you into his embrace. You both try to regain your breath, and the time crawls while you are in this bubble of intimacy.

“It’s the dress, isn’t it?” you break the comfortable silence, your fingers tracing a dash of moles on his skin.

“The dress is downright sinful,” Aemond laughs, “but no,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

There’s an unexpected pause, and then he speaks up with raw emotion in his voice:

“I want you all the time.”

You glance up at him, your hand moving up his chest, and you feel his heart beating erratically like a bird trapped in a cage.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to rush it. I knew that once we...,” he stutters, and your eyes dart to his lips, swollen and raspberry-tinted. “There’s no going back from here.”

He just made you cum twice and now he's stumbling over his words — and it’s the perfect combination, truly. Your tenderness clashes with something more primal, igniting the flames all over again, and his fingers already tighten the grip on your thigh.

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t want to go back,” you murmur, and he lowers his head first to capture your lips with his, and you think that Arya was right. And then his hand slides between your legs and you can’t think of anything at all.

⋙ A week later, there isn’t a single flat surface in his apartment left that you didn’t have sex on. Aemond wants to know every way to make you feel good and he gets down to work with the diligence of a straight-A student. He’s eager to learn but he does take his time to practice — and you enjoy every minute of it as he maps your body and memorizes all the spots that make you weak. But apart from the ardent passion, there’s this caring softness of his that fills your heart with love even when you least expect it.

It happens one morning when he sits you down on the kitchen counter, his hand in your pants, fingers sliding into you, deep and rhythmic, as his mouth covers your nipple — and you sharply arch your back, risking hitting your head on a wall but Aemond manages to place his hand there and keeps it behind your nape the entire time.

Or on another day, when you two burst into his apartment after his training, your hands all over him as you hop onto the wooden shoe stand, unbuttoning his jeans, and he hikes your skirt to your thighs, pushing your panties aside, and fills you up, his mouth muffling your moans — and then his palm lands on the wooden surface and he breaks the kiss:

“This wasn’t made for sitting on it, I can tell.”

You honestly couldn’t care less but Aemond doesn’t wait for you to respond — he easily hoists you up, still hard and fully in you, and as you squirm and shiver with pleasure, he brings you into his room and lowers you on the bed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he smirks, his hands skimming up your thighs.

You are not sure if it’s about the fluffy blanket or him instantly picking up the pace but you nod vigorously, pushing your hips up to meet his. He sucks on the sweet spot close to your ear and whispers:

“It’s about to get better.”

And it does.

⋙ He buys a new shoe stand the very next day. He brings it in and assembles it himself, and you watch him with a blip of guilt:

“The old one was fine, Aemond, you shouldn’t have bothered.”

He puts away the tools and, as he’s standing up, he places a kiss on your pajama-covered hip, following it by a peck on your lips:

“I did and I would’ve done it again, sweetheart.”

Aemond goes to his room to put down the tools, and you come along.

“I just don’t want you to waste your money,” you murmur, standing in the doorway.

And then he says without thinking:

“Technically, it’s not mine.”

You look at him confused, and Aemond sighs, pondering for a minute.

You never brought it up but sometimes it does make you wonder why he seems so careless with his finances. You know that he’s got a scholarship (as do you) and he doesn’t tend to throw money around but he also doesn’t count the costs and rarely looks at price tags. You don’t ask him for anything nor do you want to yet the topic looms on the horizon, and you don’t really know what to think of it.

It sounds like Aemond doesn’t like to discuss it so he keeps the story brief: as it turns out, the apartment isn’t the only thing their dad left them. He also set up an account for each of his children to get — as Aemond says, his voice cold and bitter, — “a great deal of money in inheritance”. He doesn’t talk much about his father, either, but from what you’ve gathered Viserys has never been a loving parent so you can’t blame Aemond for the resentment.

“Maybe you should save up that inheritance for something more valuable,” you come closer with a soft smile, cuddling up to him and thinking that’s the end of the conversation.

What you don’t expect is for Aemond to pull out his phone and open the bank’s app to show his account to you. It looks like a phone number, only a couple of digits shorter, and you stare at the screen for a second before it dawns on you.

“O-oh,” you mutter.

His hand clings to your waist but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence feels weird and heavy like a wet coat.

“I rarely withdraw any money from it,” Aemond finally says. “But it comes in handy, like, once or twice a year.”

He wants nothing to do with his father, you realize, but that also explains his attitude toward money. Although he’s far from being spoiled, Aemond still comes from a privileged position, and you try to choose your words wisely before speaking up:

“Well, your refusal to depend on him is admirable but doesn’t it feel... wrong to have that amount of money and do nothing about it?”

Aemond unconsciously tenses up, lowering his gaze to you, an inkling of a frown on his face. You pull away slightly, too wrapped up in your thoughts as the words spill out of your mouth:

“Arya’s been volunteering at a dog shelter and they barely get any donations, she says the dogs are surviving mostly on leftovers brought by the neighbors, can you imagine? Also, I overheard Mr. Harrold complaining that the library roof is rotting and for some reason, the funding does not cover repairs — and, sure, we can just stop going there — but I think if you have the means and if you don’t really care about the money, why not use it to help someone out, you know?”

Aemond’s lack of response makes you turn to him, and you see him staring at you, his face expression unreadable.

“I mean, I’m aware that money doesn’t buy happiness and I’m not your financial advisor, obviously — do you even have one? ‘cause it seems like you should — and I won’t ever talk about it up again if you don’t want to and I don’t mean to overstep and — ”

The words roll off his tongue out of the blue:

“I love you,” Aemond blurts out.

You stop mid-sentence, looking at him in bewilderment, with wide eyes and lips parted, your train of thought completely forgotten. Your heart skips a bit — and then does so again, and you feel short of breath. Aemond doesn’t look away, his lips quirking in a smile as he gently tugs you closer but still leaves some distance as if he’s afraid you’ll want it.

“I love you,” he says again, without a shadow of a doubt. “And I know it may seem too soon, and you don’t have to say it back but I want to. And I want you to tell me anything and everything,” he allows himself a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “And there’s no one I’d rather talk to than you.”

You feel like someone set off firecrackers in your chest and they burst, loud and blazing, and your own smile blossoms. You cup the side of his face, sneaking a kiss against the underside of his jaw.

“I’m so glad you told me,” you whisper as your thumb settles next to his lower lip. “Because now I can say it, too. I love you,” you place a kiss on his cheek, “I love you so much,” — and on another cheek, right on his scar.

And then he catches your lips with his, and you both can’t stop smiling into the kiss, and you think that’s your favorite taste from now on: his laughter in your mouth. And you feel like you’ve never been happier in your entire life.

Aemond sprinkles your face with kisses then, only pausing to ask:

“What’s the name of that dog shelter?”

⋙ He buys way too much dog food — and water bowls and collars — and you help him pick the colors, and it feels kind of like a Christmas morning. The order is delivered in a few days, and you come by his apartment to help sort it out but Aemond greets you with a hand behind his back.

“I have something for you,” he grins mysteriously. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

You do as you’re told, curiosity bubbling in your chest, and something thin and cooling glides over the skin around your neck. You open your eyes to look in the mirror but find yourself at a loss for words. It’s a chain, a copy of the one he wears.

“I know you don’t like yellow gold so I thought a white one would be a better option,” he follows the curve of your shoulder with his finger.

“Aemond, this must cost a fortune,” your cheeks suffuse with pink.

“Na-ah, it doesn’t, not even close,” he places a kiss on the side of your neck. “I may be a philanthropist now but it’s only fair that I treat my girlfriend, too,” you catch the reflection of his smile and can’t help but smile back. You also can’t stop yourself from thinking of how to thank him, and an idea pops into your mind.

On the next Friday evening, when Aemond returns from his training session, he’s surprised to see a soft light coming from his room. He walks in — and then freezes in place, speechless: you are laying in his bed completely naked, batting your lashes at him and biting down on the white gold chain that glitters on your flushed lips.

“I think this gift calls for celebration,” you purr. “But you seem overdressed for the occasion.”

Luckily, he can remove his clothes at the speed of light.

Hours later, you’re laying in his bed, your body sweaty, aching and intertwined with his, and the first light of dawn is seeping through the curtains. Aemond nuzzles into the crook of your neck, your fingers vine through his hair, and he runs his hand from the cleft of your breasts up to your chain, the warmed-up metal bright against your skin.

“This was my best investment ever,” he drawls with a tired smile.

And you can’t agree more.

• shamelessly inspired by the quote “Don’t ask her to moan, make her” • this is only the second time I wrote smut so please be nice? something tells me I will write more ehehe • there will be part 3 BUT it may take a while ‘cause I want to think it through. also, I’m trying my best to keep the chapters relatively short around 6-7k so there’s a chance I’ll write more than one part • I plan on including interactions with his family / some vacation time / moving in together — but maybe there’s something else you want to read about? don’t hesitate to tell me!

as usual, comments are VERY appreciated 🥺 (opinions? asks? PLS just talk to me)

tagging everyone who’s ever asked: @greenowlfactiffif, @kyuupidwrites, @pearlstiare, @i-killed-ramsey, @bellaisasleep

✨ my recent fic: “My first choice” (she’s Aegon’s bestie, inspired by “Little women”) 🔥 the first smut I wrote: “The object of my desire” (~6500 words, inspired by the famous scene from Bridgerton S2) 💌 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[pinkthrone445]

-Your new neighbor- Part 2

Part 1

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:Fluff, love, hurt

Warnings: manipulation, mention of accidents, mention of blood and medical procedures

Summary:Upon hearing the tragic news, Mel decides never to leave your side again

Fuck fuck fuck At what point had this happened, hours ago Mel was sad and angry not knowing whether to talk to you again or not, and now that she was driving to the hospital like crazy, she would give everything in her life to see you and hear your voice once again...What if she never saw you again? Guilt would eat away at her all her life for fighting the last time you were together. The guilt would swallow her for not having listened to you, for not having given you the opportunity to explain things, for not opening the door for you every time you went to see her, for not going to your exhibition... Maybe if she had gone to the exhibit you would have gone out to eat together or talk and this wouldn't have happened, maybe she would have driven home and taken a different route or you two would have gone out earlier to celebrate somehow and you would never have crossed paths with that drunk driver. If she hadn't revived the idea of the gallery art, you wouldn't have ended up driving late at night and this accident wouldn't have happened...What if... What if... What if she lost the best thing that ever happened to her...

A thousand things went through the redhead's head while she was trying to find out where they had you hospitalized, when she finally found the hospital, the whole world fell apart when she finally realized everything that was happening, she couldn't believe it was real, no one at the front desk wanted to tell her anything about you, they wouldn't let her pass or answer her questions fearing that she was just another reporter of the many who had gone. She tried to explain a thousand times, begging to be let her in or to ask your sister to confirm that they knew her, but no one listened to her. She didn't even know if you were alive or not, she needed to see you, touch you, listen to you, beg you to forgive her stupidity, she needed something, she needed you.

Melissa sat in the waiting room thinking of some plan so they let her through, she thought about breaking in but surely she would be caught and taken to jail or something and that would only make it difficult to see you, she also thought about calling one of her guys, but no one had enough power to accomplish this, she thought of begging, of crying, of somehow going up to the terrace and going in that way, of searching room by room in the thousands of stretchers that were there, she was thinking the impossible, everything was worth thinking but nothing would work, nothing would take her to you, she was desperate to see you.

Not knowing what else to do, she took out her cell phone and unlocked your number, all the messages you had sent her in this time apart, began to arrive and that only made her feel worse and cry more.

-"I miss you" "I need you" "My life it's not the same without you" "Im sorry if I hurt you, can we talk?" - and the last one, minutes away from the accident-"The art gallery was a success, and I owe most of it to you... Thanks for giving me the courage to do what I love... I really wish you were here..."-She was the last person you texted before the accident, she was probably your last thought before everything happened and she was so stubborn that she might never see you again. All the chances she missed, all the wasted time being mad for nothing... When she could have been with you... Melissa was freaking out, she needed to hear from you, to see you...

And then... Like a gift from heaven, like a ray of hope. Your sister came out of the elevator, Melissa jumped out of her seat like a spring and tried to run with your sister but was stopped by doctors

-"Please! I beg you! Let me in, I need to see her"-Melissa pleaded with her teary eyes, her screams caught the attention of your sister

-"Let her in, she's coming with me"-Your little sister whispered hoarsely for crying so much, Mel sighed in relief when she saw that she was let in, as she approached your sister, Mel hugged her tightly and your sister barely reciprocated with almost no strength to even breathe

-"How is she? Can I see her?"-Mel asked and your sister just sighed looking at the older one

-"She is in intensive care, intubated without reacting... She had broken bones and internal bleeding, she barely made it out alive, the next few hours are critical and we have to see how she reacts... If you want I can get them to let you in, but she doesn't look good, she's so beaten up..."-Your sister whispered, still hugging the redhead and about to cry again

-"I need to see her, please" - Mel pleaded and your sister nodded, after lying at the front desk and saying that Melissa was your wife, they gave her a pass so she could come into your room and see you.

You were only in a few floors above, but the wait un the elevator took forever. When the elevator beeped and the doors opened, your sister guided her to your room, it was a very controlled private room. When she entered, she could see on one of the tables the teddy bear that you used to have on your bed along with some flowers. When her eyes fell on your body, her heart almost stopped. There you were, so fragile, so pale, so hurt. Lots of machines hooked up to you, your face full of cuts and bruises, a part of your head bandaged, your leg in a cast and held high, the serum attached to your arm and a tube went down your throat so you could breathe. Mel turned to look at your sister, who avoided looking at you because of how bad you were. Carefully the redhead approached your bed and took your motionless hand, caressing it gently with her thumb while tears fell down her cheeks unable to help it

-"Hey... It's me, Melissa... I... I..."-Mel sighed, trying to find the strength to talk to you-"I need you to listen to me carefully hon, I know I was an idiot for not giving you a chance and listening to you and maybe you don't even want to see me right now, but I need you to keep fighting, to wake up even if it's just to yell at me how stupid I am. I need you to get better, I know how much you love your sister and I know you don't want to leave her alone. We need to see you well, you still have a lot to live for, a lot to paint and a thousand things to do... We need you to live, to fight, please..."-The redhead began to cry as she squeezed your hand tighter-"I need you please, I can't lose you again... You can't win a fight this way... Wake up please, fight me, fight dead, you're the strongest and smarter person I know, fight for your life, if isn't for yourself do it for me or your sister, if you are gone, we lost our happiness, our whiling to live, please. I need you, I... I love you..."-Her own sobs wouldn't let her continue, it was the first time she had ever said I love you to you, the first and she wished it wasn't the last... She had waited too long to say it, the words were choking her... Why she had to wait that long?...

-"Melissa... You have to go"-Your sister whispered, breaking the moment

-"What? Please don't, I just got here... I need to stay by her side, please..."-Mel pleaded and your sister sighed-"She needs me, I need her"-Melissa's voice was wobbling, she had just arrived, she needed to be by your side until you woke up and got better, she needed to take care of you

-"My father is coming and it's better of he doesn't see you here... Wait for me at the lobby, I need to tell you a few things..."-Your sister begged for Melissa not to insist anymore, the redhead nodded and kissed your hand gently before letting you go.

A few minutes later, while Melissa was drinking coffee, your sister sat down next to her

-"I'll tell you a few things and I need you to listen without interruption" - Your sister commented and the redhead nodded giving her the space to speak-"My sister... She loved you, she still does... I've never seen her so in love with someone as with you, the only one who knows the place where her paintings are besides you is me... She would never hurt you... My father, he is a man who always gets what he wants, he wanted my sister in the company and he got it, he got her to leave her dreams to work with him. He doesn't like you at all, you revived her dreams, you revived her, her happiness... My father threatened her for countless times, if she continued with you, with the paintings, with this life, he would take away her inheritance, she didn't care, she would rather be with you than have the money or the company... Then, he paid her ex to make a "business diner" with her, he also paid her to kiss my sister in front of some paparazzi so it would be in the news for you to see, so you would have a reason to stay away from her... His plan worked... She wanted to run away from him and back to you, but my father told her that if she did that, he would take me away from her... So she stopped trying to convince you to talk, she just gave up because of me, but that didn't mean that she was guilty of this or that she didn't loved you..."-Your sister finished speaking and Melissa sighed, she felt so stupid for ignoring you for so long, for not listening to you, the tears began to fall again, she was angry for so long by something stupid and now she didn't know if she would ever see your beautiful smile again, how she missed your smile... - "You can't be here, he will ruin your life too and if my sister wakes up, she won't forget herself if something happens to you... I will keep you posted, I will tell you when you can come here, but you can't stay right now, do you understand?" - Your sister asked, and Melissa nodded sadly.

The days began to pass, Mel came to visit you and take advantage of the minutes she could when your father was away, she talked to you about school things, about paintings, about your favorite restaurant, making future promises and begging every day that you would wake up.

One night, a call almost shattered her, your leg had become infected and you were in surgery, your leg was cut off below the knee before the infection could spread. Mel went to the hospital even though your father was there, a big fight started there between your father and her, but nothing made the redhead leave your side.

A week later, you began to show signs of improvement, as you no longer had an infection, your body began to improve greatly and quickly, you began to breathe on your own and the intubation was removed, now there were fewer machines and more space in the room, the redhead took it upon herself to decorate the room with things you liked.

One of the nights when the redhead was taking care of you, thanks to your sister convincing your father to leave her be there, Melissa fell asleep in a chair next to you clutching your hand as if her life depended on it

-"Mel...I'm thirsty and my leg itches"-The redhead heard your voice in her dreams as she had done so many times, but now you felt closer, more real-"Melissa... Please... I'm thirsty" - You insisted and the redhead opened her eyes waking up and smiling to see that it wasn't a dream, you had woken up

-"Hon! You're awake! Oh thank God and the doctors" -The redhead started kissing your face with a lot of emotion while you closed your eyes laughing almost powerlessly-"I'll call the doctors, wait for me please"-Mel ran excitedly and screaming through the hospital even though it was 3 in the morning, she also called your sister to let her know what was happening. The redhead had never felt happier in her life.

The doctors monitored you from top to bottom, they also informed you of the current situation and what had happened to your leg

-"I still can feel it, It itches" - It was the only thing you whispered trying to understand what had happened, the doctors explained that it was phantom syndrome and it was normal with people who had lost limbs. Mel held your hand the entire time as you talked.

Your life took a complete turn after all this, when you were discharged you couldn't be alone at home and for almost everything you depended on someone's help, you felt uncomfortable and worthless, and like a burden to others.

When your leg finally healed, witch it was hard to look at it by yourself, they started working on your prosthetics and starting to walk, which was another difficult reality to accept, the prosthetics and exercises hurt, everything they put was uncomfortable, you still felt your leg there, some days hurt more than others and cost more than others. You fell many times before you could take your first steps, and it took you a lot more work to be able to walk without crutches or without holding on to some things.

It took you even longer to be able to touch your scar and see yourself in front of the mirror without clothes and without prosthetics. Melissa stayed every part of the process by your side, cooking food for you, helping you clean, cleaning your scar, helping you bathe, in your therapies, in everything, she was there in every step. You were grateful for that, but you also felt like a complete burden to the redhead.

-"Mel... Can we talk please?"-You whispered as the redhead cooked, carefully stopped what she was doing, and came back with you sitting down in front of your wheelchair, giving you her full attention-"I really appreciate what you have done for me, I know I was not the easiest person to handle in this process, I appreciate your meals, your care, your help, your patience ,I really appreciate you... But now I've started walking on my own and maybe you should go back to your old life... I don't want to keep bothering you, I don't want to take up space in your life that maybe you could be taking up to do other things or meet more people..."-You whispered without looking at her, the hatred with which she had looked at you when she saw the news of your kiss with your ex was still in your head and you honestly didn't understand what she was doing there, why she came back to you. You didn't understand why she was with you or why she treated you so affectionately, it couldn't be because of attraction, maybe she was attracted to you before, but as you were now it was very difficult for the redhead to find you cute or enough

-"So, are you saying you want me to leave? Are you sure you don't need my meals anymore?"-The redhead joked and you sighed trying to show her you were serious

-"I'm saying that I'm letting you go... You don't need to do this anymore, you don't own me anything, you deserve a life, you don't need be stuck with me just because we makeout a couple of times, you can get someone better, someone whole..."-You whispered and the redhead understood, you were insecure about your new condition

-"But I don't want anyone else, there's no one better, I want you, I'm happy to be here... I almost lose you one time, I won't let you go again. I don't care if I have to help you go to the bathroom or help you get in the car, I'll do everything you need, I'll be by your side all the time. I know you are a little insecure about yourself right now, but believe, you look gorgeous, stronger, more perfect than ever, and I'll be by your side always to remind you... I love you so much that I can't be away from you, I won't go, no matter what or who comes between us, I won't walk away this time..."-Melissa whispered, taking your face in her hands, looking into your eyes

-"You love me?"- You whispered in disbelief

-"I've loved you since the first time I saw you smile at that party you threw... Neighbor" - She whispered smiling and kissed your forehead making you smile- "I love you since that time and I'll love you until my last breath"

-"I love you too neighbor... I came back for you, thank you for staying by my side all this time" - You whispered caressing her cheek-"Thanks for coming back for me"

-"Thanks for not giving up on life... Thanks for not giving up on me" - Melissa whispered and leaned her forehead against yours appreciating the quiet moment

-One Year Later-

A lot had happened in a year, since your sister was already 18 years old, she was no longer dependent on your father and thanks to a lawsuit in which you helped, she managed to inherit the company halfway with you. While you still helped a little with some things at the company, you decided to do what you loved the most and applied it to teach art, you quickly got a job at the school where Melissa was.

-"Well kids, please give a welcome to the new art teacher, (Y/N) Bright! - Melissa said excitedly presenting you at the kids, the children smiled a lot when they saw you enter, one of the little ones approached you curiously noticing your leg

-"Hi miss Bright, are you part robot?"-He asked, and Melissa looked at him nervously, fearing he would make you feel bad or embarrassed

-"I'm! I'm a cyborg teacher, I'm super smart and strong" - You responded by smiling at the redhead and the child, Mel heaved a sigh of relief and kissed your cheek

-"I will let you to it, you call me if you need anything" - she murmured before leaving the classroom listening to how the children asked you questions and said things

-"Cool! I've always wanted a robot teacher!" - A girl commented

-"Yeah! Tell us how you got your superpowers!"-Another little one added

Melissa smiled as she felt like you made up a story to entertain them, maybe you weren't a robot, but without doubt, you were the strongest person she knew.

[audreycritter]

For the prompts: Dick and Damien’s first trip to an art museum

For all his good intentions, Dick hadn't planned many proper outings with Damian. He'd spent the past few months trying to keep both of them alive and forge some kind of connection. He knew Bruce had taken Jason to one museum after another to bond, but Dick couldn't be sure Damian wouldn't pull a knife on a stranger or deface an exhibit because it triggered some sense of insult.

So, the Cooper Gallery in Gotham wasn't an intentional trip as much as it was an excuse to get out of the terrible rain. They'd wandered around, damp and shivering, staring at once piece of art after another while they waited out the sudden storm. Dick had watched Damian like a hawk-- they could go wait in a stairwell if they had to-- but had also been torn by remembering one of the first times Bruce had brought him to the Cooper Gallery.

It had been after Dick missed the school field trip with the flu. Bruce had taken him to make up for it and had let him linger wherever he wanted. Dick's fine art training at that point had been minimal, mostly from books, but he was a circus kid at heart with an intuitive grasp of story and drama and a passion for beauty. He'd been awed at the size of some of the works, the granular detail in brush strokes. He swallowed hard, trying to bury the memory and the tears before he snapped like a cut tightrope.

To his amazement, Damian hadn't made a single derisive comment since they'd come through the doors. He was uncharacteristically quiet and relaxed, his little shoulders slumped in something more like relief than anxious tension. When Dick pulled himself out of memories, Damian was staring up at a broad painting of a cowboy on his horse, with a vast desert landscape before them.

The expression of open wonder transformed him so utterly that Dick almost didn't recognize him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he ventured, and the look vanished in an instant, shuttered away behind that familiar, cold scowl. He waited, gazing at the painting instead of Damian, checking every so often out of the corner of his eye.

Slowly, the arrogant glare faded to confusion and suspicion, and then back to wonder, though a little more guarded than before.

"Yes," Damian said, after a long time. "Beautiful is the right word. I had forgotten."

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 2- "You're in my head..."

The beginning two weeks on tour were spent in the city of London, which I easily grewattached to. For the first handful of days, I fell into a comfortable routine of simplicity- I’d wake with Sam, have breakfast in the hotel with the rest of the band (avoid Oliver); set my sights on a few attractions; spend time in Hyde Park, catching up on my reading list; then return to the hotel in the late afternoon for dinner with Sam and the band. Most often, Oliver wasn’t there for those evening meals, said to be off somewhere, writing music, or having a smoke (thank God). I didn’t see him much outside of those breakfasts considering I was always off doing something and he had rehearsals. And I honestly liked it that way.

During the first two weeks in London, I tried to be nice to Oliver. I’d greet him every day at breakfast with a kind smile, a gentle, “Good morning, Oliver.” And he’d just ignore me. None of the others really considered it, or else I think they’d have said something to him. It was subtle enough that I could only ruminate over it in silence.

But, boy, did I notice the shitty behavior he exhibited towards me, that when I’d laugh too loudly at Max’s jokes or start up a conversation- breathe, basically- Oliver’s shoulders would tense. He’d sigh, just soft enough that I could hear it across the table. And, he’d become distant from the group, eyes glazed over, silent. If someone- other than me- said something to him, he’d respond. But, God forbid he say anything on his own accord.

From what I gathered, he had gotten to know me and, I guess, he just didn’t like me. Why he had covered up the time we had spent together on the roof, I did not know. Why he felt the need to completely ignore me- I really just didn’t understand it. And I didn’t think I wanted to. I was having the time of my life, catching matinees on the West End, spending time in the Natural History Museum, riding the London Eye. I wasn’t going to play cat and mouse or sparring enemies during this time in my life.

Usually, at least, back home, I was always too nervous to go out by myself, afraid I’d see family friends or exes I was trying to avoid. Here, I didn’t have to worry about that. I was a whole new person- a whole new woman. I could go anywhere, do anything, be whoever I wanted. Sure, it was lonely sometimes, shopping or discovering new coffee shops all by myself. But, it was healing, too. I was learning to enjoy my own company.

At the beginning of the second week, however, I had run out of things to do. Due to my newfound luck, rehearsals had ended for the band Saturday, and they had the week off- save for Friday, when they’d perform, and the weekend, when we’d be heading up to Newcastle for the next show. But for now, Sam had an open schedule.

We toured the city together for a few days, spending more time together in those short hours than we had in nearly five years. We had a pretty close relationship, but due to our conflicting schedules and busy lives, it was rare that we found space to be with each other like this. It was cathartic- catching late lunches together, touring museums, art galleries, tourist attractions. Mom would’ve really loved to be there with us, in such a dream city, and I know we both held that thought close to our hearts for the entire week.

I didn’t attend their concert that weekend, involved with my own plans. I wanted to come see them perform at some point, but I almost wanted to spite Oliver by not going, too. It was, after all, his band, his music. So, instead, I planned on going to a local dive bar that was holding an open mic night. In such a vast, diverse city, I was sure to find fun there.

That morning, though, at breakfast, I almost changed my plans.

I sat down beside Sam, a plate of toast and eggs in my hands. Max looked up from his phone, where he had been texting someone, and grinned at me, “Morning, lovely. Sleep okay?’’

I nodded appreciatively, “I’ve gotten used to the time change already.”

“Just wait,” Sam stabbed at his stack of pancakes. “Italy is in a week. It’ll fuck you up again.”

“Oh, it’s worth it. I’ve gotten to do so much these past two weeks. It’s insane.”

Cy took a sip of his coffee before adding in, “Oh, to see London through the eyes of a tourist. I’m sure it’s nothing short of magical.”

“Gonna have a hard time leaving, that’s for sure,” I bit off a piece of toast as I replied.

Oliver and Adam joined us now, Adam rattling off some guitar notes to the singer. Their conversation was just background noise to ours, as Sam then spoke to me, brushing his hands free of crumbs from his toast, “Listen, I have your stage pass in my bag. You have to wear it to get into the venue or go backstage, okay? Don’t lose it. I won’t be able to check my phone much today, so I can’t help you out if you do.”

I looked up from my plate, a guilty frown settling into my face, “Oh. Um…I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna go tonight.”

Everyone turned their attention to me fully, even Oliver, though he seemed to look past my head, avoiding my eyes. Their expressions weren’t necessarily confused, but wondorous, curiously surprised by my declaration.

“You’re not coming?” Max asked, his tone a bit hurt.

I shrugged slowly, “I’m so sorry. I had plans to go out. But, I can- I can always change them-?”

“No, don’t do that,” Cyrus waved me off, defending my choice, “you’re allowed to do your own thing. You’re not obligated to come see us.”

“I mean, I will…eventually. I just…there’s so much I wanna do, ya know?” I stuttered a bit, my face flushed from my guilt. I knew they weren’t mad, but I felt like I was letting them down.

Max pouted as he crossed his arms, “So, we’re just not as important, love? I see how it is. Here I thought we had something special.”

“I’m so sorry! I promise I’ll come to a show sometime. I’ll pencil it into my busy schedu-” I chuckled slightly through my words to make the point that I was being sarcastic. But, then, someone interrupted me.

Everyone glanced at Oliver as he stood, chair scraping against the ground. He was pulling a cigarette from an emptying pack, balancing it between his lips. Then, he walked, so quickly, yet so casually, away from our table, towards the exit.

“Even Ollie’s hurt,” Max pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Funny thing is, I don’t think Max was too far off with his observation. Why else had Oliver stormed off like a child, leaving a full plate of food where he had been sitting?

-

Our first travel day was hectic. We had to wake up, bright and early Saturday morning, in order to board the tour buses waiting outside of the hotel. I was a little nervous to spend the next two days inside of the vehicle, eating, sleeping, and basically living within its confines.

But then it came easy. I slept in late, finding my bunk to be a lot more comfortable than it looked. Cy had joined our bus for that first morning, he and Sam working on some drum rhythm for a new song, or something of the sort. On our bus, too, was Ronnie, Sam’s close friend- he insisted- the band’s tour manager, whom I was growing to love.

She was all tattoos, colored hair, and bad-ass energy. She swore like a sailor, said whatever came to mind, and treated the boys like stupid little teenagers. I loved it. I found myself giggling at everything she said, especially when the boys would be too loud at a gas station, and she’d scold them. Whenever Oliver would grace us with his presence on these outings, he’d glare at my laughter, as per usual.

Anyways, I think I was a difficult pill for Ronnie to swallow at first, being so feminine in comparison to her more masculine demeanor. But, we began to really bond that first afternoon on the bus.

While Cy and Sam occupied the back room, drum pads rattling beneath their sticks, Ronnie and I took up the couches towards the front of the bus. I had just gone out for a cup of tea, hoping it would wake me up and encourage me to read or something. Instead, I ended up playing countless rounds of Mario Kart with Ronnie. I was never really into video games, but playing with her was so fun, and we just couldn’t stop. She teased me for being such an amateur, for choosing Princess Peach when she played as Bowser.

But, then we got to talking- about my favorite Taylor Swift songs, ex-boyfriends, childhood trauma. She was wise beyond her years and a comforting, womanly presence to have.

“Sam told me a little bit, but I never got the full picture. What are you going to school for?”

I glanced over at her, nearly crashing my kart because of the sharp corner I had to cut. “Oh, yeah, um…counseling. To get my LPC, so I can practice.”

“A woman in STEM,” she nodded slowly, a slight smile on her face. Her eyes were focused on the tv screen, but they held a glint of humor. “Hey, I respect it. That’s a difficult job. You like it so far?”

“I liked undergrad,” I shrugged. “I’m kind of scared about my master’s, though.”

She elbowed me softly, in an attempt to offer up some semblance of encouragement, “Don’t be. You’re not dumb. You’ll figure it out.” She was the type of person to not really compliment others, so it was sweet that she was trying for me, someone she barely even knew.

“Thank you,” I grinned over at her as our match ended.

She met my eye, fought back the wide smile itching at her face, and rolled her eyes, “Cmon, peaches. I wanna kick your ass on rainbow road.”

We continued on bantering, chatting about whatever came to mind. I knew then that she’d be a rock to turn to this summer, this suspicion exemplified by the fact that she even said she’d listen to one of the songs I mentioned, though she was a metal-lover, through and through. I was becoming like an exception to everyone, a bright, soft spot of sunshine in the black-clothed masses of this touring crew. It was heartwarming to be so beloved, even if no one would say those words directly (besides Max, of course).

So, what if Oliver didn’t like me? All of his fucking friends did.

-

So, things were coming up Daisy. I was making friends- most notably, Max, Cyrus, and Ronnie. Sam was right- Cy was incredibly smart. We spent a lot of time on the bus that weekend- and the next, when we traveled further up England- discussing school, psychological theories, cognitive studies. He knew a lot about a lot and it was stimulating to get to have such intelligent conversations.

Max was a handful, of course. Again, Sam being right- Max loved to flirt with me. I think it got on my brother’s nerves, but I found it to be a fun little game. At breakfast, back in London, he’d greet me every morning with a pleasant grin, a compliment on my hairstyle for the day or my lip stick color.

Of course, it would be followed by, “Would look better on me.” To which, I would laugh hysterically and Sam would try to fling eggs at his boss.

When this particular flirtation had been spent, I glanced around the group, giggling, when my eyes landed on Oliver. He was actually looking up, and at one point, he met my eyes. My bright grin did not falter, not until his lingering stare turned into a roll in his eyes. He looked back down at his phone and I decided then and there that I would not spend another minute ruminating on him and his negative energy.

Adam and I got along, but we weren’t super compatible, which I didn’t mind. Not everyone always matched with one another. We shared pleasant greetings and didn’t mind sitting next to each other at breakfast. He seemed to just keep to himself most of the time, anyways. Not that he didn’t spend time with the group. He just- was quiet, reserved.

We’d finished up the tour dates scheduled in England during those first three weeks. It had felt like a year long journey but, in reality, they’d only performed about six concerts in that time. We still had two and a half months to go. I was elated. Time on the bus was relaxing, passing by quicker than I thought it would. Though Cy’s bunk was on the other bus, he spent most of his time with us, with Sam. Max would even bus hop, opting for group movie nights with us or games of poker. We sometimes roped Adam into it, but Oliver never budged. His band mates would call him lame, tease him for being such a n introvert, but gave up once he’d roll his eyes at them.

I wondered how they put up with his shitty attitude all the time. It must be frustrating, this annoyance only made worse by the fact that he was so fucking talented. I refused to listen to their music anymore than what Sam had already shown because I just didn’t want to give Oliver the satisfaction, even if he wouldn’t know about it.

IdontcareIdontcareIdontcare. I had to remind myself that a lot.

The next two stops were in Italy, where we’d be for just a week and a half. The evening before we boarded the plane that would take us there, however, we all decided to get out for a big dinner. It was the first time I’d really be hanging with the entire group, outside of our bus and hotel breakfasts. I wanted to look good, knowing they were used to seeing me in sweats, hoodies, jeans, so I spent a bit of time getting myself ready.

Sam barely dressed up, opting for jeans and a nicer jumper, black Vans a staple to all his outfits. I picked out one of the nicer dresses I’d packed, blush pink, with a square neckline, sheer long sleeves, and a length that cut off above my mid-thigh. I wore my black platform boots, gold jewelry, and did my hair up in this silk bow I had purchased back in London. This was the first time on this trip that I felt really good about how I looked. Oliver’s burning hatred for me only made me more insecure than I already was. Not tonight.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting me, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I opened the bathroom door, my boots noisy on the carpeted floor. A sweet smile came across his face. He slid his phone into his pocket and stood to take me in. His head tilted to the side.

“What?” I rubbed my hands down the front of my dress, feeling overanalyzed by his gaze.

“I don’t tell you enough Daz, but you’re beautiful,” Sam nodded, just once. Usually, I’d make fun of him for being so cheesy, so affectionate. But, this summer was bonding us more.

Instead, I grinned at my brother, but still reached out to playfully punch his arm. “Thanks, Sam-Ham.”

“Hey, you’ve done pretty well at not using that so far. Think the guys forgot about that one time.” We headed for the door now, back on our bantering like usual.

I shrugged at his comment, countering with, “Maybe I should remind them of it, then.”

Sam held the door open for me, but, as I said those words, he tried to shove it close on my moving body. I yelped at the impact and then dug my heels into the carpet as I pushed back against his weight. He laughed, heartily, before giving up on shutting me in. Because I was pushing so hard, I toppled out into the hallway, breathless, nearly falling on my face. Sam caught my shoulders and pushed me back on my feet.

As I looked up, I saw Oliver, standing outside of his own room, a quiet smile on his face. He had been observing our antics, passively, with an amused glint in his eye. I grinned back at him, my stupid heart feeling hopeful for some semblance of a spark to catch between us. As if he realized it was my eyes he was looking into, he turned his head.

But, then, just as quickly as he peeled his gaze away, he put it back on me. On my boots, fiery brown eyes dragging themselves up my body. They lingered over the curve of my hips, the peaks of my breasts, my glossy lips and, then, my eyes. He seemed to smirk at me, flashed his eyes, then turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.

Sam hadn’t noticed the longing gaze Oliver burned into me because Ronnie was approaching us from down the hall. She didn’t really go to breakfast or dinner with us because she was always on the move. But, luckily, she was able to make it out tonight. And, whenever Ronnie was around, Sam was more than distracted.

I was too focused on Oliver, myself, staring at his retreating back with a slack jaw. Goosebumps littered the skin exposed on my chest, my legs, a chemical reaction eliciting itself from his burning eyes. What the fuck was that? I knew, deep in my soul, that I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was literally just a stupid man, and I was dressed in little to no clothing. As long as a vagina had legs, men would fuck the most insufferable of women. That was just it- right?

I didn’t have time to focus on my own racing thoughts, however, because Ronnie was talking to me now, teasing me about my dress, which I knew, for her, was just a hidden compliment.

“Jesus, it’s like Princess Peach in real life,” she chuckled, eyeing me up.

I turned to the two of them, licking my lips as if to snap myself out of my lucid trance. “Huh? Oh…uh- insert funny Princess Peach line,” I shook my hands around, forcing a smile upon my face, as I tried to banter back.

“Something like, ‘save me, Mario!”’ Sam mocked the character in a high-pitched voice.

This finally distracted my brain enough. Ronnie and I shared a humorously surprised expression, eyed Sam, before bursting out into laughter.

“That was fucking terrible!” Ronnie exclaimed, smacking Sam in the bicep. “I loved it.”

We made our way to the elevator, still teasing Sam for his terrible impression. He tried to save himself by acting like Mario, but that was just another train wreck, in and of itself.

“I’m-a sorry! Please-a forgive me-a!” He lifted his arms in a strange manner as he made another horrid impression. Ronnie held a finger up to her lips, “No, no. Shhhhhh…no, just…no.” I giggled into my hand.

We were supposed to meet the others down in the lobby, where we would take a pair of taxis down the street to some five-star restaurant the boys had recommended. I was lucky to have saved up so much at my job back home, to be able to do stuff like this all summer. I don’t think I’d ever been to such a fancy place before. I was more than excited.

When we stepped off the elevator, we spotted our group by the front doors. Max was in a sweater, jeans, hands stuffed in his pockets as he spoke to Adam, who was also dressed nicer than normal. He looked over the guitarist's shoulder as the elevator dinged and spotted me immediately. Max gawked at the sight. He interrupted his band mate’s conversation in order to whistle. I flushed red, eyes rolling, though I secretly appreciated all the attention I was garnering with this little outfit.

“Oh, my god,” Ronnie murmured to herself, pressing a hand to her forehead as though he was stressing her out. She and Sam moved off, out of the way, as Max approached.

He brushed past Adam, looking me up and down. He reached out for my hands, taking my fingers in his large hold. He lifted my arms up, as if to get a better examination of me. “Love, you look fucking gorgeous!”

I shook my head, grinning at the compliments, and it ruffled my hair over my shoulders. It drew Max’s attention to my intricate hairstyle. He moved his hand to touch my neck, softly, and turned my head to admire the hairstyle.

“Wow, love, just; wow!” Max appreciated me some more, settling a blush across my cheeks.

Then, he pulled me to stand beside him, looping my hand through his arm, laying it around his bicep. “Come on, love; you’re my date for this evening. Yeah?”

“Sure,” I patted his bicep. “Whatever you say.”

Max groaned, head tilted back, eyes shut. “Don’t say that! That’s dangerous-“

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Sam called from his spot beside Ronnie, a finger pointed warningly at Max. I hung my head, giggles falling from my mouth. Ronnie looked amused at the confrontation.

Max raised his own hand in defense, “Okay, okay. I’ll even admit that one was a little…out there.” Sam nodded firmly with a disapproving smile. Max tilted his head down towards me, his expression more polite now, words close to my ear. “Sorry, love.”

I leaned into his arm, winking slightly, “Don’t be. I liked it.”

“Oh! That’s my girl,” Max tapped my nose sweetly.

I was on top of the world. I looked good- even Oliver thought so- I felt good. I was in the most beautiful country, surrounded by people I was forming tightly-knit relationships with. Nothing could ruin my elated mood.

I didn’t even care that Ronnie, Sam, and Adam had piled into the one taxi, leaving Max, Oliver, Cy, and I to share the other. I didn’t care that I’d have to share such a small space with the most insufferable man in the world.

Cy chose to sit up front, cutting off Oliver, who had most definitely been headed in that direction. Cy didn’t notice, though. His action was sacrificial for everyone else, not intentionally manipulative towards his band mate. Oliver, however, seemed to take it to heart, frowning deeply at the rejection and fisting his hand into his hoodie pocket.

I watched all this occur as Max opened the door to the taxi, helping me inside the back seat. “You okay in the middle?” He asked, head dipped inside the vehicle.

I nodded, “No worries.” I only realized after I saw Oliver round the car that this meant I’d be sitting flush against him.

I didn’t care. Though my face flushed with anticipatory anxiety, I didn’t care. I didn’t care- was that his cologne in the air- nope. Don’t care.

Max piled in, softly shutting the door behind him, leg and shoulder pressed up against my own. I buckled myself in just as Oliver opened the door. I tried to offer a sweet smile, still choosing kindness over returning his awful behavior. He didn’t mirror any gesture in return. My smile faltered.

No. I wouldn’t let him ruin this for me. Tonight was going to be fun, whether he wanted it to be or not. If he chose to sulk in my presence, then that was his problem. I shook my shoulders about, basically shaking him off of me. Though, it would be my problem during the car ride. He slid into the seat next to me and I swear I could feel his negative energy fill up the car. Besides, he was tall, legs and arms long, shoulders wide. I know he was trying to shove himself up against the door, but he couldn’t just not touch me. His thigh was warm against mine, his shoulder tense. I leaned into Max to try to give him more space, but that was unfair to him.

The bassist shifted in return, looking down at me, apologetic for thinking he had taken up too much space, “Sorry, love.”

“S’okay,” I looked away from Oliver, focusing my attention on the road before us as the driver pulled out of the parking lot. I tried to sink into myself. But, I was still flush against either man.

I could smell Oliver’s cologne, too. It was sweet, musky. It overwhelmed my senses. Though I tried to process Max and Cy’s blossoming conversation, appeal myself to them and only them, all I could think about was Oliver. How he smelled. The curve of his thigh.

Oliver’s large hand on his knee, slender fingers curved over top of the limb. Oliver’s chest, in the corner of my eye, moving up and down slowly, in a controlled rhythm of breathing. Oliver’s scent, so strong to my senses, so…distracting. He smelled so damn good.

I shifted in my seat again. My thigh pressed up against his more. I squeezed my legs together to avoid his, but there wasn’t enough room. I glanced at him, an apologetic smile on my lips.

He looked down at me, lips pursed slightly. I held his eyes for a moment, trying to read his expression. Just as I went to turn my head away, his eyes dipped down, over the peaks of my breast again.

Okay, he was not helping the situation. The way he looked more over was just making him seem more attractive to my stupid brain.

I flushed, skin spotting with color from the red blush. I took a deep breath, chest rising and falling as I tried to control the heat in my body. I saw from the corner of my eye that Oliver was still staring at me. He shifted this time, tugging his hoodie down his belt. I furrowed my brows at the movement, flicking my eyes over his lap, where the hem of his jacket had now settled. Oliver coughed, large hand holding the edge of his hoodie down over where he had moved it to. I did a double-take, realizing after a moment what that meant.

He had a boner.

He had a boner because of me.

Oliver had a boner because of me.

Oh, God.

I couldn’t think straight. I clutched the edge of my dress, knuckles white from the pressure in them. My chest only fell faster, breathing short, goosebumps littering my flushed skin again. I could feel Oliver look over at me, over and over. He just couldn’t look away. He shifted countless more times, thigh pushing against mine. It sprouted a wildfire across my skin.

I didn’t want to play games, but he was making it impossible to be the neutral position in this narrative. One day, he hated me, rolling his eyes at my laughter. Then, the next, he’s checking me out, battling a boner in the seat beside me? So, maybe I should just choose a side. Maybe I should play back.

I spread my legs, only a centimeter due to the lack of space I had, pressing my thigh into his more. It was noticeable to him, and him only.

He felt the pressure, eyes dragging down my body to my leg. The hand he still had curved over his leg squeezed his knee cap, knuckles flushing white, like my own. I smirked to myself, though I knew he could see the expression on my face. He let out a breathless huff, as if he was struggling to get air into his lungs.

Eventually, we made it to the restaurant. I continued pushing my leg into his, though he slowly began to cower into the corner of the car, knee turning towards the door. I felt victorious, confident in the way I had made his body react.

Though my hands still shook from the heat of the moment. The game paused during dinner. Oliver went back to ignoring me, eyes trained on the menu or his lap. I knew it was partially because he didn’t want to have a boner in front of our friends. Though, he conversed a bit more tonight, to Ronnie about tour dates, to his band mates about the setlist, to Sam about some stupid bit they were all involved in. I knew it was just because of the camaraderie between everyone.

Everyone had a really good time, myself included, though I was sweating. We were all laughing, sharing stories over numerous glasses of wine. Of course, my hand was a little heavier than the other’s when I’d poured myself some of the maroon colored liquid. I needed to drink in order to get through this painful plane of existence. This was not how I thought the night would go, but there was no going back now. I needed to make him uncomfortable, needed him to see me. He couldn’t ignore me any longer. Not now, not when I knew that I had him in such a taunting way. When dessert was brought out- slices of chocolate cake- I stepped back into the game. I was a little more brave now, encouraged by the wine. I was tipsy, sure, but I also knew exactly what I was doing.

Oliver was seated right across from me, accidental on either of our ends. But, lucky, nonetheless. I pushed my feet out underneath the table, taking up more space than I needed to. Eventually, the toes of my boots hit the tips of his black converse.

He had been eating his cake, eyes trained on the white cloth of the table. But, when I knocked our shoes together, his eyes flinched up, towards me. His brows furrowed. He dipped his head down and lifted the cloth up slightly to look at our shoes under the table. Oliver met my eyes again. He rolled his eyes and went back to his cake. I smirked to myself. He thought I was just being stupid, stretching my legs out. No- I was a smart girl. I knew what I was doing. This was all intentional. I hated him, but he thought I was hot. So, I could finally get back at him for all of his shitty behavior. Could use my good looks to my advantage.

I put my boot atop one of his converse. His foot wriggled beneath mine, in an attempt to knock it off. But, I pressed down, keeping it there. Oliver looked back up, annoyance evident in his face.

I took the opportunity to have a bit of my cake, slipping the fork between my lips slowly, tongue flicking out to swipe the bottom of it seductively. Oliver’s eyes widened as I drug the utensil from my lips. I twisted it around in my mouth, cleaning off every inch, lips pursed. He sat up in his seat.

I had his full attention now.

I scooped more cake onto my fork, though I didn’t bite into it this time. Instead, I licked the fork, dragging it down my tongue. Oliver’s eyes watched my mouth, his own tongue flicking out over his lips.

I swallowed, noticeably so. He shifted in his seat, hands in his laps now. I set my fork down, leaned back in my seat, and crossed my arms. I let myself grin at him, having successfully made his dick hard again. He was a stupid, easy boy. It didn’t matter who I was- so long as I was wearing skimpy clothes and being sexy- he was weak. Sure, he probably still couldn’t stand me- but his dick was hard.

Oliver’s jaw clenched. He tilted his chin up towards me, as if to say, “Okay. I see how it is.”

I flicked my brows at him, reaching out for my wine glass, and maintaining eye contact as I took a long swig. “Should we go out for drinks?” Max asked from his end of the table.

I glanced down at him, my wine glass empty now. Sam wiped his mouth clean with a napkin, searching everyone’s expressions. “Could be fun,” I shrugged. “Yeah, I could go for some beer,” Adam shrugged from his seat.

Ronnie nodded, too, “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Cyrus raised a hand to motion to the waitress that we needed our checks. I reached around to the back of my chair as she approached, ready to grab my wallet. Though we had already laid out how the checks would be split, she never gave me mine.

I furrowed my brows as she passed over me, handing out bills to everyone else. But, then I saw Sam laying his card down on his bill and nodded to myself. When we left the restaurant, and began walking down the street to the closest bar, I caught up to him and Ronnie. I looped my arm through his, gaining his attention, “Thanks, Sam Ham.”

He looked confused by my gratitude, but didn’t have time to focus on that because he was too busy being offended by my choice of nickname. He moved to fuck with me, to tickle my waist or something, but I quickly ran from him. Max and Adam were walking a few feet ahead of us. Laughing loudly, I headed to them, running in front of Max. The wine I had drank was making me loud, silly. I appreciated the ability to relax, unwind. Be myself without any filters holding me back.

Max nearly tripped over me, but when he heard Sam calling out, trying to get to me, he quickly grabbed me by the waist. “Leave my girl alone, you monster!” Max shouted, tossing me over his shoulder and racing further down the street.

I clutched onto his arms, yelping at the hectic movement. We reached the bar before everyone else, Sam having given up on chasing us after he nearly tripped on the curb. I watched them all approach where we stood from over Max’s shoulder, breathless.

I patted his back and said, “Okay, thanks, but you can let me down now.”

“Mhm,” Max turned towards the group. “Appreciating the view, love.”

“Max,” Ronnie was even getting protective over me. She moved in front of us, an annoyed look on her face, “You’re disgusting.”

Max huffed, and replied, “Okay, okay, here,” before settling me back on my feet. He grinned down at me, booped my nose again before heading into the bar with Adam, Ronnie, and Sam.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Cy and Oliver, having been trailing behind our group. Cy smiled kindly, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. I noticed Oliver was looking up at the sky. I trailed my eyes down over his body, towards his crotch curiously. His black skinny jeans looked just a liiiiittle bit tight, again.

I smirked to myself. “Cmon, Cy,” I pushed Oliver gently out of the way in order to grab onto his friend’s arm. We walked into the bar, leaving Oliver in the dust. I made sure to swing my hips just so for his gaze, which I was positive was glued to my ass.

The game was back on. And he would lose.

-

Max handed me yet another drink, a sweet, drunken smile on his face. “Here you are, lovey.”

“Thank you, friend!” I wriggled around on the bar stool happily. I lazily wrapped my lips around the thin black straw in the glass I now held tightly in my hand. The bitter taste of alcohol, diluted by the cherry grenadine and orange slice clipped onto the rim of the glass, flooded my tongue. I shut my eyes as I enjoyed the taste, drunk enough that it didn’t actually matter how gross vodka was.

I set the glass back down upon the bar, then twisted my stool around to observe the small dance floor. It was some local dive bar we’d settled on, a place Max had been to loads of times before. It was getting crowded, especially as the night wound down. Every seat at the counter was full, the tables were occupied, and everyone on said dance floor was pushing up against each other. The couples dancing there were sights for sore eyes, all sloppy hips and wandering hands.

I moved my head side to side, with the rhythm of the song playing, lips pursed. I knew some of the words, mostly just the chorus, so I sang along when I could. I glanced over to the pool tables when I heard Sam and Ronnie cheer loudly. They were playing against Adam and Cy, who seemed to be losing quite badly. I giggled to myself as Sam chest-bumped with Ronnie.

Max, who had been talking to Oliver, who was sitting- sulking- beside us, turned his attention back to me. I was still his ‘date’ for the evening, so he had refused to let me buy my own drinks. This was incredibly dangerous. Not including the two glasses of wine I’d had back at the restaurant, I was already on my fourth drink. The liquor was making my stomach warm, my limbs loose. As for Oliver…I had been too busy enjoying myself in the bar to play with him. I was feeling like just giving up, satisfied with what I’d accomplished, growing bored of him as the alcohol filled up my attention. Besides, the man seemed uninterested in anything anymore.

“I still owe you a dance, don’t I, lovely?” Max’s voice was low in my ear, his cheek brushing against my hair.

I grinned up at him, “I think you owe me at least two.”

Max dipped his head back to swallow the rest of his drink before offering me his hand. As he did, Whitney Houston began playing. My mouth opened wide in excitement. I hopped off the bar and drugged him behind me, jumping to the rhythm with each step I took towards the floor. I sang to Max, holding onto his hand, pointing with every lyric, popping my hips. He swayed, but mostly let me have my moment. He pulled me every so often and my hair would whip past my shoulders.

“Spinning through the town- ah!” I squealed as Max spun me towards his chest. I clutched onto his shoulders as he dipped me, hands low on my back. As I hung there in the air, I burst out laughing, my head falling further backwards.

When I opened my eyes, I caught sight of Oliver, now turned in his stool to face the dance floor. He wasn’t smiling, no, he was basically incapable of doing so. But, there was a small curl in his lips, a glint in his dark eyes each time the flashing lights burned his pupils. Nevermind. I was back in. I was so back in the game that it was probably unhealthy, and I’d probably regret it. The song ended, and, to my luck, S&M by Rihanna began playing. I grinned at Max as my back straightened up, my chest pressed against his.

He tilted his head at me with a playful smile, “I have a feeling Sam won’t like this.”

I wrapped my arms around Max’s neck, pushing myself flush against him. I stood on my tiptoes, glossy lips barely ghosting his earlobe as I whispered, “I don’t care.”

As I pulled away, I watched Max throw his head back and roll his eyes. “You’re killing me, love!”

“Good!”

The chorus began thumping through the speakers. I pushed Max’s leg through my own, feeling his boney hips against mine. I rolled my waist to his, tossing my hair back, leaning into his hands. He pushed his touch lower, over the curve of my tailbone, dangerously close to my ass. We danced through the song, pushing into each other, hips rolling. As it reached the bridge, Max pushed me away, still holding my hand, encouraging me to dance on my own for a moment. I did, jumping around, screaming the lyrics, hair whipping over my face. Max then spun me back into his chest.

When I thumped against his body, I knew I was going to puke. Vile pushed up my throat and I slapped a hand over my mouth. I stumbled, ripping my hand from Max. He was speaking to me, asking if I was okay, or something of the sort, but I couldn’t hear him.

I needed to get away- get to the bathroom, get fresh air, something. I didn’t know where the ladies room was, so I b-lined for the front door, tripping through the crowd, until my fingers touched the push bar handle. My knees scraped against the pavement as I fell into the curb, retching the contents of the dinner I’d had into the bushes outside the bar. I tried to brush my hair from my face, but it was sticking to my face in bunches, sweat acting as a bondant.

Out of nowhere, I felt someone else’s warm hands on my neck, fingering my hair back into their fist, peeling strands from my cheeks and lips. I braced my hands against the dirt of the curb and some of it lodged up under my fingernails. My knees were burning, probably all cut up from my crash landing.

After a few minutes of relentless gagging, my stomach was finally empty. I pushed myself back onto my ass, tears dripping down my cheeks, black mascara smudging all the way down to my neck. My back pressed up against the stranger’s chest. I felt my shoulders shaking from the exertion my body had just gone through.

“It’s okay,” they were shushing me throughout it all, their voice now processing in my ears. They wrapped an arm around my waist, hugging me to their chest as they swayed us slightly. Their other hand continued brushing my hair from my face soothingly, coaxing me down from the high of the moment. “It’s okay, Daisy. You’ll be okay.”

“I wanna go home,” I sobbed slightly, words slobbered from my salivating lips.

“I know, I know, s’okay,” they continued soothing me. “Think you can stand?”

I glanced down, looking over the hand that was helping me. Silver rings adorned the person’s long, slender fingers, and their pale wrist led into an arm that disappeared under a black sweatshirt. As my brain processed their voice, their sweet smell of cologne that was encasing me, my eyes widened.

“Ol-” my voice cracked, “Oliver?”

He peered over my shoulder as I looked back at him, managing to meet his eyes. “Yeah? You okay? Think you can stand, darling?”

I wanted to be angry, to jump up and yell at him for being so fucking weird, for acting like my existence was a burden, but falling to his knees whenever I was in danger. But, I couldn’t right now. I just wanted to go home. Back to the hotel, curl up in bed.

“N-no,” I admitted guiltily, brows furrowed. “I…don’t feel good.”

“S’okay. Shhhh, it’s okay. Here,” Oliver braced my back with a hand as he stood, ensuring I wouldn’t fall over onto the sidewalk. When he settled onto his feet, he pulled his phone from his pocket, shot a quick text to someone. Then, he crouched down, scooped me up, easily, into his arms. I lazily wrapped my hands around his neck.

The crevice of his shoulder was warm, so I nuzzled my head there. I could hear his heartbeat, thumping rapidly through his hoodie. I focused on the sound as he began walking. My eyes, unwillingly, fluttered shut. I didn’t know where we were going or, honestly, what the fuck was happening. But, I couldn’t care. I just needed my world to stop spinning. Besides, being so close to him felt…good. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want it to be true. But, he was…he felt good.

Eventually, I guess, we made it back to the hotel. I came to from my sleepy trance when I heard the elevator ding. I took in a sharp gasp of breath, lifting my head from Oliver’s chest.

“Doing okay, Daisy?” He looked down at me. I felt us shift as the elevator lifted up on its track. I shook my head, only having enough energy to do so once, frowning deeply, “Not really.”

“S’okay, darling, we’re almost there,” Oliver assured me. My brows furrowed when I heard the pet name pass through his lips. “What?” I questioned. I suppose he’d used it a few times now, but this was the first I’d noticed it. It was…entrancing.

Oliver glanced back at me, having trained his eyes back on the doors before us, “Said we’ll be there soon, yeah?” “Darling,” I whispered, mostly to myself as I lay my head back into his neck.

I heard him chuckle softly, as though he heard my inquiring tone. The noise rattled against my cupped ear, deep, hollow in his chest. I liked the sound. I wanted to hear it more often. I cooed and felt Oliver’s chest constrict beneath my chin, as though he was taking a deep breath. We were moving again, down the hallway, towards mine and Sam’s room. Oliver stopped outside of it and shifted me in his arms. “Okay, darling, need your help here. I’ve got your purse. Could you get in it, get your key? Can you do that for me, beautiful?”

My mind was so rattled by his free use of the sweet names that I struggled to focus on the task at hand. Jaw slack, I stared up at him, hypnotized. He smiled down at me, still humored by my shock.

“Darling? Please? Your purse.”

‘‘Purse,” I nodded slowly. Then, somehow, I managed to reach for the pink strap slung over his shoulder. I fished my purse into my lap, dug around, trying to find my wallet. As I continued to search for it, I began to grow frustrated. I just wanted to close my eyes, go to sleep. “Can’t find it.” I began to cry again, sniffling lamely.

He soothed me with soft hushes, “S’okay. Darling, s’okay. You can just..” he huffed as he tried to come up with a solution. He peered down the hallway, towards his room. “You can just stay in my room. Don’t cry, Daisy. S…okay.”

He seemed to be trying to reassure himself more than me. He backtracked down the hallway, stopping before his door now. “Okay, just one more favor, darling. Can you do that for me? One more?”

“Yes,” I slurred.

Oliver tapped his fingers against the underside of my thigh. It released a net of butterflies in my stomach. “Can you reach into my back pocket, get my wallet? Yeah?”

I shifted in his arms, straining my arm over his shoulder as I reached for the wallet he spoke of. With a few soft groans from me, and the help of Oliver, who lifted me up further so I could reach, I retrieved it. I flipped it open, eyes immediately drawn to his driver’s license in the clear slot.

“You’re cute,” I muttered to myself, rubbing a finger across the picture. “December 22. Your birthday is seven months away.”

“Yes, it is, darling,” he chuckled down at me. “Now, listen-“

“My birthday is next month,” I tilted my head back, pointing my glazed smile up at him.

“Oh, yeah?” I watched as his grin grew upon meeting my eyes.

“The 12th,” I moved my hand from the wallet to his cheek, touching it softly. “You’re cute.”

His face grew hot beneath my touch. “So are you, darling. You wanna get to sleep, yeah?”

The words drew a yawn from my throat. I arched my back into his hold, nodding lazily.

“Would you take the hotel key out and press it against the handle, please? Daisy-“ he demanded my eye contact. I gave it to him, easily. I would do anything he asked, I knew at this moment.

“Yes.”

I unlocked the door, pushed it open for us. Oliver moved through the threshold, pressing a kiss to my temple shortly. When he spoke, his lips were so close to my ear that I felt his words in my legs. It vibrated through my veins, like the music at the bar had. He said, “Good girl.” I managed not to make a guttural noise.

Oliver carried me to his bed, gently laying my body down over the covers. I immediately curled up into myself, shivering at the cold in the air, eyes squeezed shut. I’d forgotten any conversation I’d started with him in the hallway. I was too focused on getting to sleep.

Oliver sat down beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder. He shook me, softly, “May I take off your shoes?”

I groaned in response, hoping it came out as a positive signal for him. He laughed again, before moving his touch down to my calves. He was so warm.

Oliver lifted my one leg, just slightly, unzipping each boot before sliding them down and off my feet. He leaned over the bet to set them on the floor.

When he straightened up, he leaned in to get a closer look at my knees. “Scraped yourself up pretty good.”

I hissed as his fingers dabbed at a cut. He apologized, softly, before adding, “Let me get a cloth, okay?” His hand was on my cheek now, thumb brushing away some of the mascara that was dried on my face.

I gave him a thumbs up, my hand hitting his shoulder. He took my fingers in his and lay it back against my chest. I held his hand there, snuggling my cheek to it. Oliver sighed at the action, but then took his hand back. I heard him get up. I heard the faucet run. Suddenly, he was back, pressing a warm, damp cloth to my face.

‘‘C’mere, darling,” he sat down again. Oliver’s fingers cradled my cheek as he lifted my head up and lay it in his lap. His fingers were rough from playing the guitar, but it was nice to feel them brush the hair away from my face. He was cleaning the makeup off my face now.

Meanwhile, I was far too drunk and tired to notice the way my body reacted to his touch. Butterflies ate away at my stomach, heat sprouted from every ghost of his fingers. Goosebumps covered every inch of my skin, eating away at me like acid.

He moved his focus down to my knees, using some alcohol pads to wipe off dried blood on my legs. He bandaged them with whatever he found in the bathroom.

“Would you like to change out of your dress?” Oliver then asked. He was still stroking my cheek now, but the cloth was abandoned. There was no makeup to take off. He was just…touching me, just for the sake of touching me.

“Please,” I peeked open my eyes. His face was so close to mine, it almost made me flinch. But, I was taken back more by the brightness of the lights glaring down on me.

When my squinting eyes met his gaze, he grinned, “Think you can sit up for me, darling?”

I nodded, a smile forced onto my face from his beautiful expression. Oliver braced my back again, large fingers splayed out over my waist, helping me to lean against the headboard. I wanted his hands all over me. I hoped I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t think I did, but who knew at this point.

“Would you like a hoodie? T-shirt? Pants?” He glanced around the room as he spoke, hoping to find something for me.

“Hoodie,” I murmured in response, staring at the blank, black screen of the tv.

Oliver went to stand, but I reached out, fingers grasping at the strings of his jacket. He settled back onto the bed, brows furrowed as he looked down at my touch. He pointed to his chest, “This hoodie?”

“Please,” I stared at the string as I played with it. Oliver chuckled, again, before tugging his arms from the sleeves, peeling the hoodie up and over his head. My eyes glued to his chest as his shirt rode up, revealing his toned stomach, the line that I knew led to his dick. His hair was all ruffled from the movement, too, only making him more attractive to me.

“Wanna keep staring at me or go to bed, darling?” Oliver touched his pointer finger to my slack jaw, drawing my eyes to his.

I met his dark stare, flushing red. I smiled, “Both.”

“One thing at a time. We have all summer,” he shook his head, the volume of his words lowering as he spoke, like it was a secret we were sharing with each other. What the fuck did that mean? That meant something. That meant…everything. What the fuck?

I managed to lean forward so Oliver could unzip my dress, though my mind was somewhere else. It was racing, especially as his fingers brushed down my spine. My back arched into his touch. Heat sprouted like a garden on my skin. I needed…

Oliver pulled his hoodie over my bare body. When my head popped through the opening, we shared a sweet grin. Oliver glanced up at my hair, then ran both his hands over the mess, patting it down. He cradled my head in his hands, his large, warm, hold simply gazing into my eyes.

The pace of my breathing sped up, heart thumping rapidly in my chest. I wanted to kiss him. I needed to kiss him. I didn’t care that he was confusing, that he was an asshole 99% of the time. I didn’t care that he probably tasted like cigarette smoke, that I’d puked thirty minutes ago, or that he was my brother’s boss.

I needed his lips on mine. He had been the center of my thoughts these past few weeks. And he was finally right there for the taking.

I pushed forward with so much effort that I tackled Oliver onto the bed. I grabbed the neck of his t-shirt, guiding his lips to mine. He made a noise as his back hit the bed, the air knocked out of him. I straddled his waist, somehow, sloppily kissing him.

For a moment, just a brief moment, Oliver touched my waist and kissed me back. Then, he braced his hands against my shoulders, leaned his head back far enough into the bed that he could get away.

“Daisy-“

“Oliver, please!” I tugged at his shirt, whining like a child who had their candy stolen.

Oliver laughed at my puckered lips, squeezed-shut eyes. He sat us up, me in his lap, his hands moving to my waist. The movement forced my eyes open, my lips coming to a frown on my face. I furrowed my brows, puppy-dog eyes staring up at him with a pleading in my pupils.

“Daisy, you’re drunk,” he touched my cheek, trying to ground my gaze to his, hoping the explanation would make sense to my drunken mind.

But, it didn’t, of course. Besides, this was rejection. Rejection from the guy who rolled his eyes everytime I spoke. Rejection from the guy who got hard because of my thigh pressing against his leg in the car. The confusion of the situation was overwhelming me.

And the only thing I could think to say was, “Why don’t you want me?”

Oliver’s gaze softened. He didn’t even have to think of his response. It came so naturally, “I do. I…I do want you.”

His voice was soft, a whisper passed between just our breaths. My grip on his shirt loosened as I relaxed in his lap. I was still frowning, though, still confused, “Then why…why are you so mean to me?”

“It’s complicated, darling,” he searched my face, worry in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m sorry. I just…let’s just get you to bed, okay? We can have this conversation when you’re sober. Can we do that, darling? Besides, we have a plane to catch in five hours.” I nodded, though it was slow, unsure. Oliver helped me under the covers, tucking them up to my chin sweetly. He brushed my hair back again, eyes lingering on my fluttering-shut eyes. I mumbled, barely coherent, slurred words, “Please lay with me.”

Oliver shook his head, “I can’t do that, darling.” “Why?” I pouted my lip.

And, though I forgot a lot of details about this night, his response was something I would never, ever let slip from my memory.

“If I lay down next to you, I don’t think I could keep my hands to myself.”

[ghostofskywalker]

Hi friend! Sorry that your semester has been miserable, I’ve been there and promise you it gets better- one day you’ll be at your commencement ceremony wondering how the heck you made it! 🥹

I had a cute idea for Rex, Wolffe or possibly Echo where they and the reader are in a relationship but not quite officially but they (and everyone else) kind of assume they are a thing. What if reader had a special talent that their clone partner had no idea about. Maybe they are at 79’s and reader can dance really well to the point she gathers a crowd. Or maybe she is an artist and doesn’t like to brag about it, but she invites her squad to opening night of her art gallery exhibition. Something like that! Thought it would be such a cute idea to see the boys gushing over her talents 🙈

Enjoy that wine- I’ll open a bottle in solidarity ✊

thank you!! honestly i'm just counting down the days until graduation next month 😂 this was such a cute idea and i hope you enjoy it!!

words: 829

summary: In an attempt to spy on Rex’s date, the 501st crashes an art gallery and falls in love with the pieces.

clone troopers masterlist

A Work of Art

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Echo asked his brothers as they ducked behind a speeder to avoid being noticed. “I don’t think Rex would be too happy if he knew we were following him.” 

Fives shrugged. “Maybe not, but you know the Captain would never introduce us to his civvie girlfriend if he could help it.” 

“I don’t know if she’s his girlfriend Fives,” Kix cut in as they started to slowly walk down the street, trying to keep their commanding officer from hearing anything while also keeping him in their sights. Thankfully, all of them had the insight to wear their civvie clothes and leave their armor back at the barracks. “He hasn’t said anything about it.” 

“From the dopey smile he wears all the time, I think it’s safe to assume there’s something going on between them,” Jesse said. “And I’m dying to know what she looks like.” 

“How do you even know there’s a girl involved?” Echo said. 

“I overheard him saying something to Cody about his plans for leave,” Fives assured his twin. “I didn’t get the whole conversation, but Rex said he was going to see her tonight.” 

The others nodded and Echo looked like he was going to say something in response, but their attention was pulled away by the fact that Rex had taken a turn and was now walking into a building. The four of them exchanged looks and waited a few moments before joining the crowd of people that were also walking inside. 

The crowd shuffled through long halls and eventually they were standing in a brightly lit room. Fives and Jesse were immediately distracted by the complimentary drinks and snacks that were making their way around the room on server’s trays, while Echo and Kix started to walk around and look at what was hanging on the walls. 

Nearly every wall was lined with art, and every piece was nothing short of breathtaking. They could recognize beautiful landscapes from planets like Felucia, Naboo, and Alderaan, the tall city-scape of the Coruscant skyline, and even portraits of different animals. Some were easily recognizable, like the one of a tooka napping next to a lake, and other were things none of them had ever seen before, like the painting of what looked like a small red lizard-bug that lived among bright plants underwater. 

“Wow,” Echo said. “This place is amazing.” 

At this point Fives and Jesse had returned to the group, and they nodded in agreement. “I can see why the Captain wanted to take his date here.” 

“I’m glad you like them,” a new voice entered the conversation, and all four troopers turned to see you standing there in a simple black dress, a bright smile on your face. “It’s always nice to hear people compliment my art.” 

“YOU did all this?” Fives’ eyes were as wide as saucers, and you stifled a laugh at his expression. 

“I did,” you said. “This is my gallery, and for tonight only, every piece on display is mine.” 

“That’s amazing,” Jesse said, still a little bit in awe. 

The bashful smile on your face proved that you were taking their compliments seriously, and right as you were about to say something in response, a familiar voice entered the conversation. “There you are! I was looking everywher-” 

Rex’s voice trailed off as he realized that four of the troopers under his command were standing in front of him. “Hi Captain! Funny seeing you here,” Fives said, a knowing smile on his face. 

Rex looked like he was desperately trying to hold back a sigh. “What are you all doing here?” he asked tiredly. “Did you follow me?” 

“Maybe.” 

“He means yes,” Echo said. 

“But we didn’t want to bother you, I promise!” Jesse said. “We just wanted to spy on you and your new civvie girlfriend.” 

Rex opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as you began to laugh loudly. “So I’m guessing you’re part of the 501st then?” 

Fives nodded. “How did you-” 

“Wait!” Jesse cut him off. “Are YOU the captain’s girlfriend?” 

“We’re not exactly official yet, but I’d like to think so,” you responded. 

Jesse turned his attention back to Rex, eyebrows raised. “And why haven’t you officially asked her out yet?” 

“I was going to this evening, if you di’kuts hadn’t crashed the event,” Rex retorted playfully. 

You just laughed at the exchange, and Echo knew that he had to step in. Gently herding his brothers away from you and the Rex, he apologized for intruding on the evening and walked over to stare at the painting of the red underwater lizard-bug again. 

For the rest of the night, every time he snuck little glances back at you and Rex, the two of you had lovestruck looks on your faces. And judging from the time that he looked over to see you kissing, he guessed that Rex had actually worked up the courage to make things official. 

- the end -

[justplainwhump]

Marta

Adrian takes Blanca/Bea to see an old confidante.

[pet safety masterpost]

Content: BBU (mostly discussed via pet lib shenanigans), part of a recovery arc. A lot of family background on Adrian, but like, kind of loving.

The gallery was in one of the side streets, tucked between a shawarma place and a high end dental clinic. Laurel Crane, Art Gallery & Classes, it said in the window, and underneath the name hung the poster of a past exhibition. It wasn't a particularly popular place, it wasn't a particularly shady one either.

While Laurel Crane didn't exist, the art classes were real, so was the art, and it was quite a stretch for anyone to assume this was the main hub of the city's pet lib movement.

Even more so when looking at the gallerist, a slender woman with long dark locks pulled into a loose braid. She wore a simple-but-stylish sleeveless black dress, her muscular arms underneath littered with specks of paint on top of dark bruises.

"A-", she called out, but let the syllable hang between them in the moment her gaze fell on Bea.

"She knows my name," Adrian said with a half apologetic smile and folded his arms. "She knows a lot about me."

"Oh?" Marta raised a brow, perfectly covering up the frown he knew was hiding underneath. "Looks a little like you, too. Nice shirt."

Adrian grimaced.

"Thank you." Bea smiled, and it stung, how real it felt. There was no reason for her to trust Marta, she knew nothing about her at all, she'd lived her entire conscious life in a surroundings where everyone was ready to hurt her, and yet she easily called up a radiant, heartwarming smile at a stranger. "You look beautiful, too."

"That's not what I said," Marta replied softly. "I didn't compliment your beauty. I like your choice of clothes. I'm Marta."

"I'm..." Bea glanced over at Adrian, asking for permission, and he nodded. "Bea."

Marta pointedly looked at the shape of Beatrix Kiddo on Bea's yellow T-shirt and then at him. "Boys will be boys, Adrian, huh?"

"Coincidence," Adrian said stiffly. Of course she commented on it. She was a pet lib leader, a strategist and commander, but some things would never change.

Marta had directed her attention back at Bea. "Hi, Bea. I work with some people who help pets that got away from their owners. I'll help Adrian to find a place for you at-"

"She's not free."

Marta's attention snapped to him, eyes narrowed, searching his face, and finding a reply way to easily. She sighed deeply. "Oh, little one, no."

"Yeah." Adrian averted his gaze. "Things didn't work as planned. I bought her."

"You can still free her."

"You know I can't."

Marta closed her eyes for some seconds, before she nodded. "Yeah. No. You can't."

She exhaled deeply. "Hey, Bea? I would like to talk to Adrian alone for a moment. Are you okay, looking at the paintings here, while we step into the office?"

Bea looked at him nervously, before Marta pointed at a glass wall with a neat little desk behind. "It's just over there. We'll leave the blinds open so you can see him at all times."

"Okay." Bea bit her lip. "I... It's... it's not his fault, Madam Marta. He helped me. I, ... please don't send me away."

"Oh, Bea, sweetie," Marta said, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. He's not in trouble."

-

"You're in trouble," Marta said, once the door fell close behind them. "And it's not just because you gave my heartfelt gift to someone else."

"I know," Adrian replied and let himself sink into her office chair. "That's why I came here."

Marta reached a water carafe and filled two glasses, pushing one over to him. "It's been a while since you last came to me about advice dealing with cute girls."

Adrian grinned sheepishly. "Or cute boys."

Her face darkened, before she shook her head. "Still think I messed that one up though. Anyway. Let's talk about Bea." She jugged her chin into Bea's direction. "How did Jack Donnell's Chewtoy end up in my T-shirt and your possession?"

"Ray told you?"

"Not all of it, it seems."

"Izzy is out. Tried to run the job across her, declare Bea dead. But WRU is getting more careful with access to their systems."

Marta ran a hand through her hair. "So you bought her?"

Adrian pressed his lips together and nodded shortly. "You know what the alternative was."

"I know what the consequence of this choice is, too. Given that for all I know you've gotten yourself another complaint. We need you at your best at WRU, considered completely loyal. Trusted."

"I couldn't let her die."

"I know." The smile that tugged at Marta's lips was melancholic, almost sad. Marta smiled, and it looked almost melancholic. "I've always known you're not cut out for the job."

"But I'm the one who volunteered for it."

"And nobody else did sacrifice as much as you." She sighed. "Point is, you're too good for WRU. Too good for us, too."

"Whatever you or Ray say, Matti, I won't give her up."

She nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Ray will want you to."

"And you?"

"I like her shirt." Marta bit her lip. "You've sacrificed enough, Adri. As your leader, of course Ray is right. As your big sister, I want you to get out of this. Take Bea, get her to Canada, be..." She shrugged. "Whatever. A bus driver, as you've always wanted."

"When we were like, five." Adrian smirked. "I hate traffic. I'd make a horrible bus driver."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're implying what, now? You want to go on?"

"My boss thinks I bought Bea as a career move. If I don't mess up, I think she'll recommend me for a promotion soon."

Marta frowned. "Management level access?"

"Yeah."

She leaned back. "Fuck. We can't let that chance pass."

"I want to do it. I don't want to run." He searched for her gaze. "And I won't give up Bea either."

"She's not Eric, you know that, right?"

Adrian's jaw clenched. "Not everything I do is about Eric."

"Bullshit. Everything you do is about Eric." She grimaced. "Everything I do is about Eric, too."

"I can save her."

"Can you?" Marta folded her arms. "You want to work on deconditioning her under the eyes of your hyper-aware colleagues at WRU who know exactly what that looks like, while spying on them and their clients at the same time?"

He followed her gaze, looking at Bea walking through the exhibition room. They both stayed silent for a while, until Adrian shrugged. "I do."

"Even if you think you're capable of that. Is she? She'll need to keep your secrets. Your life depends on it, then. And by proxy, many more."

"Her life depends on me keeping her safe." Adrian kept his voice even, his gaze on Bea standing in front of one of the paintings. "She trusts me with it. And I trust her." He glanced back at Marta. "I didn't just give away your shirt. I also used your recipe for cheese sauce. First meal she picked. She loved it."

"Appropriate. It's very good. Very comforty, too." She considered him with a frown. "That going to be some sort of emotional manipulation? You do you, little brother. I've got your back. Always."

"It's only twenty-one minutes," Adrian replied, like he'd done his entire life.

Her reply was new, though. "How many minutes did it take for you to fall in love with her?"

"I- I didn't..." Adrian looked at Bea, then back at Marta.

She grinned. "Few minutes can make a big difference. That's all I'm saying." She reached out to ruffle his hair, but her hand froze midair and she hissed sharply.

Alarmed, Adrian looked at her, the bruises on her left arm, the way she held herself. More stiff than usual. Weight shifted to the right side. Broken rib, he thought. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? "You're injured. What happened?"

She smirked and lowered her hand again. "Officially? Fell off a rock while bouldering."

"And the unofficial one?"

"Rerouted a WRU shipping truck." Marta looked up at him with a half grin. "Your colleagues didn't go down without a fight."

"But they did go down?"

"They did." She grimaced. "Permanently. Should've seen their obituaries in your company mail."

"Security are external contractors. Company won't write obituaries for them." Adrian bit his lip. He'd had a chat with one of the delivery teams just recently, talked with them about how to handle the boxes, going over into a chat about working conditions at WRU. Steve, the guy he'd been talking to, had hated his job, just done it to get his daughter through college. By shipping out the sons and daughters of other parents, who'd never see their kids again. Adrian sighed deeply, pushed back all the sympathy he felt for Steve. "And the pets?"

"Think they're with their owners. Happy, as far as the definition goes. We got six out, this time."

Six. Six lives, turned to the better, thanks to Marta's relentless fight. He whistled. "That's impressive, sis. Congratulations."

"We used your intel," Marta replied. "You're aware of that, right? I didn't bring you in on it before, but that success? It's on you. We know how they plan their routes, how they staff them, how they guard them, even how they stack these fucking boxes, thanks to you. You might not see your own successes, but this one, out of many."

Adrian's gaze shifted back at Bea. "I want her to be happy, too," he said. It felt like a confession.

"I know," Marta said. "And I've run enough deconditionings over the years to know the two of you will make it. She seems like a nice girl."

"You've said that about every girl I ever liked."

Marta shrugged. "Could mean I'm lying. Could also mean you're doing something pretty right."

"You'll help me?"

She pulled him into a one-armed hug, wheezing for a moment when he slung his arms back around her. "Always, little brother."

---

-

pet safety tag list (ask to be added or removed): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue

[arengnera]

The Flesh Dress

All of the fabric for this was reclaimed from curtains, scraps, tights, discarded tule from a local highschool prom that I snatched up like a horrible little vulture. The boning in the bodice was done with huge zip-ties but I’m not convinced getting real sewable boning wouldn’t have been worth it. The channels on the reinforcement were a bit of a bitch. The swords I also forged myself, but this ain’t about them. A lot of (mostly fake) blood, sweat and tears went into this one and I’m super pleased with the results. Huge shout out to @spoonbendersanonymous​ who was kind enough to lend me the fake blood, their anatomical text book, and had me sit down to watch Bride of Reanimator for inspiration.

Process photos and bonus photoshoot pictures below the cut!

Original sketches! A lot of me trying to figure out how to make boning look like bones while maintaining a classic shape. I said edwardian on the sketch but it honestly might be Victorian I'm really not sure. This was a combined art project for one of my classes, the idea was using old fashioned mourning traditions and clothes in a modern and campy way, to complain about how much capitalism erodes our time to mourn. At least that’s what I told the professor, It’s really about making a weird and off putting dress first and foremost.

Tape pattern and paper pattern! This was my first time doing this so don't take thus as any sort of guide.

It worked though, as shown by the world’s worst corset fitting - the pink thing on my arm was where I was planning on putting the upper sleeve, I was trying to see if my poof was good since my sleeves were a lot thinner and a lot longer than what would have been optimal for the amount of poof I wanted, I had to do some work around with the fabric I had

Now I’m just bragging about getting eyelets to look clean and good for once in my life. If I was going to do anything different about this though, I would ad more eases in the back, because I need to contort horribly to get out of the bodice, I fit it too well

This bad boy was really the crux of the whole project. The entire thing was a pun so I could applique an anatomically accurate heart on a sheer sleeve.

This was was it’s intermediary stage, where I was suddenly very much out of time for the first deadline and had to put off adding all of the gore I wanted to, so the simple applique heart had to do. The skirt itself was way less poofy than I would have liked, and didn’t quite give the silhouette I wanted. I ended up going with the train because the under skirt isn’t actually connected in the back. Thus is the nature of working with weird panels of curtains you’ve already cut into for a few other projects. God bless the thrift store curtain section.

The guts were made by sewing together sheer tights, and filling them with polyfill. Here they are, before they were stippled with liquid flesh colored latex and soaked in fabric paint - and after where you can see all that extra TEXTURE

I was able to use it for another project though, and I was very happy with the beading work here, although I did end up losing my biggest strand at some point.

Here’s my makeup test! I played around with doing some blood red lips but decided the blueish corpse look was better. Fun fact! I drove home wearing a sweatshirt that says “I heart corpse desecration” on it through the snow storm, and pulled over to offer some guy a hand with his car, forgetting I still looked like this. He turned me down.

The face of someone who can definitely be trusted for road side assistance. - Also I was posing as the two of swords tarot illustration for the final gallery exhibit.

[charlywrites]

Requested by @messtar

Request; Hii, can you write something about Lewis falling in love with a artist, i have seen he really interested in art lately, and I think is so cute, love you and thanks

Warnings; none.

Note; just Lewis being a big softie and my heart went woosh <3

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

Art had always been important in your life, you started as a young child by drawing wherever you could, you loved how free it made you feel, you could create whatever you wished.

This passion carried on throughout your teenage years, that’s when you realized art wasn’t a simple hobby to you- it was the career you wanted, you were convinced it was your destiny.

It didn’t work out immediately though, it took years for you to get known for your art, but it was only recently that you got noticed to the point that you were now having your first art exhibit in an art gallery in New York.

Your career truly skyrocketed when your art- and you, got noticed by the one and only Lewis Hamilton. Him sharing your art on Twitter and Instagram made you achieve a whole new level of fame on social medias and while all you wanted was to share your art and made a living out of it, you’d always be thankful for what Lewis did.

You two never met yet, but got to chat a bit on social medias and got to know each other a little even if what you mostly talked about was art and sometimes F1. It had been weeks since Lewis found out about your art yet it still felt as surreal as the first day.

Your pieces were shown in the art gallery for three days and to say the least, those three days had been exhausting but wholesome- you had gotten to meet many people and heard a lot of compliments that went straight to your heart.

No matter how tired you were on the last day, you were already getting nostalgic as it would soon be the closure. However, there was one more surprise for you- when you saw Lewis wander through the different art pieces you had made, it hadn’t mentioned coming as you imagined he had a busy schedule yet here he was admiring your work.

Seeing Lewis in the art gallery made you somewhat feel like a kid excited on christmas’ morning- walking to him, you thanked him for coming by with the biggest smile on your face, “ I didn’t know you’d come by, you should have told me!”

“ And ruin the surprise?” laughed Lewis as he hugged you as if you had known each other for years, you couldn’t lie and not say that you felt butterflies in your stomach, “ I wanted to come for the opening day but my schedule didn’t allow me to.”

“ That’s totally fine, I’m so happy you could come- after all I’m not sure this would have happened without you.”

“ Don’t say that, you’re here, exposing your art because of your talent, not because of me.”

No matter how many compliments you heard these past three days, none could make you as happy as Lewis’ words, “ thank you so much Lewis, for everything.”

“ No need to thank me, you deserve it. Now come on, show me everything, tell me which piece you like the most, the one that took you the longest and all that.”

And that’s exactly what you did until the art gallery had to close for the night, you showed him your favorite piece you had done, the one that took you the longest, the one that had the most meaning to you- you explained everything and Lewis seemed to enjoy your art as much as your explanations.

Once you were outside of the art gallery where you had spent most of your last three days, all you had left to do was head back to your hotel for the night and get back home in the morning but Lewis seemed to have another plan in mind, “ do you have any plan for tonight?”

“ Not really, I’ll probably order some food and catch up on a show- why?”

“ Can I take you out to eat? Only as friends if you prefer- but if you’re too tired I can understand.”

“ Only as friends if I prefer?”

Now, seeing the one and only Lewis Hamilton being all embarrassed and shy in front of you wasn’t something you’d expected to see one day, “ well, it can be as more but it can also be just as friends.”

“ Are you trying to ask me out on a date?”

“ Kind of? Like, I feel like we really connected the first time we talked and meeting you today really confirmed it.”

“ I felt the same way but thought I was just imagining things to be honest with you.”

“ Does that mean you want to go on a date with me?”

“ I’d love to but on another day if you’re okay with it? As you guessed I’m really tired- maybe you can walk me to my hotel and stay to eat something with me?”

“ That sounds amazing!”

As you suggested, Lewis walked you back to your hotel which wasn’t too far from the art gallery and honestly, with Lewis’ arm wrapped around your shoulders and him entertaining you, you got to your hotel quicker than you even expected.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

After that night, instead of taking your flight back home, you extended your stay in New York to spend more time with Lewis and even got to go on a date like he had suggested that evening- let’s be honest, it was the best date you ever had, you spent most of the time smiling and laughing.

Since Lewis had to head to Miami for the Grand Prix, he invited you to come with him, so you could experience this brand new Grand Prix and support him and his team as a whole. You didn’t have to think much before agreeing, you were enjoying being around him too much and the idea of leaving to go back to your city and home saddened you.

The first thing you did on Friday while Lewis was busy with the press was to go buy his and Mercedes’ merch to truly support him- and it was a bonus that the merch looked cool.

You also felt like it was a cute surprise you could do to Lewis as he wasn’t going to be able to see you until right before heading for the race. Maybe it was going to bring him luck for the races this week-end, at least that’s what you were hoping for.

The look on Lewis’ face when he saw you with the merch you bought earlier today was priceless- the way his eyes were shining and how he gave you his brightest smile meant so much to you.

Pulling him into a hug, you wished him good luck for the first free practice of the day and told him to stay safe.

It seemed like your presence and support might have been what Mercedes needed to start having encouraging results this season. While the first free practice ended with George finishing second and Lewis eighth, the second practice ended with George finishing first and Lewis fourth.

You were aware that free practices didn’t mean anything as it didn’t count at the end of the week-end but you knew they needed those results to keep pushing for more.

Leaving the paddock as soon as the second practice finished, you headed to Mercedes’ garage and waited outside, excited and impatient to congratulate Lewis- you didn’t dare to get inside the garage unsure if you were allowed to or not.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long until Lewis got out of the garage, most likely planning on going to the paddock to find you, but obviously he didn’t have to since you were already there waiting.

Smiling ear to ear, you jumped in his arms to hug him and tell him how happy and proud you were- it’s only when you shared an eye contact that you crashed your lips against his.

[nightmaretist]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Muertarte SUMMARY: Inge and Metzli toast on their collaboration moments before the opening of Inge's exhibition at MuertArte. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Meeting Inge had been long overdue. Ever since they perused through the online portfolio she had, Metzli knew they needed her work in their gallery. Pixels hid so much, but they did not hide her obvious talent. Even in their absence, with Rachel taking over, Metzli took great pride at the fact that they were able to convince the artist to visit. Maybe they didn’t give her the final push to convince her and add her to the rotation, but having a hand at all was enough for them to have some sort of pride. All credit to Rachel, of course, though.

“Hello, Inge.” They rounded the corner, inhaling the hints of paint still clinging to her scent. She was tiny in comparison, but they had no doubt she would be mighty and exude more confidence than a twelve foot man. It was a silly concept in theory, but they’d read it on some forum, and figured using exaggerations might make them a bit more appealing. Even if it was just in their head. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner. I had to be away.” Metzli bowed their head respectfully, raising it back up to lock their eyes onto her shoulder. They were getting better, they thought. Usually, their instinct was to go for the ceiling.

“We have coordinated your exhibition and all works you have given are now on display. Will you like to take very first look?” Gesturing to a table, Metzli pointed to some flutes and bottles of champagne. “You can also celebrate if you will like. This is your big day.”

Though all instinct demanded she leave, she remained. Inge considered this to be the cause of it all: this exhibition she had been working for and towards for a few months, showing Metzli’s employees what works she had in storage, what works she was expecting to finish before opening date. Rachel and her had poured over her catalog, which went back further than she would ever be able to logically explain. Metzli had been an absent ghost. Inge figured that they were a troubled person, or perhaps more busy than a local-gallery-owner typically was.

At last, though, they were there. Inge was considering her little darlings, the endless birds she had crafted and glazed, having formed a flock of statues. Gleaming eyes, dead eyes, sharp talons and ones that were missing. One of her fingers was underneath a beak, as if she was petting the little thing, “Hello Metzli.” She shrugged away their apology. “We all have obligations. Rachel was more than accommodating.” 

She had seen the plans of course, the drawn up maps she’d given approval on — but she’d not yet ventured deeper into the exhibition, past her birds. “I’ll take a flute for on the go, and then we can take a look.” Inge didn’t ask before taking a bottle and popping it over, skillfully succeeding in not spilling anything before pouring two glasses. “I don’t … mean to be presumptuous.” She held out one of the glasses. Maybe Metzli didn’t drink.  “But we should at least clink to this collaboration!”

“That is good to hear.” They nodded along, looking toward Rachel’s office. “She did very good while I was gone. Give her promotion. Deserved.” Metzli took the flute graciously, nodding again as Inge offered her her glass. She was right. An artist’s debut exhibition in a gallery was worth celebrating. Metzli, by no means, drank often, but thanks to their undead status, it hardly mattered. It took copious amounts of alcohol to affect them. 

“Congratulations, Inge.” Metzli tapped their glass against Inge’s, sipping and wincing at the sensation of the pointy liquid hitting their tongue. It wasn’t too awful, they supposed, but they much preferred their usual; blood. Shrugging mentally, Metzli gestured to the hall, trying their best to scrape the spiky sensation off their tongue as they moved. 

“I know you see designs for the custom frames, but I think they come out better than expected.” They stopped, “Ornate features are preferred with your style, but sometimes this is too distracting, so using stained poplar wood, briar smoke, and walnut became my choices. Dark. So intricate work will blend easily and leave focus where it should be.” Metzli smiled subtly, almost spiraling into a deeper dive about what they did, but they stopped themself and sipped the spiky liquid instead. “I hope these are good standard for you.”

Part of her was immensely curious to know why Metzli had disappeared, but she wasn’t one to pry. At least, not with people like the other, who she wanted to have a mutually beneficial business relationship with. “She seems like a good one. Best to keep her on.” Inge took a sip from her glass, giving a sound of approval at the taste. Some art galleries tended to serve horrible champagne, but it seemed Metzli’s wasn’t among them. 

Her lips spread and she nodded her head, ready to thank the other but changing her mind at the last second. “Appreciated,” she said, glancing around the gallery. She wondered about the clientele that came here, if it was mostly locals or some others. Inge tried not to undermine the place, but it was hard not to — it wasn’t like some of the places in larger cities she’d had her work exhibited. Still, this town proved to be more exciting than one might expect at first glance, so perhaps the same could be said for MuertArte.

And Metzli seemed more than good at their work. Her paintings, which were often her least favorite part of her oeuvre, looked stunning in the frames the other had designed. “They’re marvelous, Metzli. They did come out better than expected. So yes, a good standard. I think we can both agree that this entire collaboration is proving fruitful, no?”

“Yes, that is the plan.” They replied dryly, arching a brow at the sound Inge made. It was one of surprised pleasure as she sipped on her expensive champagne. Metzli supposed they should give her details about what she was drinking if she liked it so much, especially if she wanted to purchase it herself. “Goût de Diamants.” They pointed at the glass with a jut of their chin, their only hand otherwise occupied with a glass of their own. “This is bottle only for you. I have one extra if you want to take it home. The rest are Dom Pérignon. It is good to see enjoyment on your face.”

Metzli closed their eyes proudly, bowing their head for what seemed like the hundredth time. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. As far as artist’s go, Inge had been a change of pace to work with. Confidence and pride in her work, requesting well within reason. Which was odd, at least to Metzli. Most artists wanted the most elaborate exhibits with parameters that the gallery could execute in theory, but didn’t make sense for such a beginner. And by no means did Inge seem to be so green. Her confidence appeared to be far more earned than most, though that was just from a short glance by Metzli and what they’d heard from Rachel.

“Fruitful?” There was no fruit, but context gave the vampire enough understanding to nod enthusiastically. Frutífera. That had to be it. “Yes, fruitful. With limited time exhibit and well-known critics coming, people will demand for more. Have very much doubts that you will have much to take back. Me and Rachel think you will sell very well here.” Taking a sip, Metzli cleared their throat, whisking away the pointy liquid. It was getting a tad bit easier to enjoy. “Will you have any friends visiting? If you give names, I will let them in free.”

Metzli had a way of speaking and communicating that dazzled Inge, albeit in a good way. Straightforward, matter-of-fact and blunt, with no beating around the bush. It was opposite of how she conversed, as she spoke with embellishments and half-truths, dancing around her intentions with extra words. But she liked straight-forward people, most of the time. “It’s good. It’s hard to get wines right — I mean, there’s not much to get wrong, but to get it right … that is a challenge sometimes.”

The idea of selling her art was always a strange one. She wanted money, relished in the security of having a lot of it – especially because there had been plenty of times where she’d had none – but she didn’t make her works to sell them. Still, to know her work was thought good enough to be bought and put up in a stranger’s home was a compliment, and one she took without much complaint. Inge smiled a little, “I don’t doubt it. If you’d want to add anything to your more permanent collection after this, do let me know.”

Her last exhibit had been in New York, which felt like a world apart from this strange, small town. Inge preferred cities, but there was something about Wicked’s Rest, and because of that she was glad to have an exhibit here, too. “I’ll forward you a small list of people you can put on the guest list. I have a few that I’d like to get in for free, yes — but some of the others can pay.” She smirked, giving Metzli a look. “I’m excited to see the public’s response.”

Continuing through the exhibit, Metzli led the pair toward a sculpture they were particularly fond of, nodding along to Inge. They raised a finger, placing their glass down and retrieving their cellphone to send a quick text to Rachel to let her know there would be a list of guests for Inge. She replied instantly with a simple thumbs up emoji, to which Metzli shook their head. They sighed, pocketing their device, “It is strange that people respond with these emojis.” It was efficient, sure. Rachel let Metzli know in a single symbol that she would await for the list, but still. They wanted clear words, not a random collection of colorful pixels that didn’t even match her skin tone. 

“Rachel will be waiting for list.” They nodded, regarding the sculpture they wanted to discuss. The most beautiful one that Metzli had had the honor to lay eyes on. They had been adamant that they needed to be the one that prepped it, knowing their plans to purchase it as a permanent addition to MuertArte’s collection. Eyes gleamed and stared reverently, a stark contrast to the rest of their stoic visage. “Want to discuss this beautiful piece.” The delicacy of it was profound, strength found in the expertise of Inge’s ability to mix. It combined creativity and anatomy, science and art meeting to bring the audience a masterful take on their own autonomy. Metzli needed it. Craved it. Thirsted for the visual flow and sense of movement throughout.

“Wish to purchase for the gallery. It is favorite. Will give you ten-thousand for it.”

As Metzli commented on the use of emojis, Inge thought they sounded rather old. It was a notion she shared, in some sense — she did think that words conveyed more than any tiny pictures ever could. But Inge was old, in a way. “I agree. Some of them are cute and can be a nice addition to a message, but the message itself? Needs to be written.” Rachel had been an emoji enthusiast, even she had picked up on that in their short time of knowing each other. It seemed that was who Metzli had contacted. “I’ll send it to her shortly, then.” 

She looked at Metzli as they looked at her work. She didn’t create to get praise or applause, but she did create to get a reaction. Something like fear, preferably — but anything would do. To bore those who witnessed her art could undo her, she was sure of it. Metzli was a worthy witness and Inge was glad to see their face change as they looked at the immobilized version of a bird.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Selling ones art was strange, Inge found. She was glad it was a source of income, especially as she remembered not making anything from her art — but still, to put a price on a piece of work seemed strangely perverse. It helped that she liked money, needed it. Her annoyance with how art had been commodified, turned into a product even, only went so far. “And I would like to sell, yes.” It was very forward of the other to already name their price. She looked at them. “Fifteen.”

When Inge gave her counteroffer, it gave Metzli pause. Not because they were offended, or because they were upset. In fact, they were impressed that Inge knew her worth, and they offered her a smile, a real one, in return, accompanied by a nod. “For that, I will add another three-thousand. Artists like you that push worth are my favorite.” And selfishly, Metzli really wanted to keep the piece for display while also ensuring Inge got her share, what she was owed for her talent and effort. It was still a strange concept, them being able to have a business, let alone being able to afford such high prices. But that was how things were. It wasn’t the trading and bartering they once knew.

“The world runs on money now. Well,” They juggled their head side to side, pondering for a few beats. “There was trading and money, but now money is everything.” Shaking their head, Metzli tutted with disapproval, waving for Inge to follow them back to their office as they continued to speak. “In return for having the honor of displaying your work, I will make check for eighteen-thousand, then maybe we can discuss a permanent collection as well?” Their intonation peaked at a higher pitch than normal, making the question even more noticeable.

“Without people like you, art will be lost and I want to make sure this is not something that happens. If money can do this, then there will be…” Brows pinched together as Metzli searched their brain for the English word they needed. Upon finding it, their face relaxed. “…adapting.” They reached the office and found themself seated at their desk, gesturing for Inge to take a seat, too. “I must give my gratitude to you, Inge.” 

Drawers slid open, wood and metal’s smooth friction a satisfying roll. Metzli pulled out their logbook and checks, closing everything softly before regarding Inge once more. “It has been many years since an artist has given me motivation to create. Your mind is beautiful and I have much hope that you and your people have a good time at this exhibition.” To give Inge a moment, Metzli began scribbling all the information needed for the artist’s payment, happy to have found a visionary among the sea of bleak and untalented artists. 

She liked Metzli. That was definitive now, and not just because they were giving her money. Sure, that helped, but it was rather the way Metzli responded to her asking for more money that made her lips spread into a smile. “I think that means we have a deal.” Quick and to the point, which seemed to be how the other approached most things in life. Inge liked them for that, too, even if it was quite different from how she tended to approach things.

They did have a strange way of speaking at times, but she didn’t find herself overthinking it too deeply. Inge nodded, “It does, yes. It’s silly sometimes, to tack a price tag onto art. To measure it by something as … mundane and dividing as money. But alas, there’s rent to pay! Materials to buy.” She followed the other, taking another sip from her glass and looking at her piece over her shoulder. It was impossible to lug around with her, when she was to inevitably part from Wicked’s Rest and this was a worthy place for it. “That all sounds good to me.”

Metzli’s praise was like wood to a fire, making Inge’s ego swell and burn brighter. The value of art was lost on plenty of people, especially in today’s day and age. “Ah, tell me about it. I worry about the place of art in the future, you know? These rapidly evolving technologies, they’re …” She pulled a face. “Not only hard to keep up with, but a threat! More funds should go to the art — not just privately, though I appreciate it, deeply, but also publicly.” A bit political, but it was true. 

Her face brightened a little. “Oh, well — I’m honored. I think your work is astounding, you know, so to inspire you …” Inge shrugged. “It’s a nice side effect of our collaboration. I would love to see what it is you end up working on, will you share it with me when it is done?”

The scribbling came to a halt so that their eyes could take a moment to truly digest what Inge was saying. Speaking of technology the way she did made her sound older than she looked. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, that was usually an indication of something else. “Inge…?” Metzli began, on the brink of a question, but stopped short when their phone began to vibrate. They ceased the buzzing immediately with a press of a button, suddenly remembering what the rest of the day’s plans were. 

Their entire body bristled at the thought of Chuy, and they swallowed thickly as they centered themself with the final details of Inge’s check. What were they going to ask? Brows furrowed and eyes blinked rapidly as Metzli attempted to remember, but their mind was clouded with the fog of stress and anxiety. “Apologies. Do not remember what I was going to ask.” They took a shallow breath, putting the pen down with a bit of finality before tearing out the check to hand to Inge. Ants were already beginning to crawl down their fingers, the intensity of their march growing more and more uncomfortable. As much as they were enjoying Inge’s company, they knew their time had come to an end, and they needed to excuse themself.

“If you have wish to explore, you can do so. I have one more meeting to prepare for before the opening and then we can celebrate you with all guests here.” Metzli offered Inge a robotic smile as they shook her hand, somehow managing to exude friendliness and warmth in their attempt at being a person. It was crooked and all their own, even if it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “Please let Rachel know if you need anything. I am looking forward to your event. It is…” Their smile turned brighter as they huffed a brief puff of laughter through their nose at the reality of it all. Freedom was beautiful and it was amazing what a person could do with it. “Happiness. It is happiness.”

[wernerherzogs]

hi kasia! I know you’re very busy with the apartment remodeling (I hope that’s going well!! Or not awful at least) but I was wondering if you had any recommendations for places to visit in Poland? I’m visiting one of my friends in Krakow but I’ll have a few extra days to myself so I wanted to see if you had any recs :) thank you!

hi anon! i hope this isn't too late 🏃🏻‍♂️🙈 i apologise for not having had the time to respond earlier!!! unfortch i AM very busy these days ):

but ANYWAY. if it's just a few days, i'd recommend sticking to Kraków or taking a train ride to either the mountains (Zakopane, for example, which is super touristsy, but probably also the easiest to navigate as a foreigner) or Warsaw. keep in mind though (bc idk when you'll be here) that October 31 and November the 1st and then November the 11th are public holidays in Poland (the first two religious, and the latter is Independence Day, def avoid Warsaw around then) and the trains and roads will be super crowded.

i'm only going to stick to Kraków i apologise but i'm sure your friend is gonna help out a lot with recs as well! and Warsaw most certainly has a great web presence for touristsy spots, but if you need me to at list some bigger museums or etc. at least, let me know. LASTLY, i'm about to copy paste recs i gave to another mutual a few months back, so - Steph, if you're seeing this, i hope you don't mind! 🩷

first things first, jakdojade.pl (either the app version, or just www.jakdojade.pl opened via the browser app) is a super handy website that shows you how to get from point A to point B, which buses/tram lines to take, etc. there are some major road renovations taking place right now around the Most Dębnicki area (near the Wawel castle), so please keep that in mind! not sure about the tram lines around the Main Train Station as well. 🤔 i think there were plans to renovate the Lubicz line, but i don't remember when. :(

Kraków is great for sightseeing, because it's quite densely built, so you can see a lot of landmarks just by walking around on foot in the Old City area! the Old City is situated like 7 mins from the main train station. in the Main Square area, the Mariacki church with an altar of a famous polish artist Wit Stwosz is definitely worth seeing, as well as Sukiennice (the building right in the center of the Square) with its underground museum.

near the Main Square, there's a gallery of modern art called Bunkier Sztuki, address: Rynek Główny (Main Square) 20, 31-008 Kraków. i haven't been there in a few years so i'm actually not sure what the current exhibits in there are and if they're worth seeing, but hopefully they are!

there's Muzeum Książąt Czartoryskich on św. Jana street 19, 31-017 Kraków which used to host Da Vinci's The Lady with an Ermine, but i think it's currently on loan for some museum in Warsaw? it was actually transferred to the National Museum of/in Kraków earlier this year, but google is being confusing, so i'm not sure if it's currently there or in warsaw 🤔 the National Museum is another place you might potentially want to visit: Muzeum Narodowe w Krakowie, al. 3 Maja 1 street.

there's obviously the Wawel Castle, the historic residence of Polish kings, as Kraków used to be Poland's capital before Warsaw. i haven't been inside in years, but it's probably still worth it! and even if you don't wanna/decide to go inside, you might want to just stroll around the castle grounds. Wawel is right in the city centre as well, so it's another one of those Kraków's staples you can go to by foot!

around the Main Square, there are several "famous" streets with quirky cafes and shops you can visit. and even if you don't go inside, you can just stroll down those streets to get a feel of the city. for example the Floriańska street, Grodzka street, saint Jan or saint Tomasz streets, the Bracka street. no matter which one of these you decide to take from the Main Square, you'll be getting that Kraków experience :)

then there's the historic Jewish district of Kraków called Kazimierz. on one hand, packed with difficult history, on the other, it's become the most hip part of the city! again, loads of famous cafes, pubs, and shops are situated there, some festivals take place there, and so on. you can just stroll around the district, and then visit the Mocak gallery of contemporary art, for example! https://en.mocak.pl/ , address 4 Lipowa St 30-702 Kraków.

just like with Bunkier Sztuki, i haven't seen the current exhibits there, so idk if they're any good, but i personally like Mocak, and you might like it as well! it's at the edge of the Kazimierz district, and the Kazimierz district is right next to the Old City district. you can go from Old City to Kazimierz on foot or take a few quick tram stops.

https://duze-podroze.pl/krakow-kazimierz/

this site is in Polish, but you can take a look at the bolded names and pics - it's a handy guide re: what to look for when you're strolling around in Kazimierz. there are jewish cemeteries, synagogues, the Boże Ciało church, the Wolnica square with Muzeum Etnograficzne (etnographic museum) on it... (https://etnomuzeum.eu/ , the site has an english version that i can't link to directly for some reason). loads of places to see even if you want to just look at them from an outside, you know?

some other places potentially worth checking out: Jagiellonian University's botanical gardens, address Mikołaja Kopernika 27, 31-501 Kraków.

then there are three locations of the Museum of photography in Kraków BUT i'm gonna come clean and admit i still haven't visited any ajdjd 🏃🏻‍♂️ so idk if they're any good, and also they don't seem to have english versions of their websites? unless my phone is failing me. but street addresses are: Rakowicka 22A, Józefitów 16, Królowej Jadwigi 220.

tl;dr sticking to Kraków is a great idea for a short stay, because you can concentrate on only two districts (Old City/Main Square + Kazimierz), and there'll be PLENTY to see, and you can reach those places by foot or via short tram rides! if you're thinking about taking some trips in the Małopolskie voivodeship where Kraków is situated, there's the historic Wieliczka saltmine which is pretty famous: https://www.wieliczka-saltmine.com/ but you'd need winter clothes for that underground trip. you can reach Wieliczka by regular city buses, which is great.

then there's obviously Oświęcim known as Auschwitz-Birkenau, but that one would be heavy, and it'd take probably at least a half of your day: https://www.auschwitz.org/en/visiting/ as it's further from Kraków than Wieliczka.

please remember that the opening hours tend to be 9 am - 6 pm in most places, sometimes even shorter one day a week (sunday or monday or tuesday, typically), or some of them might be closed one day a week. so always remember to check them beforehand! it's also always worth checking if any place has any dedicated day where they offer a free pass or a discount too, you should find that info on their websites.

some places to eat in you might want to check out, although again, i'm sure your friend will be helping out with these as well: Zapiekanki in okrąglak (legendary, mandatory spot!), Nolio, Hamsa, Akita Ramen, Boccanera ristorante pizzeria, trattoria la campania, ima sushi, Sushi Royal, Viale Verde, Restaurant Martello, Sushi 77, Restauracja Bianka, Chinkalnia Restauracja Gruzinska, Hospudka u Nas

aaand that's all from me, sorry i didn't have the time for more! 🩷 HOPE U ENJOY YOUR STAY!!!!!!!!

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

Mc is a Ghost- Lucifer One Shot

this part has 1161 words and I´m pretty sure this is OOC so really sorry about this and like always I´m happy if you have tips on how I can better my writings also this turned out longer then I thought it would be guess it makes up for the fact that with my other piece (angry Spirit) his was the shortest part and personally I think the ending wasn´t good

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“thank you for coming over mister Lucifer! We are very sorry for the inconvenience but we had some special… troubles recently.” the gallery owner looks around nervously before continuing “and I hate to tell you this but the Portrait that you were planning to buy can´t be sold it would also be more trouble then it could ever be worth it.”

“and what kind of trouble would this Portrait be? You don´t think a little curse could hurt me do you?” I was smiling but I can tell the Demon in front of me is intimidatet “good” I thought

he looked even more nervous then before I didn´t even think it could be possible “O-Of course not!” he looked around almost as to make sure none of the exhibits could here us “But I don´t think we are dealing with a simple curse the damages seem far to random if you ask me not only that but it´s only in the radius of one special Portrait.” he pointed at the one I was planning to buy “so I´m very soory bu-”

I interrupted him “I don´t know who you think I am but as I told you I can handle a simple curse so I don´t get why you keep acting like this.” I pointed at the Portrait I wanted to buy “I can assure you no matter what happens a simple Portrait wouldn´t be able to stop me.”

the Demon looked like he is about to faint “I know mister Lucifer but this isn´t a simple curse this is some-”

I interrupted him and glared at him “and what do you think it could do? I can assure you I know how to handle myself” I glared harder and the Demon looked like he was about to faint “so unless you want me to use force I would recommend giving me my purchase”

the Demon blinked it seems like he was to scared I almost thought I had to make my threat a reality when “of course mister Lucifer I´m very sorry for doubting you! I will have it delivered as soon as possible.”

I smiled but said nothing this seems to make it even worse for the Demon but before he could say anything I already left.

~A couple of days later~

“This is quiet irritating” I said and looked around my study taking in the damages across the entire room it´s not only scratched up but also covered in a black and rotting smelling substance and anything in the vicinity of the Portrait was torn to pieces.

“It seems like the Demon was right it is more then a simple curse.” I said out loud and looked at the Portrait, it was glaring at me this was quiet the change from it´s slight smile from the beginning.

I glared back “I don´t know what kind of curse you are but you will not stay here any longer.”

“and I would recommend you to stop this behavior of yours unless you want to be torn in tiny pieces.” I took a look at it and it´s glare hardened “So did I hit a nerve?” I grinned it should have known not to mess with me

I left my room and just as I closed my door I heard a crash I opened my door again and said “and what are you doing now? Don´t you have anything better to do?” what surprised me though is-

“what are you looking at? Never saw a ghost before?” it was grinning at me and looked quiet smug if you ask me

“I should ask you the same considering all you´re doing is ruining my room.” it glared at me again “I don´t know what you´re on about I haven´t done anything.”

“you are clearly the one who destroyed my room so don´t act innocent.” I looked at it and it clearly looked shocked and then angry “I didn´t do anything!” and just as they screamed this I noticed some of my papers getting torn and some new scratches around it

“It seems like you were saying the truth you can´t control your powers properly.” it wanted to say something again but I was faster “I wonder what you would be capable of if you could control your powers.”

“Would you kindly shut the fuck up!” how dare it insult me- “Don´t glare at me either it´s your fault for buying my Portrait believe me I would rather be somewhere else but I´m stuck with the last pieces of my body which still exist.”

“Last pieces of your body?” it looked at me again and seemed a bit calmer now “Why do you think there is no red or the brown looks so weird?”

“So it´s your blood?” it looked a bit sad at this mention and I wonder if those are still fresh memories “What do you think? And before you ask no I have been dead for a while now.”

“and what happened to you?” it seemed insulted “I don´t know why I should tell you considering I barely know you and those are personal memories.” it looks angry at this

“How can I get rid of you?” I can´t even look because the next thing- “get rid of me!? GET RID OF ME!?” it destroyed my room even further in it´s anger “just for this I should get rid of YOU!”

“did you forget that you are in my house? and I would recommend you to be respectful when talking to me.” this made it just angrier “you brought me in to this house yourself! So you can only blame this one yourself!”

I glared at the ghost it should learn some more respect “Why are you even here? I´m sure your murderer should be long dead.” it stilled for a moment before answering “It´s still alive I don´t know what killed me but it´s still alive and until it´s dead I refuse to leave.”

what a stubborn thing “Would you be able to behave?” it looked suspicious “and why would I do that?”

“if you promise to behave I could allow you to stay here, I could even help you if you help me keep my brothers in line.” it was still glaring at me but not as bad as before “and what should I do, IF I would like to stay?”

I looked at it “How about we introduce yourself first before we talk about this?” it took a moment before answering “My name is… and I already heard you name but I´m sure you would like to introduce yourself.”

I hate to admit but I looked a bit smug at this it seems like they already know about me “My name is Lucifer now let´s get to business.” the rest of our time was spent talking about their new chores and how they should behave.

I smiled a little, I don´t think I will regret this decision.