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sehunniepotwrites · 4 years

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sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre— would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time!

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions.

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks.

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly.

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip.

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later.

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder.

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue.

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary.

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see.

He really was an artistic genius.

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?”

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type.

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it.

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on.

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel.

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you.

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted.

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch.

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major.

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more.

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference.

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered.

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue.

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person.

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?”

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried.

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest.

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave.

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you.

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall.

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees.

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him.

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering?

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings.

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art.

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her.

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.”

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.”

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued.

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away. You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit.

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown.

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe.

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils.

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work.

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.”

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook.

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register.

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose.

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.”

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease.

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down.

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear.

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak.

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone.

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water.

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?”

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.”

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.”

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely.

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?”

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair.

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.”

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was.

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works?

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm.

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued.

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers.

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him.

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body.

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears. It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat.

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t.

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand.

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway.

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s.

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side.

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense.

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that.

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug.

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.”

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her.

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming.

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back.

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile.

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look.

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings.

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking.

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him.

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him.

Putting two and two together, you figured it out.

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.”

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall.

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief.

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,” Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain.

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated.

“I— I don’t know what to say.”

Everything was extremely overwhelming.

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.”

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock.

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you.

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for.

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm.

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him.

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch.

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears.

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies.

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too.

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst.

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again.

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold.

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same.

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath.

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all.

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful.

It was the start of something new.

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk @hyunjins--laugh @littleflowercrown13 @orange-nimon-cross @radiorenjun @ncteaxhoe @chancrispy

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct x reader #nakamoto yuta #yuta #yuta x reader #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta fanfic #yuta fluff #yuta angst

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madfantasy · 4 years

Note

Hi, I hope your day is going well :)

I'm about to experiment digital art for the first time, and I'm a little nervous... do u have any tips (maybe about the art program ecc.)?

And where should I start as a beginner?

Hello dear🌟

Thank you, and congratulations on the new experience and I hope you find it thrilling! I'm not a tech savy or hardly know enough to use the full capacity of what those programs offer. But I can tell you few things about it, specially based on my practice coming from a traditional background.

But first, talking about art software; there's alot. Depending on what device you're using for a start. My main mane is Sai paint tool 2, and Clip Studio Paint, both PC windows solo and both are not free, so I recommend MediaBang. Its the closet professional free software out there I think. Can be used on all systems, windows android and iOS, if I'm not mistaken. So if you got a pc and android phone, you can easily draw on both with a drawing tablet that works on pc and android! (I only tried it recently tho so I can't tell its a smooth working method)

I was going to recommend you FireAlpaca too as it stood as a replacement for Sai for years but now I downloaded to test and it turned out to be another 'simpler'... mediaBang 8l

I think its a very simple nice way to get you started, its not cluttered and you can find labels easily, now I spent some time on it. It has wonder stabiliser, actually the best on any other software I used. I know it can be a help to get your strokes more clean but there will be ways the debate of not over using them so you wouldn't relay too much on them, which I think its valid, but we are dealing with computers here that has to process everything we move in a certain way, and if your normal strokes on it looks much awful on screen than what you normally do on paper, than some stability tweaking is much better than continuing frustration. (But that's just me side tracking)

The easiest steps into making digital art with any app would be:

Finding a favourite Brush. You can almost use one brush throughout the whole drawing process by minding the size and the density of the brush and really keep tweakingit to your liking. But of course, it can be much neater, and easier, to use a brush for each purpose. Using a hard ege brush like ink to draw lines or sharp edges. Using a soft brush to add shade or color or blend, you can use an airbrush. For blending colors, you can always use watercolour brush, smudge, or blur.

Using layers. One of the best things about digital art is the ability to use layers. You can use as many or few as you like. The starter layer can be the sketch, you lower the opacity and add a new layer on top to ink or define the sketch, when you done you can hide the lower layer by clicking the eye icon and you got yourself a squeaky clean mess, heh. You can also using the blending mode with layers. Let's say you want to add light to your painting, you add a new layer and set ilthe blending to "Add". Then choosing light orange color you draw the sun beam or light up few areas as you like. You can experiment with all of the blending modes as each create a different results and helps tie picture together.

Using Filter. It can help you adjust the picture to the desired hue, saturation and contrast. There's all kind of ways to fiddle with these, you can always Google them to have more understanding of what you're doing. If not, do what the rest of us surely do; slide those bars mad till everything looks pretty, hehe

This is just me nitpicking, but I love to erase with my favourite brush instead of using the eraser, cuz then you keep the pictures harmonious with brush strokes even when you erase something it wouldn't stand out too much in the picture and doesn't introduce unwanted contrast within the drawing's lines, if I'm making any sense. Anyway, you can do that simply by clicking on the transparent square near the colors.

The things the software vary the most on is textures and endless ways to editing the pic, and of course, how smooth the program works with brush strokes and editing them and huge files of canvas. But it all will come in time and you can learn about them easily to find what suits you the best by experimenting on them!

Here's links to more random art tips if any could help:

Art-ing attitude +Simple colour theory

Expressions and posing

Blur and blend

I hope this is of help in any way and I haven't confused you more x'

Wish you all the best, and cheering you on🙌🔥

#ask #art tutorial #yes its #lucius malfoy

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oxiosa · 3 years

Note

brarg 25

25. Do you want it on your back or would you like to be on your stomach?

Luciano is not sure what he was thinking when he agreed to this.

Well, that’s actually an understatement; he clearly wasn’t thinking. Spending most of his time surrounded by crazy tattoo artists who use their own bodies as sketchbooks has clouded his judgment. There is otherwise no explanation as to why he has agreed to Martín’s stupid bet.

The wager was simple enough; Argentina and Brazil had a friendly match, which as always didn’t held very friendly spirits among fans at all. If Argentina lost the match, Martín would have to add to his numerous collection a tattoo related to Luciano’s homeland. If Brazil lost, then Luciano would have to get a tattoo related to Martín’s.

Brazil had had a last minute defeat, and now Luciano has to honour his word and get a permanent tattoo related to fucking Argentina of all places. As if Martín’s goading after the match weren’t enough.

Martín had given him a few days to think it over, and last night Luciano had finally showed him the design he had chosen. Martín had made a few adjustments, but had approved of it with a smile and the promise to work on it the very next evening.

Luciano closes the flower shop for the day - Dona Délia has started to entrust him with more and more responsibilities as she slowly lets him take charge of the shop, much to Luciano’s pride. He walks the few steps than separate him from the parlour, and stands in front of its door for a moment. He takes a deep breath and goes inside with the reluctant step of a man about to meet his doom.

Julio spares a quick glance from his phone when the door chimes, lets out a little huff and turns back his attention down once he checks it is only Luciano. His manners are better when it comes to clients, but Luciano is no client so he doesn’t bother to greet him.

“Hi, Lu!” Daniel calls for him, waving from his station.

“Hey, Dani,” Luciano waves back, but his attention is soon claimed by Martín when he all but rushes to him and greets him with a sweet kiss.

“Get a room,” Julio grunts.

“Sorry, are we getting close to your bedtime hour, Julito?” Martín snaps back, to which Julio answers with a long string of curses at him.

Daniel joins them with a smile and a backpack hanging on one shoulder. He has even more piercing than when Luciano first meet him, as impossible as that sounds.

“Let’s go?” he nods to Julio.

Julio snaps his mouth shut, and nods eagerly with a blush as he picks his own backpack and trails after Daniel. Luciano raises an eyebrow at Martín.

“Don’t give me that look, Julio wishes,” Martín replies with a roll of his eye.

Right. Luciano looks around, and then turns back to Martín.

“Sebas?”

“Already gone for the day,” Martín answers, and a slow smile spreads across his lips.

Which means they have the parlour to themselves.

Martín makes sure to turn the little “OPEN” sign on the door to “CLOSED”, shuts the door and then guides Luciano to his station. As Martín gets the machine ready, Luciano spares a glance around.

Martín’s station is surprisingly neat and organised. Luciano smiles fondly at the pictures over a cabinet; there are photos of Martín’s family, of Sebas and Dani (pictures old enough in which neither have tattoos nor piercing), but there also are a couple of photos of Luciano and the puppy they adopted no more than an year ago. He gazes towards Martín’s wall, the one covered with more pictures and sketches of tattoos Martín has worked on, a proud display of his work. Two particularly pictured stand from the rest, hanged and framed behind glass side by side while the rest is simple paper pinned to the wall – two identical floral tattoos, one on a dark forearm, the other on a fair ribcage. The sight warms Luciano’s insides, eases back his initial apprehension.

“So,” Martín prods as he slips his latex gloves on with an unnecessary snap. “Do you want it on your back or would you like to be on your stomach?”

“No sex pun intended, I’m sure,” Luciano rolls his eyes at him.

Martín snorts.

“So, where?” he insists.

As simple answer, Luciano takes his shirt off and lowers the waistband of his pants and underwear dangerously low to exposes his hipbone.

“Here.”

Martín nods in approbation and gets to work. He makes a stencil and places it over Luciano’s hipbone, rubs and presses at it. He removes it, but the drawing remains on Luciano’s skin.

“Go check it out,” he asks.

Luciano stands in front of the full-body mirror resting against the wall, and peers at his reflection.

A little elegant sun stares back at him from his hip. It looks surprisingly nice, Luciano must admit. It s innocuous enough, the sun could mean anything. It could mean Luciano likes hot weathers, or the beach, or summer, which he does. Only Martín would know the true reason behind the tattoo. And Sebastián. And Daniel. And Julio. Oh, and Miguel. Surely Manuel too. Well, basically anyone Martín talks to, but well. It could be worse. Knowing Martín, it could be much muchworse.

Luciano is lucky he is getting away with so little.

“Like it?” Martín asks.

Luciano nods. Martín takes a sit on his stool, gesture Luciano to join him on the tattoo bed. Luciano lays down, crosses his arms behind his head and stares at the ceiling.

“Take a deep breathe,” Martín says as he turns the tattoo machine on in a loud buzz. “And here we go…”

That’s all the warning he gets before he feels the tiny needles breaking into his skin. The initial pain makes him grimace, but after a moment he can relax as his body gets used to it.

“You’re lucky I’m not forcing you to get the actual Sun of May,” Martín comments as he works. “Only because I don’t want a national symbol judging me every time we fuck.”

“Oh, but I do get to have Maradona creepily starting at my ass, uh?” Luciano answers back, raising his head to frown disapprovingly at Martín.

Martín raises the machine gun and gives him a very flat very unimpressed look.

“Do you want me to tattoo the Sun of May on you?” he asks.

Luciano decides it is wiser to shut it – at least while Martín holds the tattoo machine.

Martín continues working in quiet, familiar silence. It is not the first time Luciano is under Martín’s expert hands, and he suspects it won’t be the last either. He lays there, lets Martín work as he stares at the ceiling. To the constant stabbing and buzzing eventually lead him to shut his brain off and zone out.

He is brought back to reality in a little gasp and a full body twitch when Martín’s hand casually cups the front of his pants.

“Hold still,” Martín chides sternly, keeping his focus on his work.

Luciano can’t help to side eye him with a little scepticism - he shoots a glance at the hand innocently resting between his legs, but he ultimately obeys. After all, the many tiny needles are stilling stabbing permanent ink into his flesh. They go back to their still quiet, before Martín’s hand gives the bulge in the front of Luciano’s pants a gentle squeeze and he starts lazily rubbing at it, trailing up and down.

Luciano sighs, and can’t help the cheeky smile spreading on his lips. He closes his eyes as his cock twitches with interest and a familiar warmth blooms in his lower belly. The pleasure and pain, so close in location and so far in the spectrum, mix in a very interesting cocktail he wouldn’t think possible. He grows harder and harder under Martín’s palm, but the buzzing of the tattoo machine reminds him to remain still as Martín continues working on his tattoo.

He acknowledges the elephant in the room by the time his cock is obscenely and unmistakably tenting his pants under Martín’s hand.

“Do you usually treat your clients this way?” he says, trying to go for casual.

“Now that’s some idea,” Martín replies as a twin smile curls his lips. He keep on working, doesn’t bother to look up. “’New service, tattoo with happy ending’. That’d definitely make the parlour more popular.”

Luciano knows Martín is messing with him, and still can’t help the possessive twinge of jealousy stabbing at his side, sharper than the needling on his skin.

“I’m sure Sebastián would love that,” he grumbles back.

“It can be my little secret way to earn juicy tips,” Martín teases.

Luciano does glare at him this time, and Martín has the gall to look up and give him a highly amused smile. He turns the machine off, leaves it on his tattoo trolley and, giving Luciano’s erection one last squeeze, he stands.

Luciano can’t help to raise half of his body on his elbows too peer down.

“You done?” he asks.

“Not quite yet,” Martín answers, takes Luciano by the neck and kisses him.

It has very little finesse, straight to the point – it is wet and open and hot, and Martín pushes his tongue inside Luciano’s mouth to feel what is his favourite piercing Luciano has gotten so far. As they kiss, Martín’s free hand slides inside Luciano’s underwear, pushes the waistband down and lets Luciano’s erection spring free. Martín takes him in his hand, and Luciano groans despite the unfamiliar strange feeling of his latex glove on him. Martín closes his hand around him, and Luciano fucks into it. Pre-cum makes the slide of his cock into Martín’s tight fist smooth and easy, but he is not sure how he feels about the artificial texture of the latex, about the lack of skin contact. He has little time to decide as Martín insistent tugging pushes him closer and closer to orgasm, until Luciano closes his fist around Martín’s arm and comes with a moan in his gloved hand.

Martín gives him one last peck on the lips and pulls away. Luciano lets him go, tries to catch his breath as he watches him walk to one of his cabinets and open a drawer. Luciano gives Martín’s wide handsome back one last appreciative look before remembering the tattoo. He peers down at the finished work, right next to his exposed softening spent cock.

As all of Martín’s works, it’s very nice, with clean elegant dark lines. A delicate reference that will go unnoticed.

Martín is back soon, sits back on his stool with a tissue box and a tube of ointment and bandages. He holds the tissue box up for Luciano, who accepts it with a nod of thanks and cleans the cum off his skin and tucks himself back inside his underwear. Meanwhile, Martín gently rubs the ointment over Luciano’s new tattoo and proceeds to bandage it.

“Remove the bandage after 24 hours,” he recites mechanically, as Luciano has heard him do a hundred times before. “Wash it with cool water and antimicrobial soap, pat-dry it gently and apply a layer of antibacterial ointment twice a day. No tight clothes, no hot showers, no sun for about 2 weeks.”

Luciano has to snort.

“You live with me,” he points out.

“So what? I have to be the one taking care of it?” Martín smirks as he finishes patching him up.

“Well, yes,” Luciano replies. “You’re the expert here, and I’m your boyfriend.”

Martín gives him an inelegant snort. He runs his thumb gently and fondly over the bandage, and gives Luciano one last quick. Luciano catches him by the arm, doesn’t let him get away, and tries to deepen the kiss. Martín indulges in, and only pulls away and stands back when Luciano reaches for his belt. He takes Luciano’s hand in his and entwines their fingers together to raise them to his face and place an apologetic kiss on Luciano’s knuckles with a clear message; not now.

So Luciano lets him go, and Martín slides out of reach with a soft fond smile.

Luciano sits up and puts his shirt back on. He watches Martín move around his working station in a well-practiced routine; he takes off his soiled gloves and throws them away, cleans his station and puts everything away, leaving the space clean and neat for another day of work next morning.

Once he is done, they head out.

“Can’t wait for the rematch,” Luciano comments as Martín closes the parlour’s front door.

Martín hums in agreement. Once the door is locked and secured, he slips the keys inside his pocket and curls his arm around Luciano’s shoulder. He pulls him close and they walk away, back home.

“Maybe I can convince you to get a Messi tattoo next,” Martín says with a dramatic dreamy sigh.

Luciano elbows him.

“You should be the one thinking what to get when Brazil wins next match,” he replies.

“I could get ‘7-1’ as tramp stand…” Martín hums thoughtfully.

“I will dump your stupid ass, Martín,” Luciano threatens darkly.

Martin laughs, tugs him closer and lowers his head to kiss his hair.

“Sure thing, sunshine,” he smiles down at him with a bright happy glint in his eyes.

Luciano doesn’t have it in him to complain; he guesses he has earned the nickname, after all.

#I didn't think I'll ever go back to this AU but here we are ♥#this was very fun :D #brarg #latin hetalia #myfics

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wowweeharrystyles · 5 years

Text

Part 1 | Kindness & The Perfect Fit | 9.2k words

‘Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

A/N: So here’s part 1 of Sequins & Zippers. A MASSIVE shoutout to @niallhoranapologist. If it weren’t for Gwen I probably wouldn’t have continued to work on this story. Thanks for always helping me brainstorm ideas, listen to me talk about these fictional characters all the time & for continuously supporting my writing. you da best.

“Ugg, this is useless,” Aurora groans as she throws the t shirt she had in hand across the room. Aurora has been attempting to pack her suitcase for hours now. “How the hell am I supposed to pack 4 months worth of clothes in a single suitcase?” she whispers in defeat to herself.

“Rory? Everything alright?” Aurora’s mother calls from the other room. Rory is the nickname her mom gave her when she was only a baby. Her mother walks into her room and sees the frustrated look on her daughter’s face.

“25 countries? The weather is gonna be different in every freaking country,” Rory lets out a frustrated sigh, falling onto her bed. “I can barely pack properly for a weekend trip.”

“Hey, you’re thinking too hard and overwhelming yourself,” her mother says softly as she sits on the bed next to her. She places a hand on her shoulder, “Let me help. We’ll figure it out.”

Aurora is currently trying to pack for her new job. After the craziest year she’s ever had, packed with graduating college, moving to London to work with one of the most well-known stylists in the fashion industry and having the time of her life doing what she loves most, she was offered a career-altering job for the next 4 months. Never did Aurora think she would be sitting in her room back home in a small suburb of New York surrounded by cardboard boxes labeled with things like: “NYC Apartment - kitchen,” “London - winter clothes,” “School things,” “London Flat - bedding,” “I have no idea, from london.” Organized Chaos explained her life best right now.

“Rory, sweetie, where’s your list?” her mother asks, looking around to locate the papers she’s been carrying around for the past week that’s covered in scribbled notes, lists upon lists and small sketches here and there. “Should’ve really been keeping that stuff in a journal or something.” She finds the papers scattered on Aurora’s desk and a few laid on top of boxes. “Probably wouldn’t be so overwhelmed if you could be a little bit more organized,” her mother sighs gathering the papers into a stack, tapping the bottom edges on the desk to line them up. “You’re normally so much more organized,” her mother continues before pressing a kiss to Aurora’s hair.

“It’s a lot, Mom. I don’t know where to start.” She stands up from her bed and grabs her phone as it dings, indicating she’s received an email. “Finally!” she exclaims with a sigh of relief. “Harry’s just sent me my official itinerary and all of my flight info.”

“Harry Styles himself emailed you your travel plans?” her mother asks in disbelief.

“No, mom, Lambert. Harry Lambert, my boss.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” she laughs lightly, “How many mix ups has there been with that name?”

Aurora’s new job is ‘Head of Wardrobe’ for Harry Styles’ Arena World Tour. In all honesty, she has no idea how she got here. Well she does, but it still doesn’t feel real. Lambert’s original hire for the tour ended up needing to stay in London to help him with his styling work there and she was next in line, but she still isn’t too sure how she got this lucky. The past year happened so fast and it was one opportunity after another that landed her here. She’s barely had a moment to breathe after the holidays and some small jobs here and there to keep her busy. Last January, just over a year ago, Aurora traveled to London for a six week menswear design course at Central Saint Martins for some extra credits before her final semester of college. During this course, she was lucky enough to met Harry Lambert. After he saw her collection of work from the past few years, what her thesis plans were and what she had been working on during the CSM course he kept her information on file for the future. When Aurora left london at the end of the course she had no idea if she would ever hear from Harry Lambert again, but around mid march she received an email from him about an internship position he needed to fill and thought she would be perfect for. Starting the internship in NYC before she even graduated, May was a whirlwind and was the perfect indication on how the rest of her year would be. She moved to London in June and was put to work without a second to spare.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” Aurora’s mother starts before launching into a detailed plan on how they’re both gonna tackle packing up Aurora’s life for the next 4 months on the road, traveling. They’ve got barely 3 days until her flight leaves for London.

Nearly 4 hours later and they’ve organized Aurora’s room. Unpacking the appropriate boxes, written a new packing list, and they’ve also written a shopping list. They’ve got organized piles surrounding them. Again, Organized Chaos best describes Aurora’s life, always.

“Oh, what about that long pleated skirt you made last year? The emerald green one? You definitely need to take that.” Aurora’s eyes lit up at the idea. She loved that skirt, it was versatile enough that she could pair with heels or sneakers. Versatile pieces were key to packing she found out quickly. Her mom reaches into her closet and searches for it. “Probably at the back, haven’t worn it in awhile,” she motions towards her closet while sorting through the box of her bags, making decisions on which ones she’ll need with her.

“Oh gosh, Rory, look what I found,” her mom emerges from the closet with a handful of rolled up posters.

Aurora goes bright red knowing exactly what is on those posters. “Oh no. I kept those?” her mom sets them down on the floor but keeps one to unroll. Once the tape is off and her mom has got it flat, she turns it around to face Aurora. It’s a large poster of One Direction from a TigerBeat magazine. Aurora drops her face into her hands.

“Remember when you couldn’t see a bit of the wall cause of these posters? If I remember right, you liked that blonde one yeah?” her mom laughs, rolling the poster back up. “Maybe you should take one with you and have Harry sign it? He’d get a kick out of it, I’m sure.”

“Mom!” Aurora whines. “This is my job, my career. I have to be nothing but professional.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a joke or two. Gotta have fun still and honestly, he’d probably think it’s cute.”

“Mom, it’s embarrassing and I’m gonna be working with him and his team for the next 4 months.” Her mother can see the panic on her face. “I cannot just show up with a One Direction poster.”

“Ror, I’m just having a bit of fun with you. You need to relax or you’ll just be frustrated and stressed the entire time.” She sets the posters aside and goes to join Aurora on the floor. Placing a hand on her cheek, “Baby girl, my baby girl, promise me you’ll have some fun? This is a chance of a lifetime and I know you’ll work your butt off and do your job perfectly, but you need to enjoy it too. Okay?” Aurora nods slowly. She knows her mother is right, she always is.

“Okay,” she says softly giving her mom a weary smile.

“You’ll be okay, I know you will,” her mom says before leaning in and hugging her daughter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Aurora and her mother continue bustling around her room until the sun sets. By the time there is no daylight left there are 2 large suitcases completely full, all organized and packed with Aurora’s belongings. They spend the next hour packing up Aurora’s rolling caboodle. The large, rollable, sturdy set of drawers and compartments is from Aurora’s days as a competition dancer. It used to carry her stage makeup, extra pairs of tights, accessories and an emergency sewing kit. It was always covered in glitter and there were bobby pins in every nook and cranny, a few stray sets of false eyelashes too. But for the past 4 years, she’s used it for all things sewing and design. She never went to class or the design studio without it. Aurora and her mom empty the drawers and reorganize the contents. They make another list of things they need to pick up at the local sewing store the next day. Aurora pulls out her old sketchbooks and sets them to the side and adds a new clean book to the now empty drawer along with her cases of Micron pens, drawing pencils and prisma coloured pencils.

Aurora continues to organize each little compartment as her mother prints out small labels and adds them to the section dividers. Aurora loves to be overly organized and have everything in its place. It keeps her calm and stops her from getting overwhelmed in stressful situations. There’s nothing she hates more than being backstage at a fashion show and needing a simple needle and thread to fix a small seam quickly and having to dig through the drawers to find what she needs. Backstage life, anywhere, fashion shows, dance competitions, or even a world tour, can be stressful if you’re not prepared properly.

“Oh, keep the box of sequins and swarovski crystals in there. I actually might need them.” Aurora finishes the sentence with a giggle as she’s setting her scissors in their respective home.

“Really?” her mom laughs too.

“Yeah, some of the looks for this tour are actually pretty sparkly. You never would’ve thought. I actually might have to bedazzle a few things on the road.”

“You’re home!” her mother sing-songs. They both laugh again thinking about the countless hours they spent bedazzling dance costumes with 100’s of crystals.

After saying goodbye to her parents through a continuous flow of tears, Aurora got on an 8 hour flight. She kept herself busy on the flight to occupy her mind and stop her from overthinking or panicking about the next 4 months ahead of her. She landed in London on the 3rd of March, just a few days till she’d be back at this exact airport with the same luggage plus a few crates labeled ‘Wardrobe’ that she’d also have to care for. She made her way to the Air B’N’B that had been set up for her for the next few days and headed straight to bed. One thing Aurora, jokingly, prides herself on is the ability to sleep anywhere at anytime.

When the morning rolls around and her alarm wakes her, she’s preparing herself a cup of coffee when her phone rings. She notices Lambert’s ID on the screen. She answers and they exchange good mornings before he asks her about her travels from the day before.

“Okay, so, I’m sending a car to where you’re staying in about an hour to bring you to the arena.”

“Arena? I thought we were meeting at your studio?”

“Oh no, change of plans, sorry should have mentioned that in an email. Harry is in full rehearsal mode and everything for the tour is at the mock stage space at Wembley Arena. They’ve just finished the final tech rehearsals and Harry will be there today to start running the show,” Lambert continues. The new knowledge of Harry Styles being there on her first day makes Aurora jittery, small butterflies erupting in her stomach. She’s met Harry before. They’re friendly, but she was only just Lambert’s shadow anytime they were together. He was sweet and kind, just as everyone always says, but she was still a tad nervous. She will be with him almost everyday, on her own, without Lambert there to be a buffer. Aurora tended to be a nervous person, especially if she doesn’t know someone all that well. She can keep her nerves at bay and save a proper panic for after the situation ends most times, which is the best she can do right now. It’s something she’s working on. It’s what she hates most about herself, not being able to keep her nerves in check.

“Oh yeah, makes sense,” Aurora responds, surprisingly with no jitters evident in her voice.

“Great, I can have the run of show lookbook all put together for you when you arrive and we’ll go through it and make notes.” “Do you mind if I actually set it up when I get there? I would feel much better and more settled doing it myself as we do a walkthrough of the wardrobe.”

“Of course, Aurora, whatever you think will work best for you.”

She thanks him and they end the phone call after confirming the time and car that will be picking her up. She finishes off her coffee and heads to the living room where she left her suitcases last night. One of the large suitcases was lying on the ground, opened, exactly where Aurora left it last night. She ruffles through the contents of her suitcase, moving around different packing cubes until she finds the cube that contains her favourite black jeans. She locates a creme hooded knit sweater and some clean undergarments. She pops into the shower and continues to bustle around the small flat getting ready. At some point she turns on some music to distract her mind. There’s an airy feeling in the flat, the sun shining in london for a change and it calms Aurora down despite the nerves running through her veins. Aurora checks her watch, 10 minutes until her car is due to pick her up. She slides on her all white leather court sneakers and laces them up, tucking in the excess laces for a clean finish. She grabs her black bomber jacket and slips her arms in, then pulls out the hood from her sweater so it lays comfortably on the outside of the jacket’s collar. She takes a quick look in the full body mirror that leans up against the white brick wall across from the large, unmade bed. She’s reminded by the reflection in her mirror to text her mother and thank her for convincing her to pack her favourite clothes instead of all her fancy stuff. She looks put together but is still extremely comfortable, prepared for anything today has to offer her.

There’s a short honk from the street in front of the building. Aurora grabs her rolling caboodle and her purse before rushing out the door to meet the driver.

20 minutes later she finds herself stepping out of the car and thanking the driver for holding the door. He grabs her caboodle from the trunk and hands it to Aurora and wishing her well and to have a nice day. Harry Lambert greets her at the door giving her a big hug and exclaiming about how excited he is to have her there. He takes her an office where the tour manager, Michael is set up. The office is busy with several people working at desks on laptops and people taking phone calls. Lambert introduces Aurora to the team and gets her set up with her tour pass and all the nitty gritty stuff. Within half an hour she’s all set for tour and has her new lanyard tied to her on a belt loop. They walk through the never ending halls plastered with signs that state “Treat People With Kindness” and Aurora smiles everytime she sees another. Lambert points out different places, important notes posted on bulletin boards and casually introduces her to people as they quickly pass.

Everyone seems to be on a mission, darting in and out of rooms and talking on headsets. It’s a busy atmosphere but nobody seems stressed or upset. Aurora appreciates the hustle that everyone seems to have. There’s smiles and high fives passed between crew members and coffees getting pass along. Lambert points out where Harry’ band’s dressing room is and then Harry’s as well. Harry’s reads “Hershel” on the sign that sticks out from the wall.

“Hershel?” Lambert chuckles when he sees the confused look on her face.

“Yeah, Jeff, his manager, you’ve met him, calls him Hershel 95% of the time.” She nods along with a smile. After making their way through a few more halls they reach a larger dressing room. “Okay, so here’s our space for the week.” Aurora rolls her caboodle and sets it against the wall near the door for now and sets her purse down on an empty space on the counter that lines one of the shorter walls. On the wall directly across from the doorway there are 3 large black cases that stand about 6 feet tall, opened and filled with garment bags.

“Is everything here already?” Aurora makes her way towards the case farthest left.

“Hopefully!” Lambert picks up a large binder that’s sitting on the table across from a small leather couch. “That’s where we’re starting. Checking through each night’s look and making sure it’s all here.” She takes the binder that Lambert has handed her and opens it up to the first page.”

“Oh wow. I almost forgot how beautiful these suits are.” Towards the end of her internship in London, Lambert let her help him pick some options for the tour. She thumbs through the book quickly to get a glimpse of the beautiful designer suits. She notices quite a few of her favourites made the cut. The 2 of them sit down and devise a plan to best get through this large task of double checking the 60 looks in front of them. They’re about ¾ the way through around 1pm when they mutually decide to take a break and grab some lunch before they power through the rest of the wardrobe. After meeting more members of the crew and grabbing another cup of coffee, Lambert and Aurora make their way back to their dressing room.

“Hey, let’s go take a look at the stage,” Lambert said as he made a sharp turn in the opposite direction of the room they’ve been working in. “I haven’t seen the final setup yet.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Aurora’s face lights up at the idea. They enter from the back of the stage. The stage itself is fully constructed but the light trees are currently hanging low to the ground and crew members are working carefully to change the direction, colour or size of each bulb. Lambert excuses himself as he takes a call, telling Aurora he’ll meet her back in the dressing room in 15 minutes. Aurora continues the theme from today and introduces herself to the stage crew. “Mind if I check out the stage?” she asks Jack, one of the crew members who introduced himself as the Stage Manager.

“Go ahead, just keep an eye out, we haven’t cleaned up much.” She nods and smiles while walking up the metal steps at the side of the stage. She takes careful steps as she steps to center stage. She looks out into the empty arena. The lights are low and the noise from the powertools is echoing through the arena.

Though there isn’t any music, the stage lights aren’t shining, and she isn’t in one of her rhinestoned costumes, she still feels at home standing center stage. The nerves she’s been holding on to all morning wash away as she takes a deep breath. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment and she remembers the last time she performed on a stage like this one. It was her senior year of high school at nationals in New York City. It was her farewell to her dance career. A smile starts to grow on her face, the nerves from this morning, the the whole trip to get here, completely washed away now.

“Oi!” a voice booms through the air, making Aurora jump and she searches for where it came from. She turns around, her hair following her as she turns. Her hair continues to follow her movement, falling in front of her face a bit but she can still make out the face the voice comes from. “What’re you doing on my stage?” She’s met with a smiley, broad shouldered Harry Styles. He’s got his hands in the pockets of the tartan trousers he’s wearing. The strong feeling of embarrassment brings heat to her cheeks as she looks down at the black and white vans he’s sporting.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I-,” she starts rambling apologies. She watches his vans take a few steps closer to her. Aurora’s fumbling with her hands, a nervous tick of hers. “-I was told, told, I could, could, check out the stage,” she’s stuttering over her words and pointing in the direction of Jack. She finally stops talking when she meets Harry’s eyes. He’s still beaming and her stomach drops at the fact that he’s enjoying this situation. His confidence paints an incredible stark difference from her mumbling nervousness. Her brain is a bit fuzzy right now but that doesn’t stop her from noticing the way his eyes sparkle.

“I’m only joking, love” he says as he pulls his hands out of his pockets with a chuckle. “The stage suits you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora offers again. “I’m-” She’s reaching her hand out when he cuts off her introduction.

“Love, we’ve met. How could I forget you, Aurora.” She’s startled a bit when her name comes out of his mouth. “Ya fixed the hole in my pink jacket, remember?” He’s stepping closer to her and before she’s able to process what’s happening he’s wrapped his arms around her torso, his tattooed arm rubbing her back briefly before pulling away.

A small laugh leaves her mouth, “I remember, didn’t think you would is all.” Her voice is soft and trails off towards the end of her sentence.

“Not got much a reputation then if I’ve got people that work with me thinking I’ll forget them.” He lets out a soft chuckle and his smile elicits a dimple on his cheek.

“No, no, you’ve got a much better reputation than that, promise. You must meet a lot of people day to day is all.” Aurora is calming down, now, realizing that there is no reason for her to be so nervous around him. She’s interacted with him before, this shouldn’t be so jarring to her. Though this time is different. She wouldn’t be working behind Lambert or running errands. She’ll be with Harry just about everyday and she terrified she’ll never be comfortable, always anxiety ridden. Although his life is much different from hers, she’ll be getting a real taste of it and they’re close in age. They’re bound to find something in common. Right?. There’s a bit of silence before Aurora speaks up. “Well, your suits aren’t gonna organize themselves. I better go find Lambert.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t let me stop you from your work.” Aurora nods. She excuses herself as she makes a comment about how she thinks the stage looks great so far. Just after she’s walked past him she feels him grab her hand. “I’m excited to have ya on tour with us, love. Happy to have you making sure I sparkle just right on this stage.” He’s let go of her hand and presents his arms out to the sides as he mentions the stage.

She’s beaming back at him. “Packed extra rhinestones just for you.” She’s almost skipping down the stairs after that. A weight of relief falling from her shoulders in a light sigh. First, interaction with Harry? Check. She finds her way back to the room she’d been working in all morning. She settles down on the couch again, pulling the large binder into her lap. She jots down a few notes and adds to the ever growing list of things that need to be done. She stands up and walks over to one of the open wardrobe cases. She’s sliding hangers across the rack before she gets to the next look. Aurora takes the hanger off the rack. The sleek black hanger is labeled Yves Saint Laurent and an emerald green sequined button down shirt hangs off of it. There’s a pair of black straight leg trousers folded over the hanger as well. Aurora carries the ensemble across the room and hangs it on one of the vanity bulbs that sticks out from the light bulb framed mirror. She fixes the collar so it’s sitting straight. She takes a step back with one hand on her hip and another on her chin.

“What’re you thinking?” Lambert asks when he sees Aurora’s furrowed brow. She hums, still processing her thoughts.

“You know Michael Jackson’s black sequin jacket? The one he wore when he did the moonwalk for the first time?” He nods, following along. “Think we could play with that idea. What if Harry wore this open, with the Calvin tank?” In the small section of a wardrobe they’ve already gone through is a slew of clothing articles that will be used for multiple shows. The Calvin tank she’s referencing is one that will be, in Aurora’s opinion, an iconic, staple for the entire tour. It’s a simple white ribbed tank but on the left side, “Treat People With Kindness” is embroidered in black. “It’d be closer to Michael’s ‘Billie Jean’ performance in Munich that same year, but it’s the iconic sequin jacket that will sell it.”

“You really know your stuff huh?” Lambert chuckles, impressed by her knowledge and the way her brain works. Lambert walks away and grabs the tank from the rack and brings it back to Aurora.

A smile creeps onto Aurora’s face. “My mom loves Michael Jackson. Loves him like everyone loves Harry. I grew up dancing around the house to his music.” She takes the tank from Lambert after he slides it off the hanger. She’s quick to unbutton the YSL shirt in excitement but does it as carefully as possible. She hangs the tank under the shirt, turning it into a overshirt now. The smile on her face is growing. She’s in her element, doing exactly what she’s always wanted to do. Lambert places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. A silent approval. Aurora walks back to the table and writes down their decision for this look in the notebook she’s been working with. They go through a few more suits and make a note that they’ll need an extra white button down from Gucci. Lambert is sending Aurora there sometime this week to pick a few more things up that are getting finished and some extra shoes for Harry as well. Lambert says Harry likes to wear his shoes to dust and that Aurora will have to make sure he doesn’t go on stage with holes in his shoes cause he will, especially his rainbow loafers. They finish going through the rest of the suits before calling it a day. Lambert fills her in on the next few day’s timeline to prepare her for the week. Aurora leaves the arena feeling like her heart could burst. She couldn’t have imagined a better first day at her new job. Aurora heads to bed early, after she orders a Domino’s Pizza, to rest up for the days ahead and beat the jet lag that’s bound to hit her in the next few days.

When she gets to Wembley the next morning, Aurora grabs a coffee from craft services and says hello to a few people she recognizes from yesterday. She’s thankful that everyone has a lot to get done and people are jutting off to their own areas to get to work. Aurora would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that she’s a bit overwhelmed by all of the new faces. She knows faces will become familiar as time goes on but right now she’s content with her coffee and knowing that she’s walking to a room to work on her own for awhile.

When she finds herself in the familiar green room she sets herself up for the day. Aurora pulls her laptop out of her leather bag and presses play on her current spotify playlist. She likes working alone, but not in silence. After collecting her notebook from yesterday and the envelope of images that Lambert left for her she sits down and starts putting together the final look book for tour. She’s organizing the book by tour dates, making a section for each city.

“Basel, Switzerland” is written on the top of the 1st page in bold all capital letters. Aurora tapes an image of the black glittered Gucci suit that Harry will wear for the opening night of his world tour. She copies any notes she made about this look from yesterday onto the space underneath the photo. After she’s finished the page for Switzerland she goes to the large cases and pulls the black glittered Gucci suit to the empty rolling rack that she set up yesterday. Each of the traveling cases will need to be organized by date to make traveling and set up easier throughout the tour. She continues this process for the next 2 hours. Once her coffee is empty at the end of the 2 hours she has almost 6 cities complete. Aurora takes her empty coffee cup as a sign for her to take a break. Before leaving the room to get more coffee she checks her phone. There’s a few notifications, emails from lists she keeps forgetting to unsubscribe to and a string of texts from her mother. She laughs at the first text - “I know you’re probably fine, but you’re in a different country and I need to hear your voice to make sure you’re still alive and it’s not some kidnapper texting me back” - then another text about 20 mins after that one reads “I love you, I know you’re busy, but please call me” and the last one delivered just a few minutes ago, “I’m your mother, it’s my job to worry.” Aurora shakes her head and feels a bit guilty because she hasn’t texted her mom as much as she probably should have and before knocking out last night she texted her back apologizing for not calling after her first day and that she was just too exhausted.

Her mom doesn’t answer and is greeted with an automatic voicemail greeting, “Classic,” she chuckles as she hangs up without leaving a message. She shakes her head, standing in the doorway as she sends off a text saying she’s taking a break and to call her back, adding a “I’m good, everything’s amazing! Just calling to chat” as she always does so her mother doesn’t worry any more than she is. As she finishes the texts she mumbled a bit to herself about how her mother is always worrying but never picks up her dang phone. It isn’t until a familiar voice rings through the hallway that she realises she was mumbling quite clearly.

“Sorry, everything alright, love?” Harry’s distinct voice travels closer to her as she looks up from her phone to him. She’s made her way into the arena hallway completely now. There’s a small furrow in his brow but a slight grin on his face.

“Ah yeah, didn’t realise I was talking out loud.” She holds her phone up, “You know mothers, always worrying but never actually answering their phone when you call.” Harry laughs, his shoulders shaking. “She sent me this string of texts about being worried and 2 minutes later doesn’t pick up when I call her.” She sighs before sliding her phone into the pocket of the track jacket she’s got on today.

“My mum does the same. Always saying we don’t talk enough or that she misses me and when I do get the chance she’ll text me back saying she’s out with friends drinking wine or s’thing like that.” Aurora laughs along with him. When she takes a proper look at him she notices he’s wearing black adidas joggers today with a white t shirt and a black nike jacket.

“Looks like we both had the same idea when we got ready this morning,” she continues to laugh while gesturing between to two of them. They’re dressed almost identical right down to the white sneakers. Aurora’s got on her favourite black lululemon leggings instead of joggers but her tshirt and track jacket look just the same as Harry’s. Harry takes a good look at what he’s got on and back to Aurora and his eyes begin to crinkle and his nose scrunches up before he’s laughing. The laugh is almost a giggle and Aurora has to hold back from flashing him the most endearing smile.

“Guess it’s a good thing that my Head of Wardrobe and I match. Must mean I’ve got the right person taking care of my clothing then.” He swings his arm around her shoulder before asking if she’s got a minute to grab a snack.

“Probably should eat and I definitely need some more coffee,” she replies with a smile and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket not knowing what to do with them. There’s something about Harry, it’s that thing that people always talk about, his ease around everyone, the way he makes you feel like you’ve known each other forever. His kind demeanor relaxes Aurora and she’s sure this is how he makes everyone feel. Harry starts to go on about different things that are happening around the arena as they walk to the green room, pointing out different people and what they’re working on. Harry doesn’t know this, but the more Aurora knows about her surroundings and the things people are doing, the more comfortable she feels. Aurora likes knowing what’s going on. She knows it’s got something to do with wanting control over as much as she can but she also knows that there is so much going on that she can’t control anything and she especially knows that it isn’t her job. But knowing is good for her. Just as they turn the corner to the green room her phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and “Mother” with a pink heart is flashing on her screen. She shows the phone to Harry and she slides out from under his arm. “Rain check on the snacks?” she offers him before answering the call. She smiles as he shoots her a grin and voices an ‘of course’ before he turns around and goes back the way they had came. She questions his actions for a moment before saying hello to her mother.

Aurora pulls out her notebook while she’s in the car the next morning to review what she needs to get done today. Written in red, at the top of the page under today’s date is: final fitting with Harry @ 12pm. She’s excited to get some of the newer pieces on him and finally have all the looks together. She’s nervous too. Lambert won’t be there again today or barely at all the rest of the week, her part time buffer ripped away sooner than expected. She knows there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just Harry. ‘Just Harry,’ she continues to mumble under her breath.

“Miss Del Gatto, we’ve arrived,” Steven, her driver, who she’s come accustomed to after the past few rides, announces. Aurora looks out the window and sees the Gucci store front.

“Thanks, Steven. I’ll only be a few minutes.” She smiles at him before stepping out of the car. She got dressed this morning in slightly more put together outfit that she had on yesterday, knowing she had to stop into a few stores on her way in to pick up some pieces that were still missing. Her black chunky heeled leather boots make a clacking sound as she walks towards the entrance. Before she can even reach for the door, she’s welcomed by a man in an all black suit that is welcoming her into the store.

“Welcome to Gucci.” His voice is deep but bright and welcoming, she thanks him with a smile.

Once she’s a few more steps into the door she adjusts the small gold airplane necklace that is sitting on the outside of her black turtleneck before speaking up. “I’m here to pick up some shoes for Harry,” she rattles out. A questioned look appears on the man’s face. “Harry Lambert and Styles.” She clarifies.

“Aurora Del Gatto, yes?” another woman’s voice speaks up from across the store.

“Uh, y-yes,” she stammers while turning towards the women.

“I’m Lauren. Nice to meet you, Aurora. Harry told me to be expecting you this morning.” Aurora shakes Lauren’s hand with a smile. Lauren looks like a seasoned pro, her black suit fits her perfectly and her greying hair is pulled up into an elegant low bun. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” she says motioning towards the plush dark purple couches. “Would you like any water or coffee, dear?”

“Oh, I’m alright actually, thank you.”

“I’ll be right back with everything.” Aurora nods in acknowledgement while sitting down on the couch. She slides off the lightweight, long, camel coloured coat she’s wearing and drapes it over the couch next to her. She checks her watch to make sure she’s good on time. She’s got to stop at Calvin Klein as well before heading to arena to prep for Harry’s fitting. It’s just gone on 10am, she’s got plenty of time but still anxious at the thought of arriving just before the fitting, not getting a chance to set up. She’s brought back from her thoughts when Lauren returns with 3 shoe boxes in her arms and a garment bag.

“I think there are only 2 pairs of shoes I’m supposed to be picking up,” Aurora questions, “the rainbow loafers and the Spring 18 leather boots.” Lauren’s face lights up in a smile.

“Yes, those are both here and there’s a pair of sneakers here for you as well.” Aurora’s face reflects exactly what is going through her mind: surprise, shock, and other emotions she couldn’t put words to. Her jaw has dropped and her eyes are wide. “Harry called last night and wanted us to fit you into some Ace Sneakers for the tour.”

“Lambert said that?” Aurora is confused, giddy and nervous, always nervous. She doesn’t even know how to accept a gift like this. She’d also be lying if she hadn’t been looking at these sneakers forever.

“No, dear, Harry Styles.” Aurora is beyond caught off guard at this point.

“I’m sorry, I think there must be a mistake. There’s no reason for Harry to be giving me anything.”

“He specifically called these in for you. I don’t know the details, he just wanted to make sure you walked out with the perfect fit.” She set 2 of the boxes down on a glass table and brought over the 3rd box. “I grabbed the 7.5, I’m normally pretty good at guessing.”

“Well, you would be right.” Aurora laughs nervously. She slides off her boots in order to avoid the overwhelming thoughts in her head. She’s afraid if she doesn’t keep moving she might go into shock. She’s trying on the sneakers before she speaks up again, “Uhm,” Aurora starts to speak, “Does Harry, uh, do this often? I-I mean, uh call in for gifts?”

“I wouldn’t say often, but I’ve fulfilled a few of his gifting requests over the past few years. Just a handful though. There really hasn’t been many, if I’m honest.”

Aurora smiles to herself. She’s still confused about it all but still that same familiar feeling rushes through her when she’s reminded of Harry’s incredible kind demeanor. And before she knew it, she's walking out of Gucci with a smile on her face, a tingle in her fingers, a garment bag and not 2 but 3 boxes of shoes.

She’s setting up one last suit on the tall silver rolling rack before she checks her watch. 11:59. She made great time getting to Wembley after grabbing the pink plaid jacket and custom boots from Calvin Klein. There’s a light knock on the slightly ajar door seconds later.

“‘Ello, love,” Harry’s voice booms through the small, concrete walled room. Aurora turns towards the door. “All ready!” He exclaims as he makes his way towards her.

“Hi Harry,” Aurora responds before Harry has a hand at her waist and is placing a light kiss on the top of her cheek.

“How’s your morning been?” He’s now made his way to the rolling rack she had just filled.

“Good,” she wants to ask him about the shoes but she doesn’t know how to bring it up. “I did uh- I, I-”

“Can I try this one on?” Harry interrupts, suddenly distracted by the garments he hasn’t seen yet. She’s grabbing her book from the table across the room when she hears the sound of hangers hitting the floor. “Oooff,” there’s a chuckle that follows. “That one’s a bit slippery.”

“Oh gosh, yeah I need to add some hanger loops to that one,” Aurora sets her book down and rushes over to pick up the fallen garments and hangers. Harry utters a few sorry’s before stepping away. She swears she hears him mumble about being in the way. Once she’s got the fallen garments gathered on the crook of her arm, she grabs a hanger adorn in the pink plaid Calvin suit. “That’s what you get for being so nosy,” she quips at him and hands him the suit. His jaw drops slightly but before he can say a thing Aurora’s speaking again, “Try this one on first, please.” Aurora lingers on the please and shoots him a sweet smile. “There’s a small room through there you can change in.” She turns around after motioning towards the door and sees that Harry already has his trousers down to his ankles. “Orrrr you can change right there.”

“Oh, don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, darling,” he responds as you quickly turn away, sliding the plaid trousers all the way up and buttoning them just as fast.

“Oh no, you’re fine, don’t wanna be rude is all.” Aurora is flipping through her book finding the section for Stockholm. “The black ribbed tank was on the hanger with the jacket, yeah?” She asks as she skims over the page in front of her. He hums back letting her know it’s there. Aurora lifts up her coffee cup from earlier this morning to her lips, turning around to find Harry fully dressed in the Calvin Klein suit she picked up this morning. She frowns realising there’s no coffee left in her cup.

“What?” Harry asks, his brows knitted together in concern after seeing the frown on her face. “Does it look that bad?” He’s messing with the way he’s tucked the shirt into the waistband of the trousers.

Aurora giggles at his frantic hands. “Harry, nothing could look bad on you.” She shakes the empty cup in front of him. “I’m out of coffee.”

“Well, that frown was badly timed. I’ve got a brand new suit on and that’s the first reaction I get?’

“Oh you’ll be fine, rockstar. Plenty of ego pumping in the near future,” Aurora quips backs at him as she makes a circle around him. “They did great with this one,” she’s pulling at the shoulders of the jacket so it sits just right on his broad frame. “How do the trousers feel?” She asks as she smooths down the fabric of the sleeves before rounding back to face Harry straight on.

“The trousers? Yeah they feel good. Fit perfect, I think.” He’s pulled up the bottom of the jacket and is twisting his hips round. “Wha’ d’ya think?”

“I think Calvin Klein knows exactly what he’s doing,” she says with a smirk. “Okay, that one’s all set, go ahead and put this one on now.” She hands him another pink jacket, this one velvet with embellishments and it has a Gucci tag on it rather than Calvin Klein. She hands him black trousers with a gold trim as well. “You’ll wear this with a button down but just try with the tank. I just need to make sure all the alterations were done properly.”

“Did you stop at Gucci this morning? Lambert mentioned you were going,” he asks while handing her the plaid suit he just took off. Aurora busies herself with hanging them up.

“Yeah. Got your loafers and boots. I also-”

“Oh nooooo, Aurora,” Harry’s voice is panicky.

“Wha-,” is all she gets out before she sees and hears the beads rolling on the floor. “Ahhh I had a feeling that was going to happen. And THIS is why we try things on 100 times. Wouldn’t want you unraveling on stage.” She runs over to her kit that stands in the corner.

“I’m sorry, not sure what I did,” Harry’s face shows worry like he’s done something wrong.

“Hun, you didn’t do anything, promise. I think it might have been from the alterations.” Aurora is tying a knot in a piece of thread before walking over to him. “I’m just gonna close this strand up while it’s on you and I’ll re embellish it later.” The piece that’s come undone is on the right shoulder. She slides her hand under the jacket to find the back of the spot she needs to fix. Her hand brushes the skin of his shoulder, reminding her he’s only wear the tank underneath and he flinches. “Sorry, my hands are probably cold. This will only take a second.”

“S’alright, love.” There’s silence while she focuses on the work in front of her. Once she’s finished she carefully slips a small pair of gold scissors underneath the jacket and cuts the thread and needle she had been working with loose, detaching herself from Harry’s shoulder. “That was quick,” Harry says with a tone of surprise and Aurora thinks she can hear a little bit of disappointment as well. Aurora shrugs her shoulders in response.

“Could you put on the black version of that jacket for me?” Aurora asks as she grabs a spool of black thread. “Think we might have the same problem with that one too.” She slides the needle she’s threaded with black thread onto the cuff of her sweater so she doesn’t lose it. She helps Harry into the black jacket and hangs up the one he just had on.

“Aannddd there it is,” Harry says with chuckle as a strand of beads comes loose on his right sleeve. Aurora gets to work on the one on his sleeve as 2 more make themselves known on his back. “So you got my boots and loafers this morning? Up to anything else before I came in and ruined all the garments?” Aurora laughs and moves to his back to take care of the broken pieces there.

“Uhm picked up that Calvin jacket and your custom boots. Let me tell you, those boots are glorious. The glossed leather with the steel tip will look incredible with your suits. ”

“Oh can I see them when we’re done?”

“‘Course you can!” There’s some silence between them again as she concentrates on the job in front of her. She catches a glimpse of the white gucci bags that are sitting by one of the wardrobe cases and it’s like those new sneakers are burning a hole in her head. It clicks in her head now that he’s been directing the conversation this way trying to get it out of her. “Hey Harry,” she’s met with a hum, “can I ask you about something?” She continues to work on the jacket, keeping her hands busy. She’s thankful that the strand she’s working on is on his back so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with him.

“‘Course, Aurora.”

“Uhm, at Gucci this morning, they uh, they fitted me for sneakers,” Harry hums in response, “and um, I-I, um, that was very kind of you.” She’s stuttering through her words. It wasn’t until now that she got a tinge of nervousness. “Y-you didn’t need to do that. Really.”

“Aurora, I wanted to. And I thought you deserved some new shoes.” She can’t see his face but she can hear the smile that’s formed on his face. “We’ve got a few countries to trek around the next few months.”

Moments later she’s finished repairing what she can and she’s sliding Harry’s jacket off his shoulders. “Thank you, Harry,” she says finally after the black jacket is hung back on its Gucci hanger on the rolling rack near them. “Seriously, too kind.”

“No such thing as too kind, Ror,” he quips back and before she can comment on the nickname, he’s talking again. “Now what else do you need me to try on?”

The afternoon goes by quickly and Harry is patient with her. He stands up straight in each new piece and asks questions about different things she’s making notes of or checking off of her thousands of lists. She checks her watch quickly as she’s making one last note.

“How is it 3 o’clock already?” Aurora stammers out. “Sorry to take your entire afternoon from you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ror.” Harry’s pulling down the hem of his white tshirt he walked in wearing earlier today, “Nice to spend some time with ya and seems like you’ve been able to check a lot off your list.”

“You probably have a list a mile long of things that need to be done this week too, though,” she rebuttals. “Or do you have someone to take care of those things for you?” she jokes.

“Oh yeah, don’t remember their name, but I just tell them everything I need done and they do it for me.” The look on Aurora’s face is utter disgust, unable to politely react because she wasn’t expecting that answer. There was no hint of sarcasm in Harry’s voice. Harry’s face is still and he’s silent for a moment before his nose scrunches up and a giggle erupted from his mouth. “Ror, I’m totally kidding.” He’s placed a hand on her shoulder now, rubbing his thumb soothingly.

“Harry,” she’s giggling along now too, “you had me for a second.”

Harry thanks her for her work and the time spent together today and leaves only after giving her a hug and a short kiss on her cheek.

The next few days are spent hand stitching gold and silver beads onto those 2 Gucci jackets, labeling every single piece of the wardrobe and then organizing the giant crates for the travel managers to take and get ready to fly. She walks through all of the wardrobes multiple time and completes fittings with all of Harry’s band members as well. Brief 1 hour time frames are scheduled with each of them, Clare, Sarah, Adam and Mitch. Lambert pops in to make sure the final fittings went well and pays complements to Aurora’s new sneakers she’s sporting with a knowing look on his face.

There’s one day left till the first tour stop and the arena is just about empty. The stage is packed up, the wardrobe crates have been taken from Aurora and the number of people in the arena is starting to dwindle down. Since everything is already loaded on a truck making its way to the airport Aurora didn’t have much to do today but she kept herself busy at the apartment she’s been at all week for the majority of the morning. She’s repacked multiple times getting everything to fit perfectly, almost committing the perfect folding techniques and order of adding things to her suitcase to memory. Everyone is to arrive at the airport early the next morning but Harry has arranged for a group lunch at the arena for one last collective meeting before the tour starts.

Aurora arrives a few minutes early to the lunch and says hello to a few crew members she’s gotten to know. Lambert is there too - seems that Harry has invited anyone who has helped with the prep of the tour regardless if they’re coming along or not. She also meets a few more new faces like Ayae, Harry’s hair and makeup stylist. She’s new to the tour group and hasn’t been needed for prep so this his her 1st time meeting a lot of the crew too. She sits down with Aurora and Lambert at a table and is engaging in a conversation about this and that when Harry comes up to the table with Jeff. Jeff is a familiar face to Aurora even though she has only interacted with him a few times. Jeff always seems to be everywhere - Aurora always makes mental acknowledgment about how he is consistently working on something but always is seemingly available to everyone.

Alicia, a woman probably in her late 30’s, is following Harry and Jeff with a grey rolling cart like you would see in an old cafeteria and it’s filled with large cardboard boxes. Aurora has met Alicia and remembers Lambert introducing her as the Tour Merchandise Manager.

“Aurora, Ayae, Harry, great to see all of you! Doing alright, I assume?” Jeff asks while rounding the cart and reaching a hand in the box.

“Got some tour sweatshirts for everyone, treat people with kindness and all that,” Harry adds in, running a hand through his hair. It isn’t until now that Aurora notices the length of his hair. It’s not as short as it was when she first met him but it’s nowhere near the length she remembers him having while still in One Direction. There is one curl that won’t stay back no matter how many times he runs his hand through it to push it back. The lone curl falls against his forehead one last time before he gives up.

“Oh, very humble of you, Harry,” Ayae says with a chuckle while examining the sweatshirt Alicia had just given her.

It’s a plain black Champion hoodie with 2 small pieces of embroidery, 1 on the left of the chest and the other on the inside of the right arm. Ayae is referring to the large embroidered “Harry” on the chest. Underneath his name is ‘World Tour 2018’. Hah. He’s gotta love this shit. His name written on everything. Clothing, signs, his name is branded everywhere.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry’s voice is slightly whiny, both of his eyes scrunch up and his brows furrow. The ‘hey’ turns into a giggle and they all laugh along with him. Harry then hands Aurora her sweatshirt. “Here ya go, Ror.” She thanks him softly after taking it from him.

Post lunch, Harry, Jeff and a few others talk about how excited they are and how successful the prep went all week. The Head Travel Manager, Daniel, reminds everyone to double check their itinerary when they get home tonight and to double, triple, quadruple check they’ve packed everything. Harry yells something about making sure everyone’s got their passport cause “long story short” he forgot his once and it was not a day full of kindness. The large group chuckles at his little antidote before the room begins to clear out and everyone heads home to get ready to travel the next day.

Thanks for reading !!! Feedback & comments are always welcome !!!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #sequins & zippers #aurora on tour #harry styles fanfiction #one direction imagine

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lisatelramor · 4 years

Text

Contour

@peachsunset asked for a DNAngel fic for my 10yrs in fandom, so this is for you! ^_^ Hope Daisuke/Satoshi is ok!

***

It’s a bright summer day and Daisuke is spending it with Hiwatari Satoshi. For once there’s no tension in the air, no heist or rogue artwork hanging between them. It’s just a sunny day in the park with light filtering through green leaves and a picnic that Towa shoved into Daisuke’s hands when he said he was meeting up with a friend.

Satoshi looks relaxed and, well, Daisuke can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen him smile for real, but Satoshi isn’t unhappy right now. He might even be content which is a lot for him.

It has Daisuke itching for a pencil in his hand to capture that expression.

This isn’t the first time Daisuke’s felt it. He felt it the first time Satoshi smiled at him for real, felt it when he saw him asleep and the way the light had made him look ethereal. Even in the horrifying moments with Krad taking over, some subconscious part of him had caught Satoshi’s image and branded it into his mind, stark essays of emotions in split second memories.

Satoshi tips his head back, eyes closed, sun through the leaves dappling his profile with shadow and Daisuke aches with the need to create. With the need to capture Satoshi existing in peace because it’s proof that it’s possible and maybe even hope that Satoshi can have this sort of moment more.

It takes five whole minutes of sitting in companionable silence before Daisuke breaks. “Could I… draw you?”

Satoshi opens an eye. “Why?”

“I want to,” Daisuke says. “You’d make a good subject.”

Satoshi scoffs, but he hasn’t said no yet. “You’re never quite what I expect,” he says cryptically.

“Right now, the lighting is good,” Daisuke says, justifying, “and it’s a nice scene and you’re…”

“I’m?” Satoshi says, the edge of a smile on his lips like he can read Daisuke’s train of though and finds him amusing.

Daisuke looks away. “Is it okay?”

Satoshi hums. He isn’t quite as relaxed as a moment ago, but he still hasn’t said no and hasn’t walked away. “Do what you want.”

Thank goodness he carries a sketchbook around. Daisuke flips to a clean page and lets himself fall into the rhythm of sketching.

It’s not the first time he’s drawn a person in front of him. But usually it’s either a volunteer or doodles in the margin of his notes of Riku or Risa or Dark. It’s different to have someone he knows holding still for him so he can capture their image. Intimate. Daisuke maps the gentle curve of Satoshi’s face. The way his fine hair is in a bit of disarray from wind and the pale lines of his eyelashes against his cheek behind his glasses.

Satoshi is beautiful, and the whole world knows it, but the Satoshi here and now is something only Daisuke will get to see and keep. Well, and Dark, except Dark is sleeping, quiet at the back of Daisuke’s mind as he gives himself over to the part of himself that needs to create.

They’ve never talked about it in detail. With the kind of art Satoshi is capable of, he probably gets the same urge, but Daisuke’s never seen Satoshi even sketch a doodle in his notes. Daisuke has seen dozens of Hikari artworks before, but he still hasn’t the slightest idea what kind of artwork Satoshi would create.

Daisuke starts in on Satoshi’s body, adding place markers for folds of clothing and where the light is hitting versus shadow. Satoshi’s too thin, but it’s thin in a way that society praises and fails to realize is unhealthy, the kind of thin models have even if Satoshi’s only fifteen. It makes him look fragile and ephemeral but it also makes Daisuke worry.

They’re friends. It’s normal to worry if a friend is eating enough. There’s enough left over from the picnic that Daisuke can send it back with Satoshi and know he’ll have something healthy and filling for at least one meal.

Daisuke’s hands slow over details. The angle of Satoshi’s hand on the grass, the other in his lap. The overhead leaves and tree. The bento box and its double layers of food Towa worked so hard over.

Satoshi’s eyes open and he huffs a laugh.

“What?”

“You make interesting faces when you concentrate.”

Daisuke flushes. “That’s… I’m not trying to make faces at you.”

“Calm down, plenty of artists do it. Can I move?”

“Ah.” Daisuke looks down at his drawing, a more detailed sketch than he usually does. The details are vague in most places, sweeping lines and quick hatched shadow, but Satoshi’s face is captured in detail. “You can move,” he says.

Satoshi stretches. It’s not fair that Daisuke can see how his shoulders are getting broader and the peek of skin where his shirt rode up shows that Satoshi, for all that he’s bad at taking care of himself, at least takes some time to exercise.

This is usually the kind of moment where Dark pops up and does the mental equivalent of banishing the thought and high energy distraction.

Dark doesn’t pop up.

“May I see or do you not want to share it before you’re finished?” Satoshi asks with a nod toward the sketchbook.

There’s part of him that wants to slam the page shut because there’s surely something in the drawing that would tip Satoshi off to those times when Daisuke has his thoughts lean toward more than friendly things. But Satoshi rarely asks for anything, even simple things, so Daisuke holds it out.

“It’s not much,” he mumbles as Satoshi looks it over. “You could draw better.” With enough time Daisuke could get the lighting better, could make all of Satoshi feel alive on the page, not just capturing a sliver of the moment in his face and posture. But to get it right is more time and skill than Daisuke currently has.

Satoshi traces a finger along his sketched face. “I could draw better,” he agrees, “but all that means is that I have the basics and technique to catch what I want on a page.” He hands the drawing back. “That doesn’t mean your drawing isn’t good. The only one who could draw it is you.”

Daisuke’s heard about Satoshi’s ability to mimic styles and has the feeling that Satoshi could copy Daisuke’s drawing in its entirety with every flaw to perfection, but he appreciates the consideration.

“Your drawing’s too flattering,” Satoshi adds drily.

“…But…” Daisuke looks from the drawing to Satoshi. Perhaps a little flair was used in making Satoshi’s hair look extra fine, or too much attention to the arc of his neck. But it was pretty close to Satoshi in truth. Satoshi really is that pretty.

He wonders if Satoshi would react at all if he said that. Daisuke feels a twinge of guilt for playing the scenario out in his mind. A blush on Satoshi’s face, or a cold dismissive scoff. Daisuke isn’t sure which Satoshi he’d get, the one who is his friend or the one who desperately pretends he isn’t.

“Do you ever draw, Satoshi? For fun?” Daisuke asks. He pushes down the thoughts, the doubts.

Satoshi looks at Daisue’s sketchbook, something between longing and hatred in his eyes. “No”

“Oh. I guess you wouldn’t…” Not with how much Satoshi seems to hate being a Hikari.

“You should though,” Satoshi says. “Keep drawing. One day you could make something to rival a Hikari work."

For some that could be a goal. Create art with enough emotion that it is alive. For Daisuke who has seen the consequences of art created and forgotten or broken, lives gifted and harmed by their creators, that isn’t a goal he’ll ever seek. “This is enough,” Daisuke says, hand spread over his sketchbook. “I want to be enough to catch moments like this.”

Satoshi smiles one of his rare smiles. “You already are.”

#DNAngel #fanfiction #daisuke/satoshi #daisuke having artist feels #and other feels

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tiny-cloud-dragon · 5 years

Text

Random Bits: FF7 04 Ch2

[Setting - Zack has just had a tooth pulled, and has been handed off to Cloud, who now has to get his drugged up friend home]

[Location - Infirmary - Cloud and Zack are making their way down the hallway]

Cloud patiently lead Zack down the long corridor of exam rooms towards the Infirmary waiting room, doing his best to keep him upright, while Zack stumbled along like he had two rubber legs and was trying out for life time membership to the Ministry of Silly Walks. Zack would most likely been able to walk a semi straight line, if he hadn't been too busy giggling and staring at Cloud.

Cloud's head had turned into a balloon. It was big, and bright yellow, and it had his face drawn on it in black marker. The drawing was crude, nothing more than a collection of simple lines, yet it looked exactly like Cloud, down to the line doing duty as the mouth matching his familiar frown. The balloon bobbled and jinked as he walked, trailing a few inches behind him from the string that disappeared into the neck of his shirt. His head bounced a bit on its string as Cloud stopped to readjust his grip on Zack.

Zack stifled a laugh, reached up, and slowly batted Cloud's head, watching it drift sideways, then back.

"Please stop."

Zack sniggered and did it again. Repeatedly

"Can you..? Hey...knock it off--! Stop that...hey--!" Cloud stammered, trying to fend off the playful slaps as his head bobbed frantically. He lost his grip on Zack, who slid to the floor with a whoop.

The sketch of his face frowned down at Zack. "What was all that about?" he asked as his head slowly rotated 360 degrees on his string neck. Zack looked at him with glassy, dilated eyes and exclaimed as if sharing a private joke, "Dude, your head!"

Cloud gave him a patient look, reminding himself that Zack was still high on sedatives and anesthesia. Nothing he said was going to make any kind of sense. Cloud heaved him to his feet and continued lugging him down the hall.

Zack forgot about Cloud's balloon head as he concentrated on trying to walk. His legs had turned into rubber bands, and he was having a hard time keeping them coordinated. His left leg kept stretching out really far ahead, while his right stretched out and back in random directions every two seconds.

Navigating the waiting room was a nightmare. Zack's legs kept getting tangled in random chair legs, and trying to snap anyone who walked by. This meant that Zack was really unstable and kept almost falling on his face. It was then that he had an Idea. Unfortunately, it was one of those Ideas that only seem good because you are drunk. It was a Drunk Idea. His brain cells gathered together, still marinating in chemical bliss, and started bouncing ideas around.

Hey guys, listen...it's the legs...Yeah, the legs! It's all down to the legs!

So?

So it takes two to walk, right?

Yeah, but we keep falling.

Yeah...

so if we get rid of the legs, we won't fall?

Yeah! No! No, then we can't walk!

But we also can't fall...

True...But, wait, wait! If we keep falling with two legs, then how about we add more legs?

More? That's a stupid idea!

No, guys, listen. listen! Like what if ... What if we had four legs instead of two?

Why four?

Well, tables have four legs. Have you ever seen a table fall down?

No, but we've never seen a table walk either.

Yeah, but we've never seen one fall. And do you know why?

No.

Because...because tables are stable!

Hey, that rhymes!

Tables are stable!

Okay, four legs it is!

The Idea made perfect sense, so Zack Shifted.

Cloud abruptly found himself trying to hold on to a giant black wolf with four spaghetti legs. While four legs did lend certain amount of increased stability, it also meant that the Brain had more legs to sort out and keep coordinated.

Zack managed to stand perfectly balanced for all of five seconds, before he attempted to take a step and did a frantic, high-speed impression of Bambi on ice. Cloud tried to grab him, missed, and could only watch helplessly as Hurricane Zack stuck.

Legs went everywhere as he skittered and slipped wildly across the waiting room, crashing through rows of chairs, skidding back and forth across the room like a furry rocket, tossing furniture in all directions, obliterating the activity center, knocking over the sign reading "No Running" and doing a perfect drift through the magazine rack before his front legs went out from under him and he slid into the hallway carpet on his face.

Cloud looked at the swath of destruction, then looked at the nurse who was just a pair of terrified eyes barely peeking over the edge of her station desk. He stood absolutely still for a moment, just in case the earth was going to be kind enough to oblige and open up and swallow him.

Yeah, I'm going to have to pass.

But I saved you! Twice!

The best I can do is a little crack, maybe big enough for a foot.

Forget it. See if I ever save you again.

Cloud called down to Maintenance to come clean up as he picked his way through the rubble and grabbed Zack, who was standing in the hallway leading to the Lobby, barking at his reflection in the big glass windows.

"Hey!Hey! Hey, you!" Zack barked at the big black wolf on the other side of the window. "Hey! I see you! Hey! Hey!" Cloud's balloon head bobbed up behind the other wolf like a yellow harvest moon rising.

"Moon! Moon! Moon, moon, moon!" He turned and looked at Cloud as he grabbed a handful of his fur to stop him from running off. Zack looked at the yellow, frowning balloon and howled, "Moon, moon, moo-oooooooooonnnn!"

"Shhhhhh! Stop that!" Cloud hissed at him in ELITE. "Let's go home. Come on." He began tugging him down the hallway towards the Lobby.

Zack seemed to have gained enough coordination to allow him to walk, or at least stumble around without falling. He was quite proud of himself. The sun was shining brightly through the window, looking pretty fly in its black sunglasses as it waved merrily. It's bright rays fell on the smiling tulips lining the hallway, swaying from side to side in peppy rhythm as they sang, while birds in snappy top hats chased away rain clouds and threw confetti. Zack started prancing and singing along.

Cloud winced as one of Zack's giant doggo clod-hoppers landed on his foot. He did his best to keep his feet out of the way as Zack pranced along beside him like a drunk spider tap-dancing on a trampoline and singing 'Tiptoe through the Tulips'.

As they neared the Lobby, Cloud began to realize that there was no way he was going to drag Hecking High Zack from the Main Building, all the way to the parking lot. They made to the Lobby, and Cloud pulled Zack over to one of the clusters of comfy looking chairs. He looked at Zack and said sternly in ELITE,

"Sit!"

Years of ingrained military training planted Zack's fluffy butt on the carpet without even asking his brain for permission.

"Stay!" Cloud added as Zack rolled his head and looked at him upside down with his tongue hanging out.

"Good Moon Moon!"

Zack watched as Cloud trotted away to the Reception Desk to arrange for a car, balloon head being towed jerkily behind him. The lights in the Lobby were bright, shining down from neat rows, while the chairs in front of him were lined up, marching into the distance. He thought he heard the quiet susurration of a large crowd waiting in anticipation. More lights suddenly snapped on, and from the orchestra pit below the stage, a familiar ragtime tune began to play. Someone tossed him a top hat and fancy cane, and Zack rose to his hind legs as a hush fell over the crowd...

"The car will be here shortly, General" The receptionist said, hanging up the phone. "Lieutenant Haskins said it should be about five minutes and...um," she trailed off. Cloud looked at her for a few moments waiting for her to give him the rest of the details. She kept looking at him, then glancing at something to his left.

The skin on the back of his skull tingled, bunching up as if trying to physically turn his head itself. His other senses got in on the action and started drawing his attention to other small signs that something was off.

There were more people than usual hanging about. Sure, the Lobby was rarely empty, but the people who came in were usually just passing through, moving purposefully, not hesitantly passing by, or outright loitering alone or in groups. And they definitely didn't stand around with their phones out as if recording something. And there was a song playing, but as far as Cloud knew, there was no radio in the Lobby...

Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and steeling himself for what he might see. He turned, and was gut punched by the same feeling a parent gets when they turn around to see that their toddler has discarded their clothes and is doing a buck-naked impromptu performance of The Nutcracker in the middle of the grocery store.

Some idiot was two verses in to 'Hello! Ma Baby!' and Zack, tongue lolling in a wolf grin was Michigan J. Frogging his way back and forth across the seating area.

Cloud hid his face in his hands.

Are you sure you can't just swallow me?

Sorry, pal. No can do.

"Go about your business!" Cloud snarled at the assembly. "And you, Bill Roberts*," Cloud said pointing at PFC Eugene Perkins, the one who had been singing, "You get double Fire Watch duty for a week!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Perkins said with a disheartened salute.

"If you get that video to my desk in the next fifteen minutes, I'll knock it down to two days." Cloud said as he snatched Zack by the scruff before he could make another pass.

"Sir, yes, sir!" came the grateful reply.

"Come on, Moon Moon!" Cloud said, dragging Zack to the Lobby door just as the car pulled up.

To Be Continued.

*Bill Roberts - provided the original vocals for Michigan J. Frog in “One Froggy Evening"

#final fantasy 7 fanfic #final fantasy vii fanfic #cloud strife #zack fair #clack #if you squint #zack x cloud #ff7 fanfic #ffvii fanfic #final fantasy 7 fanfiction #final fantasy vii fanfiction

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juleswolverton-hyde · 6 years

Text

Your brand part 2

Genre: Tattoo Artist AU, smut, romance

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Taehyung x Reader

Warning: No warnings apply

Summary: ''Let me ink your ink your skin like you've inked your brand on my heart.''

For Ana, my partner in crime and source of inspiration.

What should have been a simple outing to get a tattoo at the most well-known tattoo shop in town, Ink Borough, results in being engraved by the biggest name in the world of ink and boss of the parlour, Kim Taehyung. However, getting a tattoo can entail a whole lot more than one might think.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Masterlist

Thoughts are briefly distracted from the painful prospect through the refreshing breeze and straying drops of fountain water that are refreshingly spraying the bare skin of my arms, one of which shall soon have a memory engraved into it by an artist with, suspected, hidden motives.

Although, it is clear he wants to have a drink together, albeit it on the job. Normally, one would not even consider doing such a thing, but something about Taehyung makes me do the opposite of what is seen as common sense. The two cups filled with bright red strawberry smoothies next to me obviously the evidence of that.

There are still ten minutes to go before the hour has passed, but if I simply sit here and do nothing more doubtful thoughts may slip in, causing me to contradict my own words in the end. I refuse to let that happen, partially because I do not want to grant the artist the knowledge of being right after all.

I stand up from the white marble bench, pick up the cardboard holder with the beverages, and head back to Ink Borough through the streets filled with tourists and locals who enjoy the warm weather.

However, whereas they let themselves be warmed by the sun, I am doing quite a pretty good job doing so myself by unintentionally feeding a probably unnecessary fear.

Taehyung has not budged an inch since I left, sitting barefoot and cross-legged on the leather sofa in the exact spot, lost in sketching. Next to him lays a heap of papers torn from his purple notebook in the meanwhile, the finished options for the tattoo. His latest work joins the rest when I put the smoothies on the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

'You're early,' he remarks with a hint of humour. 'Don't tell me you're now actually looking forward to the needle.'

'Ha ha, very funny,' I retort sarcastically. 'I brought something to drink.'

'Strawberry smoothies.' His deep voice turns thoughtful when he glances at the refreshments. 'My family has a strawberry farm down south.'

'Really?' When you take a look at him, take in the predictions on his skin, the least you would expect is for him to be a farmer's boy.

'Yeah, can't say that I have tasted one in any sort of variety for a long time though.' A hint of a past trouble glazes over his eyes. 'Huh, funny.'

'Is there a reason for that?'

'Wouldn't you like to know, detective.' And we are back to the snark. 'Anyhow,' he gestures to the various drawings of phoenixes, 'see if you find any of them to your liking.'

Drink in hand, I place the pile on my lap. Page after page is filled with a sophisticated design of the mystical creature ascending from either a pile of ashes or the residue dancing around them. Some do not have the dust of its former body included, merely the impression it flies upwards.

After going through the stack, I find the perfect design. With a smile, I turn to him, once more almost bumping my head against his. The grin instantly transforms into a snarl. 'Do you have to be so close? It's uncomfortable.'

He feigns offence. 'I am only observing your reaction, Y/N. Nothing unseemly.'

'Sure.' Now it is my turn to be sarcastic.

'Funny and knows how to use sarcasm. Y/N, I may just start to like you.'

'Nothing unseemly,' I remind him.

'Would that angry face change if I did?' He leans back, lip caught between his teeth, expression smug.

An effort to offer a reply that fails, an averted gaze focused on the chosen symbol, a brief hush in which the heat is very tangible though it is uncertain whether it is due to summer or wild thoughts.

'Although, I do quite enjoy your current expression.' He takes a sip of the smoothie. 'You should drink as well before you pass out on the chair as I am doing the outline. That is if the cotton dabbed with alcohol already won't do the trick.'

'You find it really amusing, don't you, teasing me so much because this is my first time.' Gaze turned fierce and courage regathered, I snap my head up to look Taehyung in the eye.

'Calm down, Y/N. I'm just doing it because I like you and want you to feel more at ease about this big commitment.' He holds his big hands up as if I am holding a gun, ready to shoot him. Which, in some way, I am, completely fed up with his sass. Yet, hearing him say he likes me in that manner makes me think he does not simply say it to every customer, be it newbies or more experienced persons.

'Don't say that, you say that to everyone.'

'Y/N, I don't-'

A careful smile. 'Taehyung,' his eyes widen when he hears me say his name so kind-heartedly. 'Or better said: "person who handles the decorating tools",' I correct myself, the humour back in my voice, 'can we get started before I seriously run away?'

A square smile, a playful glint in dark eyes. 'I can bind you to the chair if you want.'

'Didn't know you're into bondage.' The remark has passed my lips before I even realize what I said. The rise in temperature is now certainly due to inappropriate imaginations.

Heartfelt deep laughter nuances the meaning one may find in the comment. 'I'm not, though I can't say I ever tried it,' he adds casually. This man is bad news when you try to preserve your sanity, but it is already too late in my case, the realization has dawned too late. 'However, there is one question I need to ask before we begin.'

'Which is?'

'Colour or classic black and white?'

'Colour. Life isn't black and white, so why would the piece of it I carry with me be?'

'You sound like a friend of mine, he's also a bit of a philosopher. But it'll take longer, just so you know.'

'I would almost believe you want me out of the place as soon as possible.' I give him a challenging glance, awaiting his response as I take a sip of the strawberry beverage.

'And lose my favourite target?' He shakes his head, locks of his hair sway with the movement and tempt me to run my hand through them. Fortunately, I am able to will them to keep holding on to the plastic cup between my fingers. 'Shall we get started?'

'Yeah, good idea,' I agree lest the conversation takes a turn for the worst. However, a voice deep inside says it would not mind if it did.

The alcohol soaked cotton feels chilly upon my skin as Taehyung cleans it, the gloved slender fingers of his left hand lightly supporting my right underarm. Afterwards, he removes any hairs, both visible and invisible, with swift movements of a disposable razor. Maybe it is part of the standard procedure, maybe it is not, but he lets his fingertips languidly glide over the prepared skin, almost in what can be called an appreciative manner. If that is indeed the case, it is not minded at all and in fact let it cost me all my might to prevent the goosebumps from rising, thus betraying what he does to me. It becomes even more difficult to do so when he places the stencil on my forearm and wets it to transfer the design in its entirety. The pressure of his digits reminds me of his grip on my wrist and the sensations that caused.

'You're awfully quiet,' he comments as he peels the soaked wet paper away. His eyes meet mine, wondering what has suddenly silenced me.

'Just watching you work is fascinating.' To add a flair of faked nonchalance, I shrug.

'And I haven't even begun in earnest,' he chuckles.

I bite my lip, initially placing the reply in a context which absolutely does not apply at the moment, and cast my gaze downwards at the outline of the phoenix. 'Sorry if it makes you feel awkward.'

'It's fine, Y/N. If anything, I-' A pause followed by a strangely confident answer. 'I like your eyes on me.'

Abruptly we lock gazes. 'What?' I ask.

'What?' he repeats the enquiry.

'Anyhow,' a scrape of the throat, 'do you like the placement?' He nods at the outline. 'Take a look in the mirror, see the overall picture.'

I get up and walk to the tall mirror opposite the chair matching the fake leather sofa to admire the soon permanent piece of art. In the reflection I can see Taehyung preparing the equipment, filling cups with ink and one with clear water. For a second his gaze strays from the tattoo machine to my backside and takes in my figure, every curve revealed by the lack of coverage summer clothes cause. The instant he notices I am on to him, he shifts his focus back to the original task. He takes a sip of the smoothie, hoping it will help, but nevertheless seems to have a bit of trouble.

'You like it?' Unconsciously, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, his stare slightly arrogant due to the pride he has in his work. Yet, the ring in his deep voice can also easily be placed in another context. A context that resonates a pleasant stir within me.

'Love it,' I reply, corners of my mouth curled up into a small smile to hide what he does to me.

'You didn't pick the most painless of spots, so this may hurt throughout the entire time,' he informs when I sit down again.

I pick up the smoothie cup I placed beside the seat and take the last sip of courage, after which I return the empty version of it to its spot on the brown linoleum floor. 'I guess it's time to be brave then.'

In spite of the ointment to smoothen the skin, it is as he said. The needle penetrating and marking me with ink feels as if the fires of Hell are burning in my veins, searing the pure skin away to leave black lines behind.

It is agony at its finest, but also forms an unexpected source of pleasure. Somehow, in a wicked sense, it is as effective as a drug to have Taehyung engrave me with his brand. The careful yet tight hold his fingers have on my arm, gradually climbing up, and his concentrated dark eyes on me feed the frenzy. Especially each time he glances upwards from the tattoo to check how I am doing, the corners of his mouth curled up into the sliver of a satisfied grin when he sees how desperately I am trying to stay strong.

'Just tell me when you need a break. Don't want to make you cry,' he comments shortly when we have passed the halfway mark, briefly interrupting the process.

'As if you could.' Sarcasm has slipped in to hide the stinging yet bearable hurt, but he must be aware of my true feelings since he likely has experience with newbies that play it cool. Or try to do so, anyway.

'I wouldn't. Even if I did, I'd try my best to comfort you.' A rose-coloured flush tints his cheeks. Rapidly his stare shifts from me to the machine next to him.

Absolutely baffled I look at the snarky guy turned marshmallow. 'Did you just- are you flirting with me?'

'Guess you'd know if I do, right? You're a grown woman. Surely you recognize it when a guy is falling for you.' Feigned arrogance betrays his true thoughts.

'Are you?' I ask to test the water.

'Who knows? Maybe I do, maybe I don't.'

'You said you like me.'

'Let's just crack on, okay?' The return of the whirring and sensation of the needle interrupt the conversation and he is concentrated on the tangible part of his world of ink.

The pleased grin soon changes into something indescribable as we progress into the colouring stage, when the tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes and soft moans caused by conflicting emotions begin to spill from my lips every now and then, despite the endeavours to hold them in. It is desire and pain combined, a toxic potion I can drink any day. At least inhale its scent, as I do now. No longer able to mask it.

He changes as well the more the phoenix appears on my skin. Charisma fades, vague sonorously mumbled words meant to not be heard mingle with my utterances whenever they escape, a lush lip is caught between bright white teeth more often, awkward movements on the stool to hide a growing desire that hopefully will remain unnoticed but does not as it grabs my attention more than once, making the want for him greater. The tight grip relaxes, fingers undeniably wanting to stray but instead worshipping the piece of me they currently have within reach.

Moreover, Taehyung smells it too, without a doubt, but nevertheless tries to finish what we started. Focus weakens, dark glossy eyes trailing to the source of the new scent of a twisted nature until he remembers what he is doing and has priority.

After going on like this for another hour and a half, neither of us saying a word, the silence filled with images of his gaze regarding me in other ways than only this one and him occasionally uttering curses or barely audible groans of the word "baby" falls from his lips, the tattoo is finally completed. The gorgeous phoenix is bigger than intended and covers my forearm as it rises in a storm of scarlet red tinted with hints of gold and amber, ascending into the pastel sky, black ash falling from its wings and tail.

A deep sigh that contains a hidden impatience. 'Go have a look up close.' He nods to the white wall opposite us.

I walk to the mirror on the other side of the space to regard the tattoo, this new piece of me, and the overall renewed tougher image it creates. The only signs of vulnerability are the tears which are still present.

Fingers that are not my own rest on the underside of my arm, a big hand on my hip, a broad chest forms a wall to lean against, a hard heat source touches my behind, a husky deep voice speaks.

'What do you think?' Taehyung's gaze locks with mine in our reflection and although the question is meant to estimate my opinion on this symbol behind which hides a story, the tone he uses is out of place and his eyes look at me in anticipation.

'It's beautiful.' Gently I let my digits caress the reddened sensitive skin, secretly enjoying the last bit of remaining pain.

He bends forward to whisper in my ear, his warm breath making it seem as if the room temperature rises a few degrees. 'Just like you.'

'Taehyung-' His hands trail slowly up and slip underneath the fabric of my top, digits tracing a path to the edge of the black bralet that is concealed underneath it. A grunt falls from his lips when he rolls his hips and I meet the action by leaning into him.

'Can we go to the back office? The bandaging supplies are there.' An absolute ridiculous argument since I spy the needed tools for the treatment on the counter behind the chair, but chose to say nothing of it. Instead, I simply nod and follow him.

The tiger caught its prey, the phoenix all too willing to let it lead her to a new death.

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #Taehyung #Kim Taehyung #V #Tae #Tae Tae #Tattoo artist!Taehyung #Tattoo Artist AU #Tattoo Shop AU #Tattoo AU #Taehyung smut #Your Brand #War of Ink

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