#artist and friend sitting and taken in the sound piece.

[rwarwick]

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[drak3n]

TATTOO ARTIST/PIERCER!CHOSO

CONTENT WARNINGS: unestablished relationship, smut, public sex, mentions of body modifications, cunnilingus, implied blowjob at the end, choso has a prince albert-, tongue- and a vertical eyebrow piercing

sena’s note: i know there’s a lot of tattoo artist choso already but i folded — anywaysss up next is my man gojo 🖤

MINI-SERIES MASTERLIST

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who was very well-known for his talent despite being so young; who was always pretty gifted with his hands and used peoples’ skin like a canvas, gracing it with the prettiest designs, simple and small, or detailed and large

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who shared a studio with a few fellow tattoo artists and piercers, but had a goal of having his own studio someday

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who had just finished a 5h back piece on his last client and walked towards the front desk to retrieve his cigarettes and take a break, just for his hooded, brown eyes to set on you

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who saw you standing next to your friend and encouraging her to hand in her data sheet for her tattoo, and who watched as your friend was immediately guided into one of the rooms by a tattoo artist, just to leave you all by yourself

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who came back from smoking minutes later to see you sitting on one of the leather seats, flipping through pages of the shop’s magazine that showed many different designs of tattoos, and also piercings

“you want to get anything done?”

nearly flinching at the cold voice sounding a couple of feet away from you, your eyes met choso’s, who was leaning against the wall, revealing fully tattooed forearms through his loose-fitted t-shirt. he looked very… unique, to say the least.

“oh, no, i’m just waiting for a friend,” you smiled kindly, “she’s getting tattooed right now. think it’ll take some time.” you felt guilty that you stared at the man like he was some kind of alien. his features were just really captivating, the plethora of tattoos peeking out from his short sleeves and from the collar leaving little to the imagination that they continued even beneath that shirt.

his eyebrow tattoo shone under the light, but when he opened his mouth, your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of a tongue piercing.

you suddenly remembered what they said about guys with tongue piercings, and felt deeply ashamed about getting such thoughts about a hot stranger.

“come,” he invited you towards the room he usually worked in, “you’ll get bored here. you’ll get a piercing on the house.” he didn’t know why he offered that. maybe, just maybe it was because he didn’t want the other piercers and tattoo artists to charm you first.

at the end of the day, you left the studio with your freshly tattooed friend and a pierced nose.

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who hoped you’d walk in again, and whose shoulders nearly slumped in disappointment upon seeing your friend coming in by herself a few days later to get her tattoo checked, without your company

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who — totally on accident — saw that the studio had been tagged in multiple stories on instagram, one of which being yours, a spontaneous picture taken of your side profile that showcased the gem he had pierced into your cute nose

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who absolutely didn’t follow you after that, just to see mere minutes later that you did, and before he could stop himself, he followed you back

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who really wasn’t the best texter, which left you wondering if you should even try and talk to him at all; whose eyes went wide in surprise when you waltzed into the studio to get your thigh tattooed weeks later

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who showed you that same day how it felt to get eaten out by someone with a tongue piercing

“c—choso… fuck— what if someone—”

your hand clamped in front of your mouth to stifle a moan threatening to force itself out when the ball of metal on choso’s wet muscle bumped against your bundle of nerves. you were seated on the couch he’d previously tatted on, both of your bare legs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted on your delicious pussy.

“let them,” he spoke gruffly into your cunt as his tattooed hands dug into the underside of your thighs. he didn’t hide the smirk displaying on his lips at the way you drooled from the sensation of his piercing coolly gliding against your wet pussy lips.

“c’mon. use your words. i’ll let you cum if you do.”

“pleasepleaseplease let me cum… please choso.”

“cute. you want to feel what the piercing on my dick feels like?”

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who totally did make you beg on his thick dick adorned with a shiny prince albert piercing, and who couldn’t even be mad at you when you flashed him a tongue piercing you had gotten at another studio to surprise and make him see stars just like he’d done for you

[http-tokki]

need to know

~ choso kamo x fem!reader (tattoo artist choso au) ~tags/cw: tattoo artist choso, fem reader, tattoo artist au, tattoos, needles, satosugu is canon, modern au, choso has a scar over his nose instead of his markings, strangers to friend to lovers (strangers rn) tiny lil man verbal bashing cause men are weak lil babies when getting tattoos, reader is a lil chubby, choso is on antidepressants, smoking/vaping, drinking ~ wc: 2.9k ~ "Dude, he is so fucking hot. I wasn't expecting him to look like that!! What do I do?!! Help?!?"

You: Wednesday 8:45pm Hi, I was just wondering if your books were still open? It says they are in your bio but in case I've missed it and they're closed, please ignore this message, sorry! :)

Kamo: Wednesday 9:23pm Hey. No, they are still open. When were you looking to book? Do you have a specific design? Or are you looking for a flash?

 

You: Thursday 11:36am Oh, hi, awesome! Thank you for getting back to me so quickly! I was looking to book next month, towards the end. On a weekend if that would be possible (I don't mind the time), and for the design, just a flash (design 3A) on your latest post on my upper arm, around 15-20cm. :)

You: Thursday 11:52pm Unless you think it should be smaller or somewhere else, I'm not picky! I really want something of yours tattooed on me :)

 Kamo: Thursday 12:15pm Sure, no problem! I have the 24th free at 12pm. Does that work for you? The spot and size are fine, but I'll make up smaller and bigger stencils on the day in case you change your mind. The total would be $600 for the piece. However, I require a $100 deposit to secure your spot. I can send you the payment details once you confirm your interest. Please read through my FAQs on cancellation policies and further information.

You: Thursday 12:20pm 24th at 12pm is perfect! Thank you!! I'll send a deposit through now! Ahh, so excited! :)

 

Kamo: Thursday 1:07pm You're welcome. Here is the link x. Please send a screenshot of your payment as proof. For the rest of the amount, I accept cash only. If you have any other questions, feel free to message me. See you on the 24th.

You: Thursday 3:30pm Sending it now! Yay! Thank you so much! Super excited, see you! :)

Kamo: Thursday 4:35 pm Seen 

--

 "I sound like an idiot, don't I?" you grumble as your friend reads over your chat with a tattoo artist.

You watch your friend tilt their glasses down, squinting at the screen as their mouth curls into a grimace. They try to hide it with a sniffle, disguising their obvious disgust over your intense enthusiasm.

"Not an idiot," they hand the phone back to you, a frown set in the crooked way it always did when they were uncomfortable. "Just really, really eager, which can be cute if you like that."

--

Choso is growing tired. 

At what? There are too many contributing factors to the headache that had begun blooming his eyes five minutes after stepping into the studio to pinpoint the main culprit of his budding exhaustion. Maybe it was the late night/early morning combo, or perhaps it was the horrific lack of water and food he hadn't consumed in the last twenty-four hours. When was the last time he had taken his medication? Choso begins to run through the previous days in an attempt to remember when he had even glanced at the Zoloft sheet sitting in the bottom drawer of his trolley, but his attention is diverted from his lack of self-care to the man sitting in his tattoo chair. 

It is coming up on the two-hour mark since his client walked in. With a brazen attitude that could rival a Greek god, the man had outlined what had to be the simplest fucking tattoo known to man. Choso had rolled his eyes at the frankly impressive and thorough drawing done by the twenty-something gym bro before shifting the paper off to his younger brother. 

"Come on, it's easy! An hour tops, and then you've got like two fifty in your hand! You technically owe me an observation session, and this can be it." Yuji had gripped his brother's sleeve, tugging on it the way he used to when they were kids. 

Taking in his younger half-brother as his apprentice was a good idea in theory. The two lived and worked together, so there was ample time for obvs and practice, but today was already busy, and Choso was feeling like complete and utter shit. 

"Yuji, I don't want to do this. I have a client coming in at twelve for a full session, and I've got this headache and-"

"It's easy money, come on! Please." it technically was easy money. The design was a small band wrapped around the bicep, with no adornments or script, just a flat black line; it was the client himself that made Choso apprehensive. 

"Fine." Choso sighed, and Yuji almost jumped into the air in excitement. "You prep and clean him; I'm not doing anything but the actual tattoo." 

Yuji nodded eagerly and just about ran into the front room to confirm the walk-in appointment. 

That was almost two hours ago, and Choso is still here, finishing up the outlines of the band on a guy twice his size but carrying on like a toddler. Each touch of the needle on skin had the man flinching and hissing through his teeth, and there is only so much Choso could take. 

Choso eyes the clock nervously, his next appointment slot ticking closer but the second. There isn't going to be enough time to get out and grab a coffee or snack from the corner store. After another quick glance at the amount of work before him, Choso calls it fifteen minutes to twelve and clicks off the tattoo gun with a disappointed sigh.

 "Hey, I'm sorry, but we might have to split this into two sessions." 

He looks back over at this current client, who is sweating profusely. It takes everything in him to scowl in disgust at the once brazen man before him, but not the look on his client's face; Choso knows some form of repugnance had slipped through his composure. 

 "Yeah, sure, man, no sweat," the client replies, relief blatant in his sigh. "Sorry for taking so many breaks. I've got a weak pain tolerance."

That makes Choso feel a little bad.

"You're fine. I've just got a pre-booked client coming in like ten and need to set up." A little lie to hurry the man up. 

Hope is so close. So attainable that Choso can almost feel the sun on his face, but the shop bells slice through any dream of a break. 

"Hi, I'm here for my twelve with Kamo?" 

Choso slouches, attention now on the conversation happening in the front room. It's not even twelve yet! Why would she be here so early? 

"Yep! We've got you down for twelve, but Choso's still with someone, so if you wanna wait here, that's okay!" Yuji giggles in response. 

"Ohh, I'm just here to ask if umm…Choso wanted a coffee or anything?" his name is a question on her tongue. "I'm going to go get one and wanted to ask if anyone wanted anything so you don't have to wait in line." 

That's nice. Choso thinks and leans back on his chair, attempting to glimpse his new client, who has Yuji giggling at every word. 

"I was just about to step out to get coffee so I can come with you, but I can get Cho's; you don't need to pay for him." Another giggle. God, his younger brother is shameless. 

"That's okay! I can get them; just write your orders down so I don't forget!" the girl insists.  

"Ohh, but-"disappointment fills Yuji's voice. 

"Yuji, can you come here please!" Choso shouts down the hall, pulling his brother away from his new crush. 

Yuji groans, then the shop bells ring again, and then the sound of footsteps shuffles down the hall. 

"Yes?" 

"Can you wrap him up and finish the payment? I need a smoke." Choso rolled back from the bed, handing over the second skin he has yet to unwrap. 

Choso's brother sighs but offers the male client a friendly smile, sits down in the now vacant rollaway stool, and begins to prep the skin for wrap-up.

"I'll be back in five; if anyone needs me, tell them to wait." Choso grumbles the last part and offers a stiff wave to his current client before disappearing into the hall. 

 The knots in Choso's shoulder have been building for days now, and no amount of rolling or stretching seems to relieve the tension in his muscles, but it is nice to stretch and feel the blood move around him again. Heavy boots echo through the small shop as he stalks to the front desk, floorboards creaking under the weight of thick rubber soles. His fingers slip into his back pocket to reach for the small pack of menthols hastily shoved down after the abrupt end of his morning break. 

Stepping out into the world, Choso is blinded by the sun. Having forgotten about the passage of time while being stuck indoors all day, he now stands stunned in the small alcove of the shop's entrance. The sun nears the centre of the sky, beating down the world in a heat never seen before. It wasn't even the beginning of summer, and the sweltering days were breaking temperature records. Choso shields his eyes with a hand, and even then, his vision is blurred as his retinas adjust. 

The street is quiet; an abnormal silence had fallen over the usually busy road, but with the rising blistering temps, he suspects people aren't willing to brave the heat to shop or eat. Choso finds the familiar recess in the wall, a door had been there years ago but has long since been boarded up and now acts as refuge for him and his brother. Through any weather, time of day or season, the small alcove is a sanctuary for tired and burnt-out artists needing a second away from the constant buzz of tattoo guns. 

Choso scans the few open cafes and bars for his mystery client. Mainly office workers on lunch break and mothers with strollers waiting for the afternoon pick up; he can't see anyone that fits the image he had concocted in his mind on the short walk over until he spots a girl standing in line across the way. The tattoos that adorn her legs are what Choso notices first. Patchwork pieces from different artists in black and white with pops of colour here and there, but for the most part are monochromatic, all spaced far enough to be their own pieces but not so much that they seem gap-y. He is impressed at the choice, knowing that when getting patchwork pieces, they are usually slapped in any available location, but from what he can see, every piece flowed into each other and told a story against her skin. Her arms are equally as covered, though with more room, and he is eager to see the works up close. A flash of pink catches his attention, and he narrows his attention on the pink My Melody backpack that she swings at her side, pink wallet clutched in her free hand as she shifts her weight from her toes to her heels. Choso smirks at the bag and finds himself willing her to turn so he can see the face of the girl who we had been staring at for the past five minutes. 

He is staring and he needs to stop before he gets caught. Shifting his attention from the random woman, he fishes out his phone and focuses on the seemingly endless DMs and texts stacked on the lock screen. Sometimes, he wonders if he really should have gone into a career where his livelihood relied on communicating with strangers. With expert precision and one hand, he pulls a cigarette from the crumpled packet and slips the filter between his teeth. Biting down the filter, the taste of menthol fills his mouth, and relief floods his veins before settling in the deep groves of his brain. The cigarette isn't even lit yet, but his nervous system knows that the taste of mint will soon be followed by nicotine, and all will be well for a few minutes. Breaking the habit of smoking has been on Choso's New Year's resolution lists for the past three years, but he only ever lasts a few weeks before turning back to the comfort of those overpriced joints. Maybe next year will be the year. Choso digs through his pockets, fingers grasping for the lighter he keeps in his right pant pocket, but there is nothing. Maybe the other side? Still nothing. Third pocket? Fourth pocket? Nada. Zilch. Zero. Fuck. 

There isn't enough time to go back inside to search for matches, and he had already popped the filter and doesn't want to waste the smoke, but it would get gross sitting in the packet- his headache grew. 

"Choso?" a soft voice asks from above.

Choso looks up from his lap and is greeted by the most stunning woman he has ever seen. Breathing is no longer automatic as he stares at you, and when his lungs start to contract almost painfully, he realises and takes in an all too obvious breath.

It wasn't fair to look like that. With the sun illuminating your silhouette, cradling you in an angelic aura that has Choso debating on whether he should get on his knees and pray to you, but too much time has passed since you spoke and he acknowledged you that he has to say something, but all he can manage is a muffled yeah?

"I'm your twelve, but you look like you need a light?" you hold out a bright pink light between pretty pink manicured fingers. 

Choso offers a tight-lipped smile to prevent the cigarette from falling from his mouth and takes the lighter, flicking it to life. "Thanks, I owe ya."

He holds the flame to the tobacco, and only when it glows bright does he pull the disposable away.

"It didn't cost me anything, so nothing to owe."

There is a beat of silence as you throw the light back into your bag before bending down to pick up the coffee you had set at your feet. "Also, a coffee." another offer towards him. 

"The guy at the desk gave me your order, and I always buy my artists something before a session. I'm not hitting on you."

Your admission of this not being a move stirs something in him. Choso accepts the cold cup with a soft thank you, angling his hand away from yours, careful not to burn you with the lit smoke.

 "I'll meet you inside. Give you a moment to yourself." you nod towards the door of the studio, feet already turning to start walking towards the entrance. 

He watches you walk away, a smile creeping on his face despite not knowing why. You're as cute from the front as you are from the back, and he's glad the girl he had seen in the coffee shop is you. Soft curves make up your figure, dipping at your waist before filling out again over your bust. Choso feels his stomach twist in that familiar feeling, but he can't think of you like that; you're a client and nothing more. There is a mesmerising way in which you walk that has Choso unable to look away, and even when you've stepped into the studio, his gaze lingers on the empty space you once stood in until the rancid taste of burnt filter fills his mouth. Never in his life has he been as thankful for coffee as he is in that moment when burnt paper fills his senses. Taking a big gulp of the sweet but still bitter drink, it takes everything in him not to spit in the street, but he was raised better than that and will wait until he is in the small bathroom to spit up the gross contents.

 --

 When Choso returns, you are sitting on the small couch in the waiting room, filling out consent forms. Head down as you read the number of your ID and scribe it down in the open line; he walks past you, suddenly horrified by his heavy choice of shoe. The thick thud of the rubber soles on the hardwood has you lifting your head and smiling at your artist. Choso feels his stomach flip.

"So," Choso starts, but the smoke still in his throat chokes the word. He clears his throat and restarts his sentence. "So, do you smoke, or do you just carry the lighter?"

"My best friend smokes, so I just carry it 'cause you never know when you're gonna need a light." Your laugh is contained, almost forced, as if the interaction you are having is uncomfortable for you. Had he done something wrong?

"Ohh." Is his only reply as you return to the balanced folder on your lap.

Another moment of silence before Choso steps towards the hall. "I'll let Yuji check you in, and then just come in when you're ready." Had he already made you that uncomfortable in the two minutes you had spoken outside? Choso takes a deep breath as he steps into his space and suddenly wishes the whiney baby was the one getting tattooed.

--

You: Saturday 12:05pm Dude, he is so fucking hot. I wasn't expecting him to look like that!! What do I do?!! Help?!?

Number ONE best friend: Saturday 12:06pm suck his dick? ik guys like that :P 

You: Saturday 12:06pm Idk what I expected from you. I need actual advice, please Saturo. U owe me!

Number ONE best friend: Saturday 12:07pm ooh first name, you're kinda scary. Okay, here is what you do. You act like a normal human and then flirt a lil and suss out if he's into it and then ask him out to drinks?

You: Saturday 12:08pm That works if I KNEW HOW TO FLIRT. Ugh im screwed, he's so fine fuck

Number ONE best friend: Saturday 12:09pm eww, you're getting ur jizz all over the screen. just breathe and be normal okay, pretend he's me.

You: Saturday 12:10pm  Ignoring the first comment. Im gonna sneak a pic and show u BRO YOU NEED TO SEE HIM

Number ONE best friend: 12:10pm creepy but okeeeeyyy. Sugu also says to breathe and be normal but to ignore anything you think I would do

You: Saturday 12:11pm Thanks, Suguru, please kill him for me, ill talk to u guys in a bit

Number ONE best friend:  good luck bestie 8======D

a/n: okay so there is going to be a part two but I'm not sure when, please give me feedback if you want it or want me to stop, put the laptop down and go outside lmao lil texting format, lemme know how y'all feel about that

[redheadspark]

may i have Benedict x reader from bridgerton with prompt #25

A/N - So cute for Benedict! Thanks for the request, anon!

Overflowed

Summary - Benedict knows how to make you smile

Warnings - Angst and fluff rolled into one :)

If there was one thing you loved about your life being a Bridgerton, it was how it was never boring or mundane.

It all started when you met your future husband, Benedict.  You both were attending art class at one of the most prestigious schools in the area, sitting side by side during one of the night classes and going through one of the lectures.  Benedict came from a wealthy family, prestigious family, which that had a major reputation for being well-loved and compassionate in charities and amongst other families.  You heard about his family for some time, though your family was not part of that circle since you were not well off.  In fact, you were attending the art school on a full-ride scholarship, not wanting to take it for granted and keeping your nose in your books and canvas.  But that night as Benedict plopped down next to you with his laptop out and ready to try, he looked over at you as you were handwriting your notes instead of typing it out.

He smiled, leaning over and saying in a low tone, “I like your handwriting.  It’s lovely,”

It was safe to say you are smitten with him from then on out.

You both sat together for the rest of the semester, learning about each other and becoming friends.  All of those rumors and stories that you hear about his family both seemed true and untrue.  He was kind, and humble in his upbringing and just wishing to be a better artist but not afraid to talk about his family and all of their endeavors.  He showed interest in you and what you liked about art, which pieces you liked and hated.  Although you were hesitant and wanted to keep your guard up when it came to letting in someone new in your life, Benedict snuck in always. 

Your first date was actually at the local county fair, Benedict asked you out after several months of building a friendship. It was surprising that he took you to a county fair, some of your other friends were already spewing theories about him taking you to a luxury restaurant or even on a yacht since his older brother Anthony did that with his now wife Kate. But not with Benedict, he would prefer to laugh with you and eat fried fair food and look at the street vendors.  

He made you laugh while attempting to win you a stuffed animal at the games, though you tried to warn him that they were rigged.  Benedict threw one baseball a bit too hard and almost broke the tent wall behind the plate that he was attempting to smash.  You laughed, the vendor scowling at him as Benedict took your hand and you both bolted before you were caught.  Benedict loved the sound of your laugh, he mentally would remember that moment for the rest of his life.  Throughout the night, you felt your walls coming down slowly with him and how he made you smile and giggle without you realizing what he was doing. Benedict was more down to earth than anything that night, then taking you to the local art show that was placed in the back of the fair.  

“I thought you would rather see something like this than at a fancy gallery,” He explained, you grinning from ear to ear as you both were gazing at the paintings and sketches from local painters and artist that were selling their art.  To think that he had all the money he would ever need, the reputation to be put in the pockets of people with power, but he simply wanted to be with you.

You shared your first kiss that night, his lips tasting of popcorn and soda pop.

Dating Benedict was both thrilling and intimidating at the same time. You were taken into his world, filled with wealthy relatives and charities that would sell dinner seats for thousands of dollars.  You barely had 1000 dollars to your name, let alone in your savings, but Benedict never minded it.  His own family was insanely sweet and kind to you, seeing how you made the artist in the family so happy and filled with joy.  Of course, they would tease you about his aloofness and his quirky nature, but you saw the same compassion and authenticity that was in Benedict in each of his siblings and his kind mother.  

However, you were a fish out of water with those dinners and events that you attended on Benedict’s arm.  The small talk with the fellow guests seemed forced and almost dry, Most of them were grilling you with questions about your own life, if you came from a rich family, or if you had any investments.  The pressure was a bit much at times, Benedict sensing it when you sat side by side during the dinners.  But the great thing about Benedict was that he would attempt to make you laugh during those tense moments, by any means necessary.  Comments under his breath, jokes that he knew were not great dinner conversation, his sense of humor was once again winning and making you come out of your shell a bit more.

Anthony could have sworn he saw you giggling and hiding your smile behind your napkin as Benedict whispered in your ear.  Anthony knew it then, you two were meant to be together.

Not everything was happy and positive with you two when it came to your love for one another. Because of your more humbled upbringing, your family bought of Benedict as dragging you along to use you.  It was hard to hear that from them, they all thought it was some kind of ruse and not real.  No matter how many times you defended your love for Benedict and told them constantly that you both were insanely happy together.  Even your ex was spewing hate on your relationship, which hurt a bit more since you and your ex were a bit sour together.  

But in the end, Benedict always came through by comforting you and making you feel safe.  He would constantly hug you and remind you that you were strong and adored, that you’d come so far in earning your degree and working at a gallery, fighting tooth and nail with your advantages and no leg up.  He admired you for that, and to see you feel defeated by others and their words broke his heart.  Plenty of nights were shared holding each other and talking through those bitter moments, it felt better to talk to him about it and get it off your chest than to hold it in.

And every time, Benedict would end up making you laugh and bringing you joy.  

“I think I found mummy!”  You looked up from your spot on the loveseat, holding an important letter in your fingers as your husband waltzed into the room with your 3-year-old daughter on his back and squealing in joy.  You beamed, watching your husband act like a horse and neighing as he was galloping around the small living room and your daughter laughing her head off with her ringlets dancing behind her.  

“Look, mummy!  Daddy’s a horsey!” She shrieked as Benedict was going in circles around your loveseat, you placing the letter on the coffee table and standing up with your hands on your hips.

“Quite the handsome horse too!” You teased, Benedict, slowing down and laughing as he stood in front of you.  Your daughter, Emma Violet Bridgerton, poked her head over his shoulder and you saw the same shade of green that her father had in her eyes.  She reached out to you with grabby hands, to which you scooped her in your arms to hug her tight, breathing in her sweet scent and feeling her arms around you.

5 years of marriage was no easy feat, but it was rewarding.  You both got married in the spring, then found a decent apartment in the downtown area that was close to the gallery you were now running and Benedict sold some of his work to get some money in your pockets. He would rather make money not by his name but by his art, using an alias with his art and not giving out his true identity.  It worked in his favor, his work being sold globally and making his alias a household name.  Your net worth grew, though tedious at times, but it grew nonetheless.  

So the news that you were pregnant two years into your marriage was a surprise, but the best kind since Benedict was over the moon at the thought of being a father.  Sure, he never thought about being a father so soon, but he didn't despise the thought of it.   Yet you were the one who was afraid of parenthood, mostly because of your own experience with your parents and how they were with you.  They were harsh, far too realistic, and at times brutal.  Did you want to inflict that on your own child?

“You are not your mum and dad,” Benedict reminded you one night as you two were lying in bed, you telling him what was festering in your mind and what you were fearing.  He had one arm around your shoulders, and his other hand was resting on your lower stomach while he was staring at you lovingly, “We are gonna love this baby and make sure that there is nothing but happiness in this home.  Plus, I bet you we’ll make mistakes here and there.  Especially me, I bet you I’m gonna put the diaper on the wrong way,”

You smiled softly, “More than once?” You asked to ask sheepishly, Benedict’s smile got wide.

“Are you kidding, over a dozen times at least!” He explained, you laughing as he went on, “And I’ll be singing to our baby with my horrible singing voice, you’re gonna hate it!”

As soon as Emma Violet Bridgerton was born, Benedict was over the moon in love with her.

“We were looking for you in hopes you were wanting to come get ice cream with us!” Benedict explained to you as Emma perked up and looked at you with her father’s eyes she inherited.

“Can we, mum?” She asked with hope in her voice, you eyeing her and then her father.

“Before dinner?” You asked in a joking tone, Emma giggling glee as you tickled her sides, “The scandal of it all!  What will the neighbors say!  We must get ice cream then since I have been craving chocolate!”

“Hooray!” Emma said in victory, the there of you walking out of the living room together as a happy family.  You left the letter behind, another disappointing letter from your parents who were reprimanding you for shielding your daughter from her grandparents.  But you were having none of it, you may have before when things were still tender with them. Yet not now, not with this life that was overflowing with happiness.  

The overflowing will never end, not if Benedict had anything to do with it.

The End.

May Prompt Session

[baziutawrites]

Priorities

Sub!Xavier Thorpe x Female OC smut

WARNING! If you are under 18 yrs old, do not read this piece. I do not take responsibility for anything if you proceed.

Masterlist is pinned on my blog. Check it out cuz I can't link it for you here.

Despite being the most skilled artist at Nevermore Academy, Xavier Thorpe wanted his girlfriend to help him out with his jester makeup. However, he didn't want to make it easy for her. He wanted to have her, close, for a bit longer than just a few minutes of dabbing face paint onto his cheeks.

“Will you stop squirming,” Val let out an exasperated sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

“Tickles.” 

Xavier grimaced, flinching slightly and scrunching up his nose at the brush bristles around his eye. A squiggle of black adorned his cheek, messing up the entire half of his already painted face.

The warm sunlight was slowly inching away from the walls - it was nearing midday, and they still weren’t ready for the upcoming competition. They were in Xavier’s dorm room for more than an hour now, doing his godforsaken clown makeup for the entire time. He could not make up his mind about the design - or at least that’s what he made her think it was.

V huffed, getting up from the desk she was sitting at to get a towel. She would have to remove the makeup for the fifteenth time this morning. And again, his fingers slid against her leg as she did so, gliding over a particularly sensitive spot at the back of her knee, earning a quiet gasp from her. She shivered, goosebumps erupting on her exposed skin and gave him a side-eye. He smiled, feigning innocence. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

He knew all of her sweet spots, he had them mapped out - no, burned into his memory. He studied them religiously every single chance he got. Just like when he ghosted his fingertips over the crook of her neck during the lunch breaks, pretending to notice a speck of fabric that needed to be taken off of her skin, or when he glided his palms along the small of her back when she passed him in the halls. Or when he slid his fingers along her inner thighs, right underneath her skirt - on supposed accident - every time she got up from his lap, or when he caressed her ankles, swirling his thumbs around them whenever they were hanging out with their friends in the courtyard. Or when he kept looking out for loose strands of her hair just to tuck them away, brushing his fingernails oh-so-tenderly behind her ear or across the nape of her neck, when he pretended to get her hair out of her collar before every Botany class they had together. 

He knew every single one of those spots and more. Many, many more.

He remembered them all vividly, when she was then moaning quietly in a bathroom stall or an empty classroom, as he worshiped her flushed skin slowly, inch by inch, his large hands feeling the mounds of her hips, spreading her thighs to nestle between them. He relished in hearing his own name, soft and breathy on her lips. He loved the feeling of her fingers intertwined in his hair when he caressed her heated, dripping folds with his hungry mouth. He noted every move, every sound she made when he lapped at her sensitive clit, how she arched her back when he sucked on her relentlessly. How hot she became and how her legs trembled when she got close to the edge because of him. He remembered how his long fingers were stretching her heat, pumping in and out of her at a steady pace, absolutely in love with the feeling of her clenching around them. How he loved hearing her groan throatily with her head thrown back when the lewd, wet sounds of her pussy swallowing his fingers filled the room. How she was pulling at his hair, pushing him closer to herself, making him bury his face into her sopping, fluttering cunt. 

He very well remembered how his dick was rock hard by then, straining painfully against the fabric of his underwear, or how he wanted to skip the next few classes, begging her to fuck - and how she scolded him for it with a faux look of sympathy on her reddened face. He remembered her pink, flushed cheeks and her glazed eyes, giving him those heavy lidded, cocky looks, when she tried to smooth out her shirt before the next class, trembling hands trying to fix up her skirt. He remembered Ajax giving him a knowing smile every time they barely showed up on time for the class, bumping his shoulder with an "extracurricular activities, eh", to which he always nodded, grinning smugly under his nose. How he could still taste her on his tongue, making it difficult for him to focus on the subject presented in class, as he tried to fight his still throbbing, untouched dick. How much more difficult it was, when she sat a few rows in front, shifting in her seat because of what he had just done to her mere minutes ago. It replayed in his mind's eye in every detail when she turned her head to look at him and sent him a wink.

Xavier remembered every single moment like this. And he still wanted more of them, more of her. He was addicted.

His heart fluttered when she slowly swayed her hips as she walked back towards the desk he was sitting at, wet towel in hand. She seemed to know what he was playing at by now but didn't want to give that away just yet. Curiosity overtook her. She wondered, what is he going to do with a little bit of a push in the right direction. 

She lifted her skirt up, just enough to make Xavier see her panties and straddled his legs, bringing the towel close to his smudged cheek. His little gasp didn't go unnoticed and she smirked, leaning closer to his face, watching in amusement, how transfixed he was by her clothed cunt so close to his hardening dick.

"I'm gonna have to start all over again." She pouted, wiping at the black splotch on his cheek. It only smudged more, messing up the red lines of the smile. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, pushing away a strand of hair that escaped his half-up, half-down hairdo.

"Or…" He took her hand into his large one, away from his cheek, his breath fanning her palm. "We could… rest… for a… bit… you know?"

He planted soft, wet, open mouthed kisses along the line of her wrist and up her arm at every pause, leaving red face paint in their wake and making her drop the towel. And just as he expected, V's face relaxed, her eyelids fluttered at the sensation. This was too good to refuse. His other hand pulled her against his bare chest as he continued to kiss her, stopping every now and then at a particularly delicate spot near her shoulder.

"Xavier–" 

"Yes, baby?" His plump lips were now busy with her other wrist, gliding over the sensitive skin. His fingers slid under her shirt and rested on her lower back, sending shivers down her spine.

"We're gonna-ah–" she gasped, shifting on top of him, making him suck in his breath suddenly as she rubbed her clothed pussy against his semi-hard on. "Gon' be late."

He only hummed in response, his breath now on the side of her neck. She snaked her fingers into his hair, messing up his bun, making him purr and prompting him to latch his mouth onto her pulse. Every nip left a wet spot, the cool air contrasting with the warmth of his breaths in between the kisses. Her nipples hardened to the point they were visible through her sports bra and her shirt and he noticed this immediately. 

His big hands worked slowly, caressing her sides, stopping at her every moan to prolong the sensations that sent shivers down her body, making a knot form in her stomach when they slid underneath her bra. His long fingers brushed over her perked nubs. He kept kissing her jawline, her throat, feeling the vibrations of her moans forming, ready to fall from her lips if he gave her just a little bit more.

Xavier didn't want anything else in the world right now but to give her everything he could, just to hear her.

Her shirt and bra now laid abandoned somewhere on the floor. His nose slid down her chest, leaving a white-red stripe of paint on her sternum and the undersides of her breasts, licking the newly exposed, delicate skin, inching closer and closer to her nipples. And she shuddered in anticipation, feeling his wet mouth drawing closer to her aching spots. When he finally did, his lips closing around one of them, his tongue circling it hungrily, she moaned his name, pushing herself against him. Her hands fisted his hair, tugging at the strands at the back of his head, making him groan into her breasts. He could feel her wetness through the material of hers and his own underwear and he could not help himself anymore. He rolled his hips into her core, desperate for some sort of pleasure to soothe his now aching cock. 

His open mouthed kisses got messy, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth as he did everything in his might not to throw his head back when she ground her cunt onto his hardened dick. His name repeatedly falling from her open mouth in breathy moans made his head feeling fuzzy, leaving him wanting - no, needing more. His hands roamed her body in a desperate frenzy, trying to bring her closer to him, to feel her whole against his chest. He sucked on her hardened nipples, grazing them with his teeth on accident, just as she leaned away from him with a squeal and her hand trailed down his abdomen. He groaned at the sensation of her warm fingers sliding under the waistband of his underwear and wrapping around his shaft, his hard cock now free from the material. He watched her spit down on him and lower herself over his twitching cock, her mouth open and ready to take him.

"No." He heard himself say. He grabbed her wrist to stop her, surprising her as well as himself by his actions. She looked at him, taking in his mess of a makeup and a wild, kind of desperate look in his green eyes.

“I want– I, ah, just use me.” He whispered, breathless. Heat was rising to his cheeks, a bit ashamed at his own boldness. “Use me like a toy. Make yourself feel good first, baby.”

Their lips crashed together in a needy, messy, open mouthed kisses, teeth and tongues clashing, trying to taste each other before the other one.

His eyes snapped shut, his hips bucked into her palm with a gasp as he felt her guide his dick towards her heat. Bare pussy lips glided smoothly over his tip, rubbing directly over her swollen clit, coating him in a flood of her slick juices. 

"Use me, yes, just like that, babe," His strained voice was low and raspy. His fingers now dug into her butt, pushing her to roll herself on the underside of his dick, her moans filled the otherwise quiet room. He felt his swollen head catching onto her exposed clit with every single slide, flicking it relentlessly, making him whine like a wounded puppy when she writhed on top of his long, lanky legs, digging her fingernails into his shoulders. The thin walls of his dorm room definitely didn't offer any soundproofing - Xavier was sure at least half of his wing heard them by now but he could not care less. He loved her voice, so filled with pleasure, it was like an angelic music for him. Music that he replayed in his mind every time he was away from her, jerking off to his drawings of her. He savoured the feeling of her chest flush against his as he buried his face into her neck, breathing hard and heavy, sliding his hot lips over the crook of her neck.

This was now. This was real, yet he felt like in one of his dreams - his fantasies again. He wanted to pinch himself. His mind was in some sort of dazed high right now, as he felt her soaking cunt rut on his rock hard dick, felt her getting hotter and hotter to the touch. His eyes rolled back with a groan. V's skin was getting covered in a thin layer of sweat and it made him grit his teeth. He knew she was close - her low moans and scrunched up face, mouth open, rocking on him with an absent minded look in her eyes, was an image he could not ever forget - but so was he. The idea of her cumming all over him, because of him, pushed him to his limits every single fucking time. And he couldn't let himself do that. He could not deny himself the beautiful picture that was about to unfold in front of his eyes if he held on for just a little bit longer.

His dick strained as he groaned, feeling her oncoming orgasm. His eyes never leaving her face only to grow wide, so as did hers. He felt his burning, rock-hard cock push inside her soft, dripping cunt, filling her up with his entire length with the momentum of their grinding, just to bottom out and thrust right back in. He stretched her tight, warm pussy, the sensation sending electricity through her spine so intense, her back arched and her eyes rolled back, as her orgasm hit her hard with its flaming waves.

"Xavi– ohyes god, Xavier, fuck, yes, yes–!"

His fingers dug into her hips, impailing her hard as she pulsated around him. His pupils blown out, whining her name as well, eyes roaming her face in a drunken hunger, as he spilled inside her mere seconds after her. Hips stuttering, he buried his face in her chest, feeling the sweet release of his own orgasm heightened by V's clenching walls almost sucking his dick dry of his cum.

They sat there for some time, unmoving, tired and dazed, almost falling asleep in between soft and delicate pecks of their lips over each other faces. Through the heavy lidded eyes, Val noticed the sun moved again, she wondered what time it was. And then she jolted upright, startling Xavier out of his pussydrunk state.

"Wha'is it?" He groaned, frowning at the sudden absence of her warmth. 

"The Poe Cup!"

He felt a towel on his crotch and a brush on his face, rapidly dabbing paint on his cheeks as he froze. Shit.

They got packed in a blink of an eye and somehow Val managed to fix his makeup enough for it to look good and cover the hickeys she left on his neck a few nights ago. 

"I have something planned for you," she stated smugly, tracing her fingers over one of the spots on his neck, as she fixed the strings of his jester hat. "A consolation prize."

He gave her a playful look.

"Don't believe in me, babe?"

"Well, I bet The Black Cats are going to win. Again." Her cocky tone made him feel something in his stomach - something he never thought he would. A desire to make her eat her own words, to show her who's in charge this time.

“And what if I win?”

“Then I’ll let you do whatever, now come on. We’re gonna be late.”

She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the door. He stalled a bit.

“Anything? So, say, I could be… in control?”

She nodded absentmindedly, glancing around the room for things she might’ve forgotten, her mind clearly fixated on the Poe Cup. She didn’t notice the glint in Xavier’s eyes. She didn’t notice how he straightened his back, how his cheeks flushed underneath the white paint, how his breath hitched just slightly. How his smile widened, mischief and determination written across his features. She didn’t even notice how he bit his lip ever so slightly in a way that promised things she could not ever see coming.

“So,” he stated, almost casually, “we have a deal then?” 

“Yea, yea, deal. Can we go now? Y'know, I have a Cup to win. Again.” She smirked, winking.

His heart fluttered, a wave of excitement sending shivers down his very core.

Yeah, we’ll see about that… 

Xavier followed V towards the lake, chuckling under his breath at how determined she was in her stride. So confident and self-assured. He watched her vanish inside the Black Cats’ tent, absolutely positive the victory was hers. He squared his shoulders, fists clenched at his sides, his mind racing. Adrenaline pumped through his veins once again, making it difficult to stay still. He had to focus.

Now, where the fuck was Ajax? They had some prepwork to do.

And he had a bet to win. 

[justsomewritingblog]

Unrequited Love (Part 2)

Request:  None

Requested By:  Nobody

Pairing:  Adrian/Cat Noir x reader (unreciprocated)

Summary:  Y/n gets to know people.

Warnings:  None?  Jealousy?

A/N:  Repost!

Word Count:  1K+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was lunch period, and everyone had taken their seats.  Y/n was sitting in the corner, with her empty lunch tray sitting on the table before her.  She was sketching some more.  Y/n let out a huff, drawing (wink wink) a blank.

She stared down at the page before her, hoping it held answers.  She heard a throat clear.

“Mind if I sit here?”

She didn’t look up, figuring the voice was talking to someone else.  The voice tried again.

“Y/n?  Right?”

Her head shot up and her e/c orbs stared into green ones.  She placed a hand on her chest in question.  “You’re talking to me?”

The boy laughed.  “Of course.”

Her face burned as she moved her things, making room for the friendly man.  He took a seat, and began to eat as she stared at him in shock.  His eyes darted to hers.

“I-I’m sorry.”  She apologized.  “It’s just that…..nobody wants to talk to me usually.”

The boy gave her a sad smile.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t look very inviting….I guess.”  She added with a shrug.  The boy smiled.

“They’ll never know if they don’t give it a chance.”  He advised.  She smiled at his kind words.  He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Adrien.”

Y/n smiled, taking his hand in hers.

“Yes, I know.  I’m Y/n.”

Adrien smiled back as well.  “I know.”

“Well, I know that you know.  I was introduced in class.”  She countered.  Adrien smiled.

“Nice ring, by the way.”  She complimented.  His eyes widened a little bit.

“Thank you.  Are you new around here?”  He asked, trying to change the conversation.

“Kind of.  I’ve been here a month or so, trying different schools.”

“That must suck.”

“It does.  But it’s alright.  Seeing as I don’t talk to people, I don’t get attached, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Adrien frowned, resisting the urge to say something.  Y/n became nervous, and started fiddling with her pencil.  Adrien’s eyes glanced down, seeing movement, and noticed the sketch she was working on.  He smiled, seeing a conversation.

“You like to draw?”

Y/n looked up.  “Yeah.  There’s something bugging me about this piece, though.”  She turned the sketchpad towards him, and he observed it.

There was a building, with a few in the backdrop.  There was an open window with music notes floating into the air.  A small tree sat in the small yard, enclosed with a gate.

“Okay, what’s bothering you?”  He asked.

“Well, I can’t figure out what instrument I want being played, and by whom.”  She clarified.  Adrien nodded, understanding.

“What instruments do you like?”  He inquired, trying to be helpful.

“I like the piano.  It’s one of the nicest sounding ones.”  She paused.  “That’s how I feel, anyway.”

Adrien smiled.  “I get it.  I play the piano.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Do you play any instruments?”

Y/n shook her head.  “No.  I tried the piano for like, a month before quitting.”

“You quit?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“To be perfectly honest, I can’t recall.”  She confessed, pinching her eyebrows together.  Adrien smiled.

“Well, I think you’re a very good artist.”

Y/n felt her cheeks burn as she bowed her head, hiding behind her curtain of hair.

“Thank you.”  She mumbled.  Adrien smiled at the shyness.

“If you want……I could try to teach you how to play the piano….if you’ll teach me how to draw.”  He offered.  Y/n’s head shot up, eyes wide, and a surprised expression on her face.

“Really?  You’d do that?  For me?”

He nodded.

“But why?  You don’t know me.”  She defended.

“I want to.”  He countered, sticking out his hand.

“What do ya say, friend?”

Y/n had never smiled so wide in her entire life.  She took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Friend.”  She repeated.

~Meanwhile~

Marinette groaned.

“Marinette, chill out.  He’s being friendly to the new girl.  Isn’t that partly why you admire him so much?”  Alya asked.  Marinette groaned again.

“I hate it when you’re right.”  She mumbled into her arms, folded onto the table.  Alya smiled, shaking her head.

“But what if he falls in love with her?  That means he won’t fall in love with me, which means I’ll be heartbroken.  I’ll grow up all alone, with no three kids, no hamster, and probably become a crazy-cat-lady, or a hermit.  I’ll die old, and alone, with no one there for me.  I think I may faint!”  Marinette managed to get out in a single breath.

“Girl, you have to relax.  You remember that Miss Bustier told us to try to get to know her, right?”

“Yeah.  So?”

“Soo.  When Adrien leaves, go talk to her.  Try to get some information, if you’re that worried.  Although, frankly I don’t see the point.”

“Easy for you to say.  At least you have Nino.”  She looked back over at Adrien and Y/n.  They were smiling, and chatting.  Marinette buried her head in her arms.

“It’s over.  I’m through.”  She muttered, hopelessly.  Alya rolled her eyes and shoved Marinette over.  Marinette stumbled forward, nearly reaching the table.  She would have made it, if not for the seating design.  She tripped over a chair, falling to the ground in an uncomfortable position.  Y/n and Adrien turned, upon hearing the ruckus.  They quickly stood to their feet, rushing toward the clumsy girl.  They both extended a hand, ready to help her stand.  The girl looked up.  Her eyes widened as they locked onto Adrien’s.  Her eyes spaced out slightly, making her look like she was in a daze.  Y/n noticed this and frowned, retracting her hand slightly.

“Marinette?”  Adrien asked, trying to get her attention.  Oh, he had it alright.

“Y-y-yes?”  She answered.

“You okay?”  He inquired.  She nodded hastily, taking his hand and helping herself up.  Y/n looked at her own ignored hand and retracted it, resting it down by her side.  Marinette and Adrien looked at each other for a moment.  Though to Y/n, it felt like an eternity.  She quirked an eyebrow, sick of this already.  Suddenly a girl jogged over.  She wore glasses, and had dark brown hair, that turned red farther down.

“You alright, girl?”  She asked Marinette.  The girl in question made a noise that Y/n wasn’t even sure was English.  The boy that sat next to Adrien this morning ran over as well.

“Dude, you alright?”  He asked.  Marinette seemed to have found her voice.

“Yes.  Thanks, Nino.”  She responded.  Noticing that everything was under control, Y/n backed up a couple steps, stuffed her things into her bag, returned her empty tray, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n:  Repost!

[thatfreshi]

"Did I Smudge the Scars?" (Uni AU P. 19)

Hello. The long-awaited Halloween party (I know it's almost spring whoops). This took a different turn than I was expecting, but it felt right to me.

TW - alcohol, references to grooming, references to self-harm

When you get to Karlach's dorm, you're met at the door with a lot of scuffling and 'ow!'s, as well as other pathetic hurt sounds.

"Tav, they've been fighting and I can't get them to stop."

A disheveled Gale and Shadow are on the shitty dorm floor, pulling at each other's hair. You glare at your tallest friend.

"Are you... you're serious? As if you aren't literally an athlete?"

She shrugs.

"Well, I'm not going to tell my girlfriend what to do, and I think if I touched Gale he'd fall into tiny pieces. C'mon, please? Just say something to try and get them to break apart?"

The heaviest sigh you've ever let out released from your lungs.

"Hey losers! Astarion and I kissed!"

And as if magically, they stopped clawing at each other. The pale girl is the first to talk.

"What?! And we weren't there?"

She gets off of the artist and fixes her braid.

"Yeah, you guys weren't there because it didn't happen! Karlach's phone call interrupted what was about to be the best kiss of my life, but thanks for getting into another stupid argument that I have to solve for some reason! If I get brought into your bullshit one more time, I swear I will burn this university to the ground."

Gale's eyes go a little wide.

"Can we... at least be outside when you burn it down?"

Your strong gaze doesn't falter, causing him to abandon his lame joke.

"And next time Karlach, please just manhandle her. That's probably what she wants anyways."

You open the dorm door and proceed to slam it, hearing Karlach laugh at her lover.

~~~

The next evening, the seven of you are in Astarion's dorm getting ready for the Halloween party. Shadow and Gale seem to have put their feud away, at least for the night. Your best friend is helping Karlach put on fake horns. You remember her explaining her costume a while ago.

"Listen, I know I'm like super nice! That's why I'm gonna be a demon, because it's like the opposite of me!"

You stare for a while, since your outfit is already put together. Gale catches your gaze lingering for a little too long and gives your shoulder a push, and the two of you laugh a little under your breath.

"Alright, if that amount of eyelash glue doesn't hold those in place I'll give up on makeup forever."

Astarion finishes testing the horns, and they seem to stay in place.

"Tav, come here darling."

You're taken aback, considering your costume was finished first.

"What? Did I smudge the scars?"

Your look for tonight is a scrappy adventurer, something you'd find in a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

"No no, they're fine my dear."

You sit on the couch beside him, and he grabs his eyeliner.

"If you're going to be some fierce adventurer, your eyes have to stand out at least."

You're not sure if it was just in your head, but it felt like the entire room got silent. He grabs your head and goes to work on his craft.

"You know you have to close your eyes for me to do this properly, right?"

You didn't realize you had been locking eyes with him.

"Right, sorry."

A light chuckle comes from your throat as the cold, black liner hits your skin. After what feels like only a moment in time, he lets go of you, taking in his work.

"Hm, I probably could've done that a little more evenly, but it'll do. Besides, I doubt eyeliner is all that even in the wilderness."

You open your eyes again, and he smirks when you do.

"Well, thanks for making sure I look 'fierce' or whatever."

He smiles.

"Are we all ready to go then?"

You look at a bored Shadowheart, who is unsurprisingly dressed as a sexy nun. Apparently the lovely couple's costumes matched more than you thought.

"Yeah, I think everyone's done getting ready. Gale, you good?"

You're checking on your friend in a shitty cheap wizard costume, who has been intently staring at his phone for the past 20 minutes.

"Yep, ready to go!"

And suddenly his phone is back in his robe pocket, and the air around him dissipates. So, after a long walk to the parking garage, Gale drives you all past GU, onto the rich area outside the city. When you get to the location on the invite, you're all a little baffled.

"Is Halsin secretly a millionaire? Because he should teach us a thing or two about finances in college if so."

Everyone laughs a little at Wyll's quip as the seven of you exit the van. You all decided to get to the party about an hour after it started, leaving plenty of time for things to pick up. Astarion is a little paranoid before you get inside, and you tug at his vampiric blouse sleeve.

"Hey, it's fine. No one has any reason to think you're here. And if it just so happens that someone less than friendly finds you here, then we leave, simple as that."

"Right, of course. No reason to be worried."

He's trying to convince himself, but before you can further reassure him, Halsin meets your group outside the front door.

"Ah, if it isn't Tav and their lovely friends! Please, come in."

"So like... do you own this place? Or like your mom?"

Halsin turns to respond to Karlach.

"Hah! No, not in the slightest. A friend of mine let me borrow the place. He's from a much richer family than I am, and I figured a party should be held in a vast mansion such as this. Anyway, there's plenty of food, beer pong, board games, and plenty of stunning people looking for a fun time."

He winks at Shadowheart playfully.

"I'll be around, let me know if you all need anything. Please though, go have fun!"

Karlach and Shadowheart look at each other knowingly and start eyeing a couple across the room. Wyll and Lae'zel make their way to beer pong, and Gale wanders off to wallflower somewhere, very unlike him. That leaves you and Astarion, gazes skipping around the room.

"Certainly a much larger abode than I expected. Don't get lost in here darling, I can't remember the last time I went to a party that wasn't purely for PR."

Astarion seems excited. The news of his social media blackout seems to be relatively hidden for now, and there's almost a manic sense about him. For once, he's not a model, he's not repping a brand, he's not watching his figure for some shoot, he's just a college kid.

"Well, what do you want to do then?"

"Perhaps go check and see if the punch is spiked?"

There's a little bit of lust on the tip of his tongue, lust for life, and maybe even you. It's hard to tell though. Emotions have been so high as of recent, and Astarion is difficult to read at best.

"Perhaps we shall."

You playfully extend your arm to interlock, and he accepts. There are most definitely whispers as the two of you go across the main room, and you start to wonder if the articles are coming out, if everyone knows. You try desperately not to grab your phone, and succeed, at least for now.

As you two take a sip of unspiked punch, you take in the scenery. It's quite dark, obviously. Halsin and his friends have very intensely decorated the entire first floor, with all eco-friendly and thrifted items as he constantly reminds everyone.

"Hey! You're that ghost lookin' model boy right?!"

Some party-goer yells, who is clearly drunk. Astarion ignores him at first. The random drunk then yells even louder, as if the music was drowning him out.

"He's gonna fucking kill you!"

He perks up after that, making eye contact with the stranger.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said that weirdo is gonna fucking kill you! Szarr or whatever? I mean good on you though, making a cool statement or whatever. I used to date a model that worked under him, and a couple months after we broke up she went 'missing!' Crazy right?! Anyways man, I hope he doesn't kill you because you're a fuckin' looker. Have a good night!"

After the guy walks off, you and Astarion look at each other.

"Did you know about that?"

"I mean, I knew one of the models he used to work with disappeared, but it was never determined what happened. You don't think..."

You put a hand on his.

"Let's not right now. Let's not go down that route right now."

"Right. I think I need this to actually be spiked."

He leans down and grabs a flask out of his boot.

"I didn't know you brought booze."

"Eh, an emergency stock in case they didn't have any here."

You twiddle your hands nervously.

"Just don't get like, drunk drunk, please? I really cannot handle that tonight."

"Dear, you think I can't handle my liquor? How little you must think of me."

He takes a sip of his newly mixed punch, tapping red acrylics on the cheap plastic cup.

"Let's see if our wonderful Wyll and Lae'zel are winning beer pong, shall we?"

It's as if you've seen a new man tonight, overconfidence to mask fear. Of course it concerns you, because he constantly concerns you. You want to reason, to say that he's enjoying some kind of newfound freedom, but this isn't the Astarion you've come to know. He's not the simple dorm room you've come to love, the glasses he won't tell anyone about, the late-night hours spent on reviewing law papers. Something about it makes your stomach sink a little, wondering if this is who he is now, somehow. That maybe-

"Are you coming darling?"

"Of course."

And your lips curl into a smile, one that you find yourself faking the way he does.

"Bullshit! You moved the cup you fool!"

Lae'zel has already started arguing with various frat bros. Her and Wyll are a surprising duo, already wiping out the competition and taking several cups of shitty, watered-down beer.

"Lae, it's fine, be a gracious winner!"

The guys across the table disperse and leave the champions to reset the table, clearly being the sour ones in this situation.

"Well well well, already winning silly little games are we? Might as well start putting money on it."

Lae'zel turns to Astarion.

"As if I would waste my money on chance. Some people have brains around here."

He simply rolls his eyes, and turns his attention to Wyll.

"I'm sure daddy wouldn't feel too good about you being in a place like this."

Wyll mocks him back.

"I'm pretty sure 'daddy' doesn't even care what I'm doing right now."

He then goes to somberly refill the rest of the cups on the table. You push Astarion's shoulder and give him a look that should clearly say 'hey, that was mean, what the fuck are you doing?' but all he does is shrug at you.

"Don't mind him Wyll, his father doesn't care about him either. That makes you even."

Before the three further bicker about parental relationships, you hear a familiar voice off towards the corner of the room.

"Because Gale, I miss having a friend! I miss knowing you were in control of your life, not some stupid professor. And right now? Right now I'm yelling at you, at a party, instead of hanging out with my hot girlfriend and that sexy GU couple we just chatted up."

"As if you haven't been hiding things from me too Shadow."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying, maybe there's a reason you picked sexy nun instead of sexy cat this year."

"What does that even mean Gale?"

"Oh, don't think I didn't notice during our little scuffle earlier, your arm?"

Suddenly, she gets very quiet, extremely aware of how many people at the party can hear her and Gale yapping. She then grabs his arm and drags him outside the side door. Your stomach is in knots at this point, because for some reason everything is wrong. Everything was supposed to be right after the blackout. Your friends would all be happy and get along, Astarion would be a free man, you'd finally get that kiss you'd been waiting for, and yet here you are, at some Halloween party hosted by your ex, and everything is just... wrong.

Without thinking, you go to the nearest exit of that room, the staircase. You're trying to block out the loud music at this point, but it feels almost impossible. The closest door is the first on your right and you open it, slamming it behind you. You're met with a large bed, probably belonging to some rich couple. The giant windows are covered with blackout curtains, and the carpet is luscious. Things are quieter in here, except for a soft knock at the door once you sit at the edge of the bed.

"Go away!"

"It's me Tav."

Of course Astarion followed you up here, how inseparable the two of you are.

"C'mon Aster."

When he comes in and quietly shuts the door, your head is in your hands. You feel the mattress move as he sits down next to you.

"I'm sorry."

You wipe at a watery eye, the tears just beginning to come in.

"For what? I'm the one that ran off."

He doesn't say anything at first, pondering how to best word this new thought.

"You- you're the first person who has helped me recognize my own patterns, that when I get scared I have this wall up. I've been feeling it since we sat down and cleared all my socials, this overwhelming feeling, like I'm being hunted to the ends of the Earth. And that fear, it makes me someone I don't like. Especially tonight, being outside of campus for the first time since, I just-"

He cries too, the first time you can remember seeing him cry. You lean on his shoulder. He continues.

"I thought I was ready, and I'm not. I'm not ready to be a normal person right now, a college kid that goes to parties."

You scoff slightly.

"I thought things would be normal too. Like somehow we had fixed everything, ya know?"

"Yeah... I do."

"I would like to find normal though, someday... with you."

He turns toward you, forcing you to pick your head back up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, I think it's time to admit that this isn't just a close friendship. Not to me at least. And that scares the shit out of me too, just like everything else right now."

"Out of billions of people in the world, you would choose to try and find normal, with me?"

"Yeah, if that's okay?"

He hesitates, fear.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Is that bad, that I don't know? I just know you're different, and special to me, and that's enough to me."

"Well... maybe we can give you some time to find out?"

"Well, could I kiss you then, and maybe I'll learn something?"

You two laugh, quiet enough as to not disturb the room, but loud enough that the two of you feel the happiness radiate. He wipes at a tear and nods. It's different than the first time you met, vastly different, as if you've gotten to know someone entirely new. Although, you're not sure what words could really describe the kiss. Fearful, yet excited? Nervous, yet brave? It's over before you know it though, leaving a little flit in your heart. He interrupts your thoughts.

"We should definitely try that a couple more times."

And so you do, alone in a stranger's bedroom, and for once you forget about the various issues spiraling back at RU, about Gale and Shadowheart hating each other, even about Szarr. There's just this soft time in between, where two barely adults having fun just kissing each other, even if it's only a short moment in time, it's yours forever.

[setsugekka]

『paradise lost』 ; 04

❝ misplaced bitterness ❞  

↳ your trip to japan with your best friend dredges up some unexpected feelings of jealousy when an old fling from his past makes herself known, and as a result, perhaps it’s time for a conversation of intentions to take place.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯  ○  ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 8.6k

『 warnings 』 : sexually explicit content: unprotected penetrative sex, exhibitionism, etc etc much of the same with these two

Watching the rain glaze the small window to your left — completely devoid of any sound you might anticipate it making, it's your surroundings that have you feeling as though you're a kid again — playing pretend. Taking small pieces of truth and fitting them together into a story that you momentarily perceive as real. Yes, it's make believe, and yes, you know that; but the feelings are real.

The feelings are always real.

Comfortable in the seat for your flight for the first time in what you think might be ever, you remember more truth about your circumstances among your thoughts, flooded with fantastic stories of who and what: you're sitting business class, also a first, but to no thanks of your own, of course.

Your best friend has taken care of all of the travel and accommodation, because of course he would. Kim Hongjoong, in all of his borderline obsessive eccentrics and extravagance and the need to have everything just right, just to his liking — the desire to fly business in spite of it being such a short flight in duration is still all too unsurprising to you. Hongjoong liked his space and his privacy, and from all that you could tell, was not entirely too keen on having people in his space. Not really. Not for long.

The surprise to you, however, fell more so along the lines of him having done so well for himself.

And it's not that you thought he struggled financially, you knew that he didn't based on having never once heard a complaint uttered, along with all of the numerous artistic endeavors he was taking on at any given time: art was his job, but not all of it that he did was a part of that. Hongjoong dabbled in photography, music, sketch art, and after having a few too many — well, you knew where to go to find some of his forays into graffiti art, as well.

Business class is expensive, and people do not simply decide to travel in such a way at a moment's notice unless money is not, and will not be, of any concern to them for a long, long time.

Hongjoong has money — but not just money, he has fuck you money.

While flying comfortably is nice, you find that this revelation changes little in your mind about him. Filed away as another small tidbit of interesting information about him — as if it were his favorite drink, or his favorite scent. It didn't matter.

“What are you thinking about?”

A voice so small and quiet from next to you that it almost fails to pull you from your thoughts at all, you shake free from your gaze out of the window to tend to where it had come from. Looking down at his phone by the time you turn to him, he quickly looks back up to greet your eyes with his own — yours dropping momentarily to glance at the long pieces of brown hair that cradle his neck and shoulders now — a mullet, because of course he would. With a gentle pull of your lips, not wanting to divulge all of the thoughts having just run amok in your mind, you lie.

“How excited I am to go to Japan.”

Hongjoong's eyes stick to you for just a second longer than you think they should, and you wonder if the gig is up — if it is, he grants you no more evidence of the fact, leaving you with the privacy of your own thoughts.

“Good,” he whispers, head lying back against the seat and closing his eyes. “It's been too long since I've been back, I get so much artistic drive from being there.”

It’s a strange pang of something you feel in your chest while you listen to the man beside you talk about all of the creativity and freedom flowing through every fiber of his being — as though it exists in everything he says and does, every breath that he takes. You suspect that to be the case.

As you watch Hongjoong fade into a slumber, you turn your head back out towards the silently rained upon window; a gentle storm carrying on outside — not enough to delay the flight, but enough to be seen, you suspect turbulence.

And when the delicate press of the side of Hongjoong’s head finds its way to your shoulder, your first instinct is to freeze. Not sure if in terror, or uncertainty — the all around feeling of wading through uncharted waters — now a common theme among your friendship with the man, you find.

Opting not to turn to look at him, as to not disturb, instead you carry out your gaze forward and through the rain — the instant flash of lightning seen so far out in the distance that part of you feels as though it can't possibly share the same airspace that the two of you would soon be occupying.

Turbulence:

a state of conflict or confusion.

From the moment that the two of you reach the building, you can tell that this was the sort of place Hongjoong had chosen specifically to suit his tastes.

Brightly colored paintings adorning the brick, centering the pop of bright blue that the door to your room offers, you can't help but notice that one of the fingernails on Hongjoong's right hand is painted a nearly identical color — you wonder if he had done it on purpose, most likely having been here before. With the click of the lock, he turns the knob and only cracks the door before turning to you with a cheeky smile across his face,  as if something clever he had planned was finally coming to fruition.

“Wait until you see this place,” he says, delicately pushing the door open with a steel-toed boot.  “You’re gonna shit.”

Shit you do not, but audibly gasp you absolutely do.

Bright pinks and purples greet your eyes as far as you can see, not even sure on where or what to focus on first. You can't help but be taken immediately by the massive fixture over the bed — a large cherry blossom tree, constructed of what you can only imagine is stained glass and plastic, reaching from the floor of the headboard, all of the way up the wall and further more along the ceiling above the bed — the major source of light in the room, as Hongjoong is more than happy to point out with the press of a button on a tiny, white remote control.

Still smiling, a man more than proud of his accomplishments, and it's made rather clear that the accomplishment in this case is your delight.

Hongjoong takes your bags from you and brings them over to a dresser near the bedside along with his own, and you stand still enamored with your surroundings. You force yourself to come back down to earth long enough to have a conversation with the man that brought you here; trailing your eyes down as you watch him carefully unzip your belongings to unpack, you figure the least you could do is talk to him if he's going to put your things  away for you also.

“This place is amazing,” you finally manage out, exasperation evident in your tone. “I take it you've been here before?”

Hongjoong hums as he refolds one of your shirts that got messy along the way. “I usually stay here, they're used to me by now.”

“You come to Japan often? What for?” you ask, sounding more hurried than intended — as if you find discomfort in the fact that you had not known this about your best friend already.

“Work, mostly,” he begins, opening a drawer and setting a small stack of your items inside of it. “But I also find a lot of creative inspiration in being here. Japan is fun...different. Yet familiar in ways, too.”

“It’s my first time here.”

Hongjoong stills, looking up at you with eyebrows pushed up. “Wait really? This is your first time?”

You nod in response, he only adds a quiet “wow” as follow-up for a good few moments, collecting his thoughts enough to eventually land on what it was he had wanted to say in full response.

Finishing the task at hand, Hongjoong crawls back to his feet and walks towards you — still stationed at the doorway as if unsure of how to act in such an elaborately and beautifully decorated room. As if you were simply another adornment in it — he takes your hands into his own and squeezes them gently with reassurance.

“I’ll make sure you have fun, even though we're only here for a short time.”

And you can't help but be surprised by the overwhelming bubbling of a feeling that wells in your gut at the sight before you: soft, careful features of Hongjoong staring intently, with the ever so slight curl of one of the corners of his lips, but eyes so gentle and comforting — an admission of care-taking, and a side of the man that you are not so sure you have ever seen so excruciatingly present and raw like this before. Yes, he had always been kind, thoughtful, and with your best interest at heart — but this was new, and this was different.

You wonder just how much the dynamic of the relationship had changed between the two of you already. Silently, before your very eyes — and with you none the wiser, late on the pickup.

Did he know? Were you now the last to find out?

But it's the sudden and opposing frown that presents itself before you that sends you spiraling back down from your own thoughts and to the reality of the situation. As it turns out, you're not all that great at not wearing your thoughts and feelings on your face.

This you sort of knew already, though.

“What's wrong?” he asks, detecting the obvious change of disposition in you.

“I—“ you begin, still thinking through the feelings in real time and trying to ladder-game yourself to the best possible outcome. You’re not sure if what you want to request is what is right.

But it's what you want.

“Can I kiss you?”

Watching Hongjoong intently, you study the exact ways in which his face changes and contorts as he takes in the information. It first takes a moment for the words to truly reach him, then it's a twinge of surprise, and followed up by the furrowing of his eyebrows and the questioning frown turning once again to something far more pleased — a response that says without actually saying, “This is so silly, you are being so silly.”

Even without the verbal response yet, you allow your body to lessen its tenseness just at the visual before you. You feel him squeeze your hands slightly in his grasp, another reassuring gesture. you're thankful for it.

“Of course you can,” he finally says after what feels like hours, but truthfully, only a few seconds had passed.

And you're that much more thankful when you begin your lean towards him and are met halfway with his own. For some reason, it feels to you as if an unfathomable amount of time has passed before the last time you had felt his lips on your own — not the case, but you find that it still feels a tad bit foreign — the way his tongue tastes and the gentle nipping at the bottom of your lip with his teeth, all staples of kissing him, feeling him, enjoying him. Tugging at one of your hands shortly thereafter, your chests collide a bit more roughly than the movies tend to exhibit with these sorts of shows of affection — teeth clattering together in their passing and causing the both of you to giggle into the other before allowing your mouths to meet one last time and finally pulling away, you take note of the way his lips redden as a result of the contact between the two of you.

You like the look of it on him.

Beyond that, you're unsure of what exactly to do with the the fluttering feeling in your own chest, nearly stifling and impossible to ignore.

“We'll begin in ten!”

The voice calls out from somewhere across the room; precisely where, you can't quite place, but your eyes draw to Hongjoong just a bit along the way from where you sit somewhat on the sidelines: watching the hustle and bustle of a fashion magazine shoot from behind the scenes. People scrambling back and forth across your vision as if you're not even there, working and running around you to make sure that everything and everyone are exactly where they need to be to make sure that everything runs smoothly and just as it should. You hear Hongjoong pipe up in affirmation as he turns back and towards you — camera in hand, checking settings as he makes his way over.

“These things never start on time,” he huffs, looking up at you with a gentle smile. “Sorry, we should still make dinner on time, though.”

“Well, maybe if you had been on time," you playfully quip, calling back to the man's brief wandering off of the path to play a crane game that he ultimately did not even win.

He shakes his head. “Trust me, getting here on time would have done neither of us any favors.”

“There he is!”

A pleasant, pitchy voice calling out towards the both of you from the other side, both of your heads quickly turn towards it, but it's the way that Hongjoong's face lights up at the origins of it that just as suddenly draws your attention.

“There she is,” he says in response, stepping towards the woman who is quite evidently the main attraction of today. A tall, slender, Japanese model — bright, big, blonde hair with big eyelashes and a fluffy burgundy robe on — you realize that you hadn't asked what the shoot was of, not exactly. You find yourself sort of thinking that maybe you should have.

You're not thrilled about feeling that way, either.

“You brought someone!” she says, quickly noticing you. You smile in response, bringing a hand out to shake hers but quickly being pulled into a welcoming, fuzzy hug by the strange and evidently, extremely friendly woman.

“Yumeko,” she introduces herself. You follow suit, and her smile widens even more. “Hongjoong never brings friends, especially not women, he's such a bore,” she jokes, playfully elbowing the man in the side. “Guess he's finally wised up.”

You're not so sure about that.

And you realize that in the throes of the concept of dating — the unsure feelings, and navigating through the weeds of thoughts; “what if”s and “what are we”s and “what are we not”s, that it's precisely this that sometimes brings us toppling down. The exact gray areas in which we allow ourselves to live our true and total lives without much of a thought of the other — of another, that ultimately betray us in the end.

As the photoshoot carries on, you watch the way that Hongjoong and Yumeko carry on together. Evident giggles of stories untold to you and hidden pasts — secrets only between the two of them that they share, moments, just the same as the two of you do.

But Hongjoong is not yours, just as he is not hers — and the two of you are one in the same.

It's not even necessarily that she is beautiful, a model at that. The physicality weighs little on your mind, but you find difficulty in shaking the feeling of uneasiness at the idea of the two of them sharing something — moments — together. An outsider looking into a relationship between two people that has nothing to do with you, that will likely never have anything to do with you, and especially so given the way that the man is about his private life.

You know that truthfully, deep down, and in every way: their relationship has nothing to do with you, nor does it subtract from anything you may or may not have with him yourself.

And comparison is the thief of joy, after all.

“Sorry about how long that ended up being.”

Looking up from your phone, you watch Hongjoong pause on the sidewalk long enough to light the cigarette placed between his lips before carrying on in the direction that the two of you had been headed. A warm, humid night in Tokyo, but busy all the same — people from all walks of life hurriedly pass the both of you by as you casually make your way towards the destination he had planned. You respond that it's fine, you understand how these things can be a little 'off' when it comes to scheduling — and it's not untrue. It is fine, even in spite of the fact that the memory of Hongjoong and Yumeko flirting right in front of you still burns white hot in the front of your vision.

You want to let it go, you should let it go. You want to not care. You know that time will grant you that if you can just make it through this evening in one piece.

Hongjoong finally stops just before you do, eyeing a doorway and then back down towards his phone. 

“This is the place.” he says, darting over towards a trash can to put out and dispose of the rest of his cigarette just before the two of you head inside.

You've stopped being surprised by now when Hongjoong takes you to new places (aside from the hotel, you suppose) because every bar or restaurant he insists on always turns out to be some variation of another place he's taken you to before. A man so incapable of being anything other than himself in every conceivable way, you follow him upstairs towards the lounge as led by a member of the staff — Hongjoong glancing behind himself and towards you, raising his eyebrows in anticipation as if the place is going to be some kind of new and exciting version of a dark, dingy, alternative rock bar that he's never experienced before.

You sort of envy living life in such a way: experiencing the same thing over and over again, each time finding something new and beautiful within it.

But you realize you sort of have been, after all. You simply find new experiences in people, Hongjoong finds them in places.

When the both of you finally reach the top level floor, Hongjoong hangs back to walk side-by-side with you. Leaning in, he whispers out. 

“I've heard a lot about this place, I'm excited.”

You can hear it in his voice that it's true, like a giddy school boy who just got a new and shiny toy from his parents — Hongjoong gazes at the sights and sounds of his surroundings like a kid in a candy shop: black walls, black tables, black seating, the occasional pop of vermillion for color — it's everything Hongjoong could ever ask for as far as atmosphere goes, that much you know, but the sparkle in his eye is what really makes the beat of your heart press especially hard against your chest as you watch him take it all in.

Perhaps it's true that nothing is more beautiful than watching someone fall in love.

The man points out towards the bar and your eyes follow his trajectory, he points out how all of the liquor bottles have been replaced with colorful skulls along a backlit wall of neon greens, reds and blues — you smile at him, and he returns the same to you as you're finally led to your table.

When the both of you sit, Hongjoong lets out a loud exhale, barely audible over the murmur of other patrons chatting on all sides of you.

“I heard it was sick but this is really—“ he pauses, still clearly overwhelmed with the surroundings.

“It feels a little bit like being in hell,” you chuckle, also looking around from where you sit. “I mean that in the best way, of course.”

“Of course,” he mimics, and truthfully he knows that you're not nearly as enamored with it as he is, but it's the willingness to experience it with him that counts. “It's like every single post-apocalypse era grunge film bar I've ever seen...fuckin' love it.”

As the two of you settle in and receive drinks, it's that precise act of settling in that brings the reel of Yumeko back to the forefront of your mind: the memory of the two of them giggling and touching and being playful with one another constantly playing in your head — a distraction, from the perfectly wonderful time that you would like to be having with the man just before you, and you begin to suspect that perhaps sitting on the feelings might not be the best course of action, after all.

You are best friends, and have been for years. You have shared so much, been through so much, and now have embarked together on a journey of...who really knows just yet. This conversation — need it be one — you know is something that the two of you can get through and come out on the other side of.

However, you question if you need to. If you want to.

Any knowledge learned, after all, cannot be unlearned.

A chance you're simply going to have to take.

“So,” you start, voice catching slightly in your throat and causing you to lose a bit of the nerve that you had mustered up just prior. Taking a sip of your drink, you carefully set the glass back down without so much as a sound before continuing on. “Yumeko is nice.”

Really? She's nice?

Hongjoong, amidst checking his phone, pauses and brings his eyes up towards you without a word. A few moments of silence pass before he locks the screen and sets it down on the table, off to the side. You're amazed at how well he can read you.

“What do you want to ask me?” he says suddenly, taking a sip of his own drink and eyeing you once more from across the table. An eerily familiar scenario from months back with your own friend in question.

Him already knowing where you're going with the topic gives you pause. You consider backing down, feeling insecure at the inquiry already — that maybe you shouldn't, it isn't any of your business, after all.

But you've already started down the path, and he is well aware of where this is all headed, may as well bring it home.

You take another sip, slowly, as if dragging out the time you have between now and having to drop the bomb of a question. With the much needed help of some liquid courage, you finally manage to do so.

“Have you ever...slept with her?”

Eyes widening from above the brim of his glass, he stills just before finishing the sip he had been taking. Hongjoong sets his glass down, reaches for his box of cigarettes, pulls one and lights it all with the same fluid motion.

You're beginning to think this might be a tell. Anxious, destructive habits laid out on display.

“It's not professional mixing business and pleasure.” he mumbles out, cigarette still dingling from his lips and avoiding eye contact somewhat. You aren't sure if he's always been this awful at avoiding the conversation or if this is another new development just special between the two of you.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

Hongjoong suddenly leans back, arms stretched out above him as he groans — not pleased by the question but not exactly angered by it, either. As he brings his hands back down towards the table, his eyes finally meeting your own for what seems like the first time the topic has been brought up.

“Yup.”

Tonally, he's not upset, that much you can tell, but a certain undercurrent of having been caught out and now having to explain a situation in which he never really wanted to discuss resonates in his voice, even in spite of the acutely short reply.

However, knowing this much is enough, and the details are not what you're looking for. A confirmation of what once was is plenty, and the rest you can soul search on another time.

Hongjoong, of course, has other plans.

“What about that guy from a few weeks back, then?” he says suddenly, back still pressed against his seat. “What was his name again?”

You're surprised at the question, at the sudden interest in your whereabouts and who with, but beyond that, it's intriguing.

You begin to think that the two of you are playing a game with each other now. Not having been your intent, but the gleam in Hongjoong's eye as he waits for your response tells another story entirely. Just what had you walked into unknowingly, exactly?

“Yunho,” you reply dryly, trying not to give anything away in your response. “We used to work together.”

“And have you slept with him?” he asks abruptly, with no hesitation in his voice at all. He takes another drag of his cigarette. “You know, since we're being nosy.”

The layers to the conversation taking place are palpable, despite being deceptively simple. You wonder if your best friend is aware of how much of himself he is giving away in simply playing along with the line of questioning.

That he remembers where you had been all of those weeks back, that it had apparently been taking up space somewhere in his mind; so much so that he feels the need to rehash the thought here and now after having been questioned about a scenario that had very much been present.

And now you have to wonder if the underlying motivation is the same, as well.

“Yeah, I have,” you admit through another sip of your drink. Interrupted by the waitress, you both order another round before you continue. “We used to be sort of...friends with benefits, type of a thing.”

“You give away a lot of information for free,” Hongjoong says plainly. Internally, you laugh at the irony of the statement.

But he's not done, either.

“And you fuck him just recently again?”

It's truly something impressive about the man, the way that even when you think you have the upper hand, when you think that you're two steps ahead, how he is always the one two or more steps ahead of you in the game. You try to assess where he's at currently given the state of the conversation but neither his tone nor his expression give anything away — watching you blankly and waiting for a response, Hongjoong sits comfortably before you — simply waiting for you to accept your defeat. A checkmate, of sorts.

Clearing your throat, the waitress comes back with your drinks and you quickly take quite a large sip from the new glass. This you know to be an obvious tell, and you also are aware that he's long since picked up on it and your answer before you've ever even given it.

He knows you did, but he wants you to say it, much like you asked of him just prior. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, you suppose.

“Yeah, we slept together again,” you respond, trying to play it cool, as if it's no big deal having done that nor having to admit it to the man that you're also, for all intents and purposes, currently sleeping with. “Trip down memory lane, you know how it goes.” You finish in an attempt to add a humorous flightiness to the admission, but Hongjoong barely budges — only a single corner of his lip curling in response before putting his finished cigarette out in the ashtray in front of him and taking another sip of his drink.

“Are we being...jealous, right now?” you suddenly ask him, and eyes that had once dropped elsewhere in the room immediately dart back to meet your own at the line of questioning.

Turns out you can beat him at his own game, after all.

But Hongjoong only laughs, tough demeanor he had temporarily put up finally falling aside and allowing the night to carry on comfortably again. You watch him take a moment to run his fingers through the long ends of his brown hair to gently detangle them before finally shifting his body forward and edging himself across the table a bit, closing the distance between the two of you as much as the black, wooden fixture can allow for.

“Yeah,” he nods with just a hint of a devilish grin. “Suppose we probably are.”

The interruption comes just in time, you think, when two other patrons invite themselves over to your table to chat briefly. They ask about other interesting, must-see spots in the general vicinity of the current establishment and you listen intently as Hongjoong lists off a handful of places to them, accompanying with brief descriptions and his own, additional, personal reviews of each place. It always had been a sight for sore eyes, watching the man talk about anything it was that had caught his fancy, and even now; having been dragged to yet another dark, goth aesthetic bar for the umteenth time, you knew it was something that would stick with him probably forever — just as the stops he was currently busy discussing the pros and cons of had.

A much needed break from the topic that had been at hand, but when the guests bid the both of you farewell and head out and on their way, Hongjoong wastes little time assuming the position he had been in prior: elbows on table, chin resting against the backs of his hands, and curved forward, leaned in as close to you as physically able.

All of the distractions in the world unable to deter him from the situation at hand, that much you know for sure.

Taking a sip of your drink again, slowly, not taking your eyes off of him as if worried that he'll disappear out of sight like some sort of mythical creature who has decided on you as prey, you feel him stare you down intently — studying your every move before speaking.

You know he's not trying to make you nervous, well, not completely. For now, an unfortunate byproduct of his typically welcomed intensity.

By the time your glass delicately hits the table again, he inhales to speak, eyes still locked onto you.

“Suppose we should talk about this then, eh?” he begins, and for a moment, you're unsure of what exactly it is he's referring to.

You know what you think he is referring to, what you think he should be referring to...but could he be...?

“You know,” he starts again, pulling back from his domineering forward stance and waving his hands about. “Feelings — should there be any.”

You're glad you don't have the liquid from your glass still in your mouth, as surely it would be all over the man in front of you by now.

“Our what?” you stutter, and you realize a little too late that it sounds as if you have no idea what he's talking about, as if he's crazy to even suggest such a thing. Not your intent, the question comes fully from the disbelief of him bringing it up in the first place.

And just like that.

At some point he must have ordered another round, because the waitress comes back with another set of glasses — you far too shocked to really fathom how and when this could have happened, or much of anything that's happening, as far as that goes. Hongjoong takes a strong sip of liquor from his cup before reaching forward for another cigarette...his eyes glancing up towards your own with every few silent seconds that pass between the two of you.

“Well?” he urges.

Stuttering, you're still trying to find the words. A million thoughts racing through your mind, because yeah, obviously this is a conversation that the two of you should have, it probably should have happened a while ago — but the truth of the matter is that you're still not entirely sure of where you want to go with this, with him, with the concept of...us.

As a result, the conversation feels all too premature. The answers that you wanted to have by now still alluding you, it feels as though you're going in empty-handed — you sort of wanted to have it a bit more figured out by now.

Hongjoong, a man always so well put together and emotionally, mentally collected. If he's initiating the conversation, you worry it's because the scales are tipped in his favor.

One of you has the answers, the other? Not so much.

“Is there—“ you start, swallowing down the lump in your throat that urges you to put off this conversation for a future date. “Is there something...here?”

You still in your seat, hands firmly wrapped around your glass, so tightly upon realization you think you might have been capable of shattering it in your grasp due to the tenseness of the situation — watching Hongjoong brings you peace in most instances; watching him work, listening to him tell stories, simply existing, but the moments between your question and his fated remark feel as though they drag on for years. The feeling of your heart beating strong against your own rib cage, you realize you're holding your breath as you wait for him — his eyes finally turning up from his lighter as he sets it back down against the table beneath him.

And he shrugs,  settling against the chair once more.

“Yeah, maybe. Probably.”

Hongjoong's lack of true answers in certain situations being something that you've grown accustomed to now finally paying off in just the right moment, the both of you give gentle smiles to the other from across the table.

Kim Hongjoong, always just the right amount.

In the dead of night, you find Japan to be just as alive as when you entered the bar. Checking your phone as the both of you walk a now dampened sidewalk, the time reads 3:42am — even just the realization of the loss of time causing you to yawn as a result.

Hongjoong hears you from behind himself, slowing his stride to allow you for to catch up but immediately taking you by the hand and pulling you off to the side suddenly. Not unlike him — the man always finds something or another to grab his attention, but it's the result that truly surprises you.

Before taking the time to take in the new sight, your eyes wander to Hongjoong only just a bit in front of you; black, ripped up skinny jeans, steel-toed boots, with an old, ratty looking leather jacket hiding away just a simple white t-shirt and yet it looks so good on him in the barely illuminated humidity of the night. Lollipop in mouth that he had taken from a dish on the way out of the bar, you can't help but wonder how he tastes right now.

But you have to focus...on what, you're not exactly sure just yet.

The two of you stand before a gated entrance, the sign very plainly stating that the park is closed this late at night — but you know Hongjoong better than this, and a sign is not going to stop him.

Sinister grin forming around the candy between his lips, the man looks at you before nodding his head forward: the signal to follow him into what is most definitely a trespassing issue.

And yet, you do so all the same.

Through a winding maze of tall bushes and shrubs, Hongjoong takes your cold hand into his own — surprisingly warm and inviting as he quickly dashes and weaves the both of you through the turns and corners of the green architecture, eventually coming out on some end at a tiny opening: still surrounded by tall shrubbery, entirely closed off and quiet evidently not the exit of the maze, he looks pleased with the discovery, although you fail to understand why.

It's cute, of course: a large tree serving as a sort of ceiling to the outside world, along with a tiny creek running through that must make its end elsewhere in the park — and a pavilion, white and green in coloring with beautiful vines snaking up the columns and attaching itself along the top, you realize that the longer you take in the sights, the more you can see the beauty of it.

And he always was better at seeing the beauty of something at just a moment's notice.

Lost in the thought, you barely notice the sound of metal clattering — the tiny trash can off to the side, no doubt from him tossing his candy into it, but you're made certain of the fact with warm hands once again wrapping into the skin of your wrists and pulling you, pressing your back against the wet wood of the large tree.

Your first thought, is how surreal it feels as Hongjoong's lips attach to the skin of your neck, hot breath in the contrast of the cool, nighttime air surrounding you, and holding the both of your hands up and above your head, he allows his body weight to hold you in place beneath him as he sucks and bites into your skin — the sorts of abrasions that most definitely will leave bright red and purple markings in their wake, but after the way the conversations over drinks went, you think that might be precisely why he's doing it at all.

“You only want me because someone else had me, hm?”

“You'll just have to be mine, you okay with that?”

You want to get out of your head in the moment, simply enjoy the sights and sounds and feelings but it's impossible to ignore the implications, and the ways that some of the tables have seemingly turned since that one fateful night back at your best friend’s loft — where you just wanted to fuck him and you didn't want it to change anything between the two of you.

Right hand clasping both of your wrists, his left frees itself to work at unbuttoning your jeans — lips sloppily trailing up your jaw and finally making contact with your own, he tastes of alcohol, cigarettes, and a hint of cherry.

You hate how much you find the taste in and of itself intoxicating, but the way that you melt into the kiss gives you away. Falling against him as if it had been ages since the last, you find that the events of the day had more wear and tear on you and your desire for him than you had initially thought — now with his taste in your mouth, it's the only thing you're craving.

Him, all of him. As much of himself as he's willing to give.

And Hongjoong can feel the urgency, hand shimmying down into your panties to press his middle finger in between — it's his non-dominant hand but it'll do for now, yearning for his touch and the act of him desiring you — when he makes sensitive contact, knees buckling slightly and mouth going agape, a gasp that's drunk up by his own as he watches you fall apart in his palm, the man smiles into your lips. It's your demise.

“You're so wet,” he whispers against your skin, barely allowing you any friction against his hand. “Miss me?”

Your answer takes the form of a whimper, it's good enough for him.

Spinning you around, Hongjoong pulls your jeans down your thighs just enough to give him space to work with — the sound of his belt buckle clattering against itself in between atmospheric noise of a bustling Tokyo intersection that remains all too nearby even in spite of the illusion of privacy — you don't care, and you don't want to wait to get back to the hotel room, either. Of all of your encounters with him thus far, for some reason, you find this one to feel the most organic, the most lustful; brought on by nothing by raw chemistry and desire and need.

You wanted him to initiate, and Hongjoong was nothing if not willing and able to take constructive criticism.

The palms of his hands meeting your hips, a touch that once felt warm now feeling almost entirely electric and scorching, he leans forward as you feel him press the tip of his cock against you.

“Should I wear a condom?”

The first thing that springs to mind is how absolutely sinful it sounds dropping from his lips, given the subject matter, but brain fuzzy and clouded with cock-lust you quickly try to mull through the reasons why he's even asking you this, given your history together thus far. It's not the first time, so why—

And then you recall exactly why. Yunho.

“I didn't—“ you stutter out, trying to think of the most sexy way you can talk about having fucked another man just before the man currently with you fucks you, but ultimately deciding that there simply is no way, not unless he's into that, of course.

“I didn't have him — he wore a condom.”

“Oh?”

The tone of his voice upon realizing the implications, you suppose you hadn't thought that deeply about it since that night, but it didn't take long at all for Hongjoong to catch on — feeling his fingertips dig just that much harder into the skin of your hips.

“Just for me, then.”

It's sinful, the way he says it.

Bunching your panties in hand and to the side, not nearly as slow of a drive as he typically allows you, he presses his hips forward with a broad and quick snap at the end — the force pushing you harder against the tree currently keeping you stable. You let out a breathy “fuck” and already Hongjoong finds amusement in it — the feeling of one hand smoothing up and taking purchase on your waist. “I missed you,” he whispers, chest pressed into your back as he stills with himself buried into you from behind.

You aren't sure what he means. What that means.

But you don't have enough time to think about it anyways, once again being pulled elsewhere by him — now towards the bench under the pavilion, you're half expecting him to bend you over it and finish where he had left off, only to find that to not be his intention at all as he sits first, pulling his jeans down his thighs just a bit more to grant him more space for comfort.

Pulling you toward and on top of his lap, you waste no time bearing down on his length — full view of the way his eyes roll at the sensation just before snapping back and taking on a more devilish gaze.

It's a new angle, and given the physical stimulation as well as the fact that you're definitely fucking in public right now, you're close to finding your end already — feeling as though you've been pent up all day and needing the release, you grind your hips down into him hard and fast just from the start, his hands wrapping around your hips to pull you down and against him with even more force, you know it won't be long — the familiar coiling in your abdomen creeping up and Hongjoong making no effort to keep the absolutely unholy sounds escaping from his lips at bay, it's when he finally attaches them once again to the column of your neck, then up to your jaw — sucking a mark into it so hard that you wince as he brings a hand up to smooth his thumb over the spot, he uses the opportunity to take your chin into his fingers and pull your face down and towards his, lips finally making contact again — tongue tasting of whiskey and cherry candy still, teeth clashing as a result of one particularly messy press of your hips down onto him as you begin to recklessly chase your orgasm, he pulls you away from him again with chin still in hand and eyes burning deeply into your own.

“Can you come for me?” he says, knowing you're already close. The words themselves bringing you to grind harder and faster onto him, but you can only nod in response — attempt at words only resulting in a pathetic whimper.

“Gonna let me talk you through it?”

You helplessly nod again.

Hongjoong closes the distance between your mouths, kissing you rougher this time and pulling away with less space between the both of you before groaning into your mouth “Let me come inside you?”

Bearing down around him, you feel him grin into you, his question already being answered for him but you whimper out a breathy “yes” as well, fucked out and needy.

“Only me?”

It hits you by surprise. You had been close, it was certainly building, but with the line of questioning that Hongjoong was laying out on the table before you in the moment, it hits you like a fucking truck, and all of a sudden. “Joong, fuck—“ you groan out, top half of your body collapsing against his shoulder and neck as you attempt to ride yourself through it, but he's quick on the uptake, and thankfully so, gripping your hips hard and doing the majority of the work for you as you move through your orgasm against him.

It hits you so hard that you don't even notice he had come as well.

“This might not have been the best idea, in hindsight,” Hongjoong says, gently stuffing himself back into his jeans with a wince as he watches you attempt to clean yourself up as best you can with the water from the flowing creek — wiping his cum away from the inside of your thighs and splashing them in water with a playful frown before unhappily pulling your jeans back up and into place. “I'll be honest, I didn't really think it through that well.”

“I can tell,” you say, still frowning. “I feel like I'm desecrating something sacred, washing my hands in there.”

“It's just a little man-made river for decorative purposes, don't be so dramatic,” he replies, buckling his belt fully and making his way back towards where you had entered. “Let's get out of here, let's have a shower.”

“Coming in!”

The voice echoes through the white and black tiled bathroom, and you had realized at some point during the walk back to your hotel that when Hongjoong had proposed “let's have a shower,” that it meant the both of you. Together. At the same time.

And it certainly wasn't something you weren't willing to accommodate, watching him step in with a cheeky grin as if the two of you had anything to be shy about with each other — but it does lend itself a moment to consider just how strange your relationship with your best friend truly had become, and in such a short time, at that. From best friends who had hardly so much as hugged to a full blown sexual relationship; additionally, the cuddling, the intimacy.

The intimacy.

“Turn around.”

Without thinking much of the request you oblige, still somewhat lost in your own thoughts of the scenario before feeling strong but delicate hands against your back, thumbs kneading into the muscles of your shoulders and fingertips embedded into the juncture of your neck, you once again find yourself easily melting into the touch that Hongjoong provides — as if you never even really stood a chance not to.

But it's not sexual, not this time.

Fingers trailing up your neck and into your hair — careful enough to not tangle within and only enough to gently massage the skin beneath, warm lips once again find themselves against your skin from just behind you — gentle and without much intent behind them at all, their only purpose being to feel you beneath them, you can't help but compare it to the feeling of desire and need from earlier in the night in the park, only an hour or two prior to now.

Hongjoong wasn't trying to turn you on, but intimacy has a funny way of having that effect sometimes.

You turn to face him suddenly, still in his grasp and press your lips to his own. A twinge of shock lacing his features, you attempt to ignore it and put out of your mind any doubt that you have about the gesture. The last time you asked, it was made evident that you need not.

So, now you won't.

And you don't need to, feeling him quickly match your enthusiasm with a flirty tug of your bottom lip between his teeth, you pull back briefly to really take in the sight before you: your best friend Hongjoong, hair wet and bare and exposed in the most intimate and private way before you.

The bubbling in your chest proves to be one that is overwhelming, and it takes everything within yourself to push it back down from where it came.

Not now, it's not time. We're not sure yet.

With matching pink robes on, you rest your head on Hongjoong's chest as you idly watch him flip through what surely must be hundreds of Japanese television programs — watching each for all of two seconds before deeming the content unsatisfactory and flipping to the next. Listening to his steady and content heartbeat, it's hard for you to imagine a moment in time where anything has felt better than this moment right here. You think of all of the time that the both of you have spent together but wholly missing out on what truly could have been some of the best years and experiences of the both of your lives, had either of you just come to the conclusion sooner that this was the friendship model that was intended for you all along.

And yet, you can't help but wonder at what point do the lines between friendship and more start to become muddy and blurred. That surely, in most people's eyes, the lines separating you and Hongjoong had long since become frayed.

To the question of “Is that your boyfriend?” the answer is clear.

To the question of “Are you just friends?” you can't be so confident anymore.

Truthfully, you had always loved Hongjoong — an emotion ever changing and growing and mutating, in a sense. Not all love is romantic love, and romantic love is not the only valid kind of love, either.

But you had to start to wonder, at the way being with him caused your chest to tighten, and intimacy with him — sexual or otherwise — so much more fulfilling than anything else you had experienced.

The first time you slept with him, he playfully warned that you would never have anyone else. Had he simply planted the seed then and there that night?

On the topic of exclusivity, it wasn't one you were willing to step towards just yet; not yet out of the forest, as it were — getting a hold of one’s emotional understanding would take more than a trip to Japan and a romp in a bush maze.

Perhaps you wanted him, but perhaps it would have to wait, as well.

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

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[cottoncandy-cult]

Artistic Touch

Tattoo Artist!Buddha x Fem! Reader

This is just based in my own little modern artist au, in which the RoR characters work in various shops together!

Light TW: Mentions of blood maybe once twice, other than that it's pretty tame. Just basic SFW

"You're doing great gorgeous… just a little longer." Buddha had been straddling her thighs for a while, hunched over her body as he held the tattoo gun in his glove covered his hands. The other held a wet wipe, allowing him to clean up the extra ink and blood. When (Y/n) had first started dating him she was tattooless, having only a couple piercings and dyed hair to show where she leaned style wise. They had met at a bar, the tall male worked at a shop nearby but would also work as a bouncer as a friend of his owned the club anyways. They had hit it off after he caught and took care of a creep trying to spike her drink, it had been 3 years now and like a canvas Buddha had painted his mark across her skin. The back piece he was working on for her was one that they had spent months doing between their schedules, it was a large koi pond with what was a partial view of a shrine up near her shoulders. Though the main focal point had been a koi fish amongst the lotus, the edges of the tattoo looking like that of a mirror. Many of her tattoos looked like images taken from beyond the looking glass, vibrant and detailed they would spend the hours together talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes they'd sit silently and enjoy the others presence as music softly hummed through the background. Tonight was the last night, so Buddha claimed, that he would finish this newest Masterpiece that night. He took a moment to grab a new wet wipe, his thumb rubbing her side as he knew she was still sore from the session before. But they were near the bottom of the tattoo and the last of the shading, so soon she'd be able to take a break and heal for a while. The koi fish had been white with (F/c) spots splattered across it, while the lotus had blue and white petals. A detail Buddha had included in the colored drawing the two had come up with together. He knew it sounded bad but he somewhat enjoyed when she was still sore from a fresh session, it gave him an excuse to spoil her and take care of her as given the current ones position, he had to help her clean and care for it.

"You wanna take a snack break before we get back into it?" He hopped off the padded table that she rested on, stretching his back as he sat in a computer chair and rolled around so that he was infront of her. He couldn't help but chuckle at the drowsy look on her face, she had gotten so used to the feeling that now sometimes during a long session she would doze off. He couldn't count how many times he was in the middle of a long story and heard her start softly snoring, of course he'd act pouty about it but he honestly thought it was cute. "Yeah, snacks sound great Bu~" That was all it took for Buddha to wipe up her lower back before throwing away the dirty wipes and his gloves. He watched her sit up some on her elbows so she could sip on her orange slushy, meanwhile he was opening up a bag of chips which he'd hold between the two. "You want me to help you sit up? Or are you gonna just chill there?" He was worried she'd make herself even more sore from the position, but he also knew she was probably dreading having to get off the table with her fresh tattoo. "Nah I'm comfy, plus it's just a snack break. We can order a pizza or something when we get home." She had stretched her topless form some before popping a chip in her mouth, given the size of the project she had foregone her bra and wore a loose cotton t-shirt which she would take off during the tattoos. There were ink and blood stains on it from the numerous tattoos but she always cleaned it and it served as just being one of her tattoo safety shirts. They had decided to go to the shop he worked at after he got done with his job at the bar to work on her newest addition, they had been there for a few hours, but it wasn't quite midnight yet. Even if it had been (Y/n) worked from home as an animator, something Buddha supported her in along with her 5M subscribers. It had been something she was building on for years even before she met him, art and creation was her passion and so she would animate her stories. She was still an independent creator, but things were looking up and she was grateful. Because of that she did have some flexibility in her schedule so she could afford to sleep in a little later the following day.

They had spent a few minutes chatting and flipping through TikTok's together, enjoying their snack before Buddha got up to get a fresh pair of gloves and some more wet wipes. "I can't wait til we get home, wanna eat something and watch that crime show you like." He chuckled as he moved back into his position over her, he took a moment to press a kiss the base of her neck just above where the tattoo sits. His hands stroking her sides as he helped her get comfortable again, a lazy grin on his face as he started back on the tattoo with new determination to see it finished that night. "Yeah I can't wait, especially since that creep just kidnapped the detective." She giggled some but did her best to hold still, closing her eyes to relax into the padding once more. She could be a bit of a nerd sometimes and while she found it embarrassing sometimes Buddha had never once shamed her, infect he took interest into many of her hobbies and likes. He said he was doing it because it was only fair, that she indulges him and his desires all the time so it wouldn't hurt him to watch some of her favorite shows with her. Even still it made her happy, sure she had dated guys who had shown some interest in her likes but nothing like how Buddha does it. Just the other day they finished an anime that was almost 300 episodes long, and afterwards they were even able to discuss some of his favorite archs and characters. Where most of her Exes would have just been ready to move on to the next thing, Buddha was willing to talk about certain details, missed opportunities and theories. "I love you Bu~" Her words were soft and sweet, she wanted to tell him just how much. To spend the rest of their time together thanking him and telling him all she loved about him, but she figured there was a time and place and she'd rather do so when she could look at him. Though given her current position she missed his toothy smile, instead she simply felt the needle lift from her skin as he rested his forehead against the back of her head. "Love you too (N/n)…" His voice was smooth and sweet, like warm honey in tone, he didn't need to hear hours' worth of praise to feel her love. Though he certainly wouldn't mind hearing it, he could feel her love through the things she did in return for him. He knew he could be a little difficult sometimes, even a little bratty or joke a little more than most people would like. Yet she took every second of it, she was willing to keep dialog open and talk about things even if she felt embarrassed. And that kind of trust is how he knew the depths of her love, because she was willing to set aside pride and swallow embarrassment so that they could fix or confront any problems they had to. It took effort and he respected that, he loved himself a strong woman. And in his eyes, no one was as strong as his personal goddess.

[sweetest-honeybee]

How come you finished welcome home commissions before other commissions?

Sorry to be kind of rude but a friend of mine commissioned something a while before you started posting about Welcome Home and it’s understandable that you are busy but the welcome home commissions were likely commissioned after you started posting about it so I don’t know why you did them first.

I already know I’m gonna sound like an ass for a moment but here we go-

Firstly this can be taken up privately by your friend if they’re concerned. I also don’t particularly appreciate this in my inbox but to answer, it’s just whatever I can get through quickest. My oldest of the ones sitting are from much longer ago than anything anyone in Tumblr has commissioned me for and I’m finishing those tomorrow (they’re from Twitter and Instagram respectively and I dedicated my entire last Saturday to them alone). Those two have been quite kind and expressed their concerns about turnaround themselves if need be

Anything that’s particularly fun and interesting gets done quicker and keeps space open when others are a bit stuck when I need a quick slot filled like last week to cover an expense, for example. Scraping by on harder/less interesting commissions slows things down

Truly, it’s not that I don’t like some commissions, they’re just harder to sit and focus on

Additionally, my time management has been awful this year because of several points of uncertainty about getting a job, a couple scares on my living situation, and not having a clear window of time consistently to know when to work on things that have been sitting (and of course, burnout is always an issue). It’s easy to find time to just. Scribble and doodle, maybe do a piece for myself, but getting actual work done is a little more difficult. I’ve discovered preclaimed adopts and taking up so many commissions in May last minute wasas a bad choice so I’m still quite literally 15 commissions in the hole to finish on top of your friend’s commission. So making sure that isn’t gonna happen again is all I can do, at the moment. I’ve been chipping away at em in little bits of free time as best I can, reorganizing my canvases, getting a good idea of what’ll be finished first and last, etc etc I’ve actually been quite productive for the last week or so

If your friend is upset they need to tell me. They’re the client, and the content doesn’t concern you directly if you haven’t commissioned me and are waiting. If they’d like a refund because the turnaround is too long, that’s for them to communicate with me and I’m happy to provide a refund. I’m not always gonna be the best artist for the job if you want quick work and that’s fine. I’ve refunded MUCH larger pieces before for that reason. Clients may check in at any time whether I’ve got progress to show for the time or not. And oftentimes I don’t! Sometimes it’s days or a couple-few weeks before I can get progress to people, it just happens and I’ve been working on making sure it doesn’t keep happening so I don’t have to make people expect to wait so long before they hear from me. Trust me, it’s always a bit disappointing when I can’t show anything

And now that I’m working as well, my ability to finish those things just depends on what days I get to myself during the week and atm thats 3 days this week so those 3 days are dedicated to downtime and paid commission work. Which quite frankly, is a bit exhausting. Fun puppet characters and scaly dragons and whatnot are fun and rewarding and I’m clearing my queue while doing something I’m enjoying and that gets me to the older stuff much faster

I’m very sorry the turnaround estimate was more than a little off and it’ll be tweaked for better preparation in the future. I’m also sorry if they’ve asked and I didn’t respond quickly or have sounded dismissive. Hell, some clients pester and pester and that certainly makes doing work for them unenjoyable. I think about these commissions every single day and how I can approach them so I can finish them by sometime in July

[marymary-diva17]

Doing this for him and them (2)

A second chance had been given to reverse a sorrowful past from, taking place again. Now two young navi have been give that chance to save, the one life that had been lost along with many lives as well either lost or destroyed. When it comes to stopping the dark future they only remember, many sacrifices will need to be made to make sure everyone gets a happy ending.

Angi " ......"

lo'ak " ......." the two teens had been sitting there in silence as they, ha finally come to terms they are in the past. The grace of eywa they are able now to keep everyone live and happy. To not have the painful future that they know very well.

lo'ak " we can't stand here in silence all day"

angi " you are right but we need to make sure to go with this plan, well and not to alarm anyone else of what we will be doing"

lo'ak " you are right we just need to make sure if the battle happens, we find a way to keep neteyam alive"

angi " allow with making sure my mother spirt sister and her calf are not killed as well, I will not have that pain on my mother anyone"

lo'ak " okay whatever"

angi " making sure no one else loses their lives or many else is destroy by the RDA"

lo'ak " I believe we can do it"

angi " okay"

lo'ak " I know this might sound crazy but I will teach you how to use, some of the sky people weapons and technology"

angi " what"

lo'ak " come on you have helped I and my family learn the ways of the water, let me show your the humans ways as well right now we have to fight for what we love"

lo'ak " like my father has said our families are our fortress. and we have to keep them safe along with our friends and clans"

angi " okay I'm in"

lo'ak " don't worry it will be nothing to crazy and gain the attention of our father"

angi " along with neteyam if we find out he might worry or bring it up"

lo'ak " if we do get caught we can explain it as helping lear, new ways nothing to worry about" angi and lo'ak had nodded their heads in agreement. They watched their loves ones and clan members having a good day, as everything was going well they wish for it to stay the happy for a while longer. The two of them scared of the dark future they knew that could happen again.

later on that day

angi " here you go tuk a beautiful bracelet with some small shells from here"

tuk " thank you" the teens had gather together and starter crafting some stuff together while talking as well.

angi " you are welcome tuk" tuk had placed the bracelet on her arm and soon hugged angi, as she is very happy about her new piece of jewelry.

kiri " that is beautiful work angi you had know the right shells to pick"

angi " thank you kiri you as well had taken some beautiful shells as well"

kiri " thank you I thought about having a small collection"

angi " that sounds wonderful kiri"

tsireya " sister it seems like you have a wonderful artist talent, that you have been putting to use"

angi " thank you"

spider " it a good idea to be under the shade after it had become hot"

neteyam " it also smart as well we don't need anyone passing out as well, from the heat or getting sick"

tsireya " yes mother will not like it if anyone comes home sick"

rotox " she will scolded us and take care of us as well"

angi " that is our mother the tshaik of our clan"

lo'ak " we alos don't want to endanger the clan as well, because if we need medical help the rda might caught us we call for help"

neteyam " angi and lo'ak are both right"

kiri " when did you become so wise brother this seems to all be, happing after those jerks lost you on the reef which is still questionable"

lo'ak " I have always been like this kiri but haven't use it that much, and angi has helped me learn from wise thing here and there"

tsireya " really it good to see you both are become the best of friends"

angi " well we are all are all close already it will be good, to become close outside of the group"

tuk " aww but you are still my friend right angi"

angi " always tuk"

rotxo " you are alway kindhearted sister"

angi " thank you"

neteyam " this day has been good after all taking some time off from all the chores and lessons, to just have some fun" the fun seem to be cut off for a bit as a warrior call had been heard, with a creature sound as well.

tuk " yeah dad home" the father had returned from their portal and soon landed their creatures in the water, soon dismount off them and coming onto land.

tsireya " baba welcome home"

tonowari " hello childern angi"

tuk " hey dad"

Jake " hey baby girl it good to see you and your siblings after a long, day of portal"

spider " hey father"

tsu'tey " hello my son"

tonowari " ah angi there you are my eldest beautiful daughter, where have you been when I didn't see you this morning"

angi " oh I was out on morning walk baba and I ran into lo'ak, we had began talking after that"

Jake " so there where you were my boy I and your mother along with your grandmother wonder where you had went, we had thought you went out on reef again"

lo'ak " no I haven't sir"

neteyam " they are speaking the truth I ran into them when they were heading back to the village"

tonowari " well it good all of you kids are become close friends, it will be good for our clans" the kids had nodded their heads in agreement the day has been stressful enough, now angi will be having dinner with her family which she love. Now it has come to speaking with her parents about how the day went and anything else, but she knew if she made a mistake her and lo'ak plan will be over before it started.

ronal " so my daughter your father has told me that you reason, you were gone this morning was for a walk"

angi " yes I went out to clear my head mother and I ran into lo'ak, we had talked with each other for a while and lost track of time as well"

ronal "......"

tisreya " they were hanging out as friends mama it was all right"

ronal " I know my daughter I just want to make sure all my children, stay safe from harm even when we have a new addition joining us soon"

rotxo " we wil be happy to have our new baby brother and sister join the family"

tisreya " yes"

angi " yes brother it seems like your spirit sister calf is ready to meet, our baby sister or brother"

ronal " yes it will be good day when it comes"

tonowari " dinner was wondeful ma ronal and I enjoyed having dinner with our family"

ronal " thank you tonowari"

angi " I can clean up dinner so not being there to help with breakfast"

ronal " are you sure my daughter"

angi " I'm sure mother I can do it" angi was cleaning up dinner and soon everyone was cleaned and done, angi had been happy that everyone had gone well tonight. She still couldn't believe she had given second chnace. She was standing in the entrance way of her family home as she looked towards, the sully family home and saw lo'ak. She had smiled towards him and waved at him as well, it had seemed lo'ak had been called back inside.

tonowari " angi"

angi " yes baba"

tonowari " thank you for helping out today and I know you will be great big sister to your new sibling, like you have done for tsireya and rotxo"

angi " thank you baba"

tonowari " now off to bed young lady you mother will not like, you staying up this late"

angi " yes baba" angi had soon went into the bedroom and laid in her bed, as she was not able to sleep just yet. Going over her and lo'ak plan to make sure everyone, has a happy life in the end. They are doing this for neteyam and doing this for everyone else as well.

[starlghted]

𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴 ft. the dessert club, grace and ford.

rehearsals, interviews, photoshoots, repeat that had been the heiresses' life for the last month and a half, her petite currently sitting by the piano as a delicate hand ran over bone colored keys. a bright smile present on her features as marveled at the antique piece asking the prop master detailed questions, about the make and model. the test flash of a camera had the brunette looking up, as the make up artist who'd been fussing over her faded pink lip, made her attempt to remedy the situation. " it wouldn't fade if she wasn't perpetually late " she declared in a huff. the bright red, form fitting jaccquemus mini dress framed her curves as she drummed her fingers on the wooden surface, the high pitched sound of an apology only reaching her ears as australian songstress made her entrance in the black matching number of her attire. evaluating her "scene partner" made emma pout. " well you'll certainly grow into it.. " she muse with a critical roll of her shoulders. " not today… clearly but someday "

the songstress, pulled on the mini, the fashion choice having made by the imposing hotel heiress she'd done little to nothing to, outside of simply exist near her or so emma dictated, every time the australian ambassdor's daughter was near her. " must it be this short? " she argued, with a tug, of the non existent skirt of the dress. " who died and made her queen? "rushing towards the center of the stage, the light playing of keys made her nod, the lyrics of the secret song for her debut as BELLE in the broadway adaptation of beauty and the beast , giving her the boost of confidence she needed to take on the dreaded challenge that was, emma bach. " you're late" the heiress quipped without looking at her. " and you're off key… " the singer countered with a tilt of her chin. it had taken her 10 tries in the mirror and one encouraging call from her croatian best friend to think that one up. not that it mattered, the quip did little to nothing to change emma's mood, negatively or otherwise. right… right… they should get this over with and they would have… had her line of sight not caught sight of… enthusiastically, she waved the sight of her boyfriend and blonde danish crown, plus whom grace understood to be her husband, made the anxious bubble in her chest disappear.

" god not another ONE of these " the broad shouldered male complained as he and the danish crown were ushered in, one step behind the danish prince, who despite their best attempts seemed to have stalled their departure from his manthattan apartment. now it had only been when the buzz of voices and shutters of cameras that the american felt himself crash into the tall blonde who'd walked a few steps in front of him. the sight of security made brows furrow. " damn, the mouse doesn't play… " he added with a snort. " what's next a strip search? "

[kohakhearts]

for fic writer meme: 7, 18, 26, and 40, and feel free to answer for both fic and original work if you want :D

thank you!! :D

7: how do you choose which pov to write from?

in terms of 3rd/2nd/1st, usually i default to 3rd but some stories just...are meant to be 1st person, if that makes sense lol. like i have one original project where the mc gets possessed by a demon at some point and it's told in 1st person to like...really solidify the idea that they've become one person in a sense. in terms of which character the pov follows, that's just a result of blorboism LOL. in original works it's just...who the first character i conceived of was, usually. i'd say the protagonist but lets be real - nerissa is NOT the protagonist of osa. she's his older sister :p (she gets protag status by oes on account of getting herself killed so he doesn't have to put himself in harm's way anymore ofc)

18: do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? how do you come up with titles?

it really depends on the fic. sometimes i have a title before anything else. sometimes it comes midway through after i've written a particular line and been like "oh that's good, let's make that the title!" and sometimes it's well after the fact when i'm staring at the ao3 draft like what the fuck do i call you. i'd say usually it's the first scenario though, and then i try to work the title into the text somehow. i've taken inspiration from a lot of things for titles, but in general i like my titles to reference specific lines or motifs in the fic itself!

26: which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

...pretty much any multichapter i've ever written LOL. i'll give a special shoutout to ratc and entanglement for being ideas that i was like "oh this will be like 10k words probably lol" and then turning into novels. entanglement in particular, for getting so long i had no choice but to divide it into chapters lmao

40: if someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

ok there are actually a lot HAHA. i was going to commission a piece of nerissa and poseidon from the scene in oes where they're sitting on the back step at emerson's house after poseidon accidentally possessed her. that's definitely one i'd love to see an artistic rendition of. and probably the final scene in oes, too, or the scene in osa where nerissa carries him out of the sea at namthi!

as for fic...i have a lot of fic, so i'll try to keep this short hjsdfhjdkf but in terms of recent ones...there's this scene from this year's christmas fic where goh kissed gary for the first time:

or tbh...i'd love to see an artistic rendition of my palletshipping hanahaki au. y'know, for the flower imagery

or like ANY scene from sound sleepless, honestly. i love those quiet, late-night conversations (relatedly...a friend drew a scene out of common ground a few years ago, which i ADORE). the scene near the end with ash and lucario is also a fave of mine that i think would make a really sweet drawing.

there's also a scene in entanglement that i won't share bc it's big plot spoilers but it's one of those sappy "character a is crying and character b wipes the tears off their face" scenes we all know and love haha

ok i'll stop here but genuinely....there are so many. and i have received a few fanarts for scenes or character in osa that i love so, so much. and i would love any kind of art someone drew for something i wrote. i love that spirit of collaboration that comes out of things like that!!!

get to know your fic writer!

[resande]

Hey. I'm a mutual of yours, we've been for a few months now. I'm here not only to tell you that your steddie fanarts are out of this world (that they are), or how much I like your art (that I do), or how talented you are (that you are).

I'm here to tell you that I appreciate every minute of effort behind your hard, hard work. Yes, you're talented, no doubt of that, but behind every talented person there are a lot, and I mean A LOT of hours, self teaching, experimenting, discarded wips, study hours, mental struggle to do art, to see the flaws on our pieces, to not being ever fully satisfied with what we do, and yet to sit again and keep doing art and sharing it despite everything I mentioned before.

That's hard work, that's passion, and strength, and stubborness, and that's more important than talent, and I think I'm telling you this because I, as an artist myself, would love to hear it sometimes. I flush and fluster whenever someone calls me 'talented' (who doesn't like praise?) but I would tear up if someone sees what I do and tell me "god, this piece must have taken you hours, and being able to do this, must have taken you decades."

So I am here to appreciate that, to note and congratulate you on every single minute that you spent working to become the amazing artist that you are.

I hope you have the greatest week, and that with this, your Monday is a little bit less Monday-ish.

Love, V

I'm having a hard time, with life at the moment.. i have to do so much stuff and work a lot when i should've been resting after a stressful uni year. And the only thing that i consider resting now is art. The art that i couldn't pursue full time in the country that i live in. Or for the art that so many told me that i'll stop eventually doing because way down the line i won't be able to anymore because of the future job that i've chosen for myself and such. But since highschool i'll say this for as long as i'm breathing: i can't live without art and it will forever course through my veins.

As dramatic as that may sound, it's true. Before steddie i thought i was going to quit art just because no matter on each platform i'd try, i was getting like 100 to 300 notes/likes on a 44 h piece. Not exagerating one bit. And it went like that for like a year. But the only problem was that i had the wrong audience. This steddie fandom brought out the best of me and i improved so much as an artist thanks to you, fellow artist friend and so many more amazing artists/writers/people i've met down the line.

The fact that you took the time to tell me you appreciate all my sleepless nights, all my frustrations, small victories, learning from my mistakes. It really feels like soothing balm against wound. Hence i cried when i read your message. I thank you whole heartedly for your kindness, it made my week so much brighter. And i want to give the same warmth to you, in return. No matter the fact that i don't know how your art looks like. I'm congratulating you too, for coming so far, for all the progress that you've made. For the days you let your heart out to sing on paper or through pixels. For struggling to get the structures right the 100th time. For trying again and again until it felt right. For not giving up. And for sharing a piece of your heart with us. Even later in life when you'll be able to only doodle on napkins or painting on large canvases, never let that fire within you die. Because you're special and we're so lucky we get to see another version of life through different eyes and experiences.

And for whoever may read this. I'm congratulating you too and all the above. No matter what you're doing and what you're pursuing. I'm so proud of you too.

This went for way too long and i rambled a whole lot, i know. But in the end, i wish you an amazing week ahead of you, and all the best.

With love,

Res.

[grimae]

Hi! I really admire your artworks and remember you talking about writing huge amounts of Lore for them and vice versa. Do you plan on publishing it as illustrated books or something one day, or is it one of those eternal passion projects some artists like to do (I do it too lol but haven’t posted artworks of it yet) for themselves that will probably never see the light of the day if not for some bits and pieces? Just asking out of curiosity and respect for the craft that goes into things like this plus from what I recall it sounded very interesting and like something I’d like to read. dont mind me if you talked about it before I wasn’t following you yet. anyway Have a good new year!

Sup, and good new year to you too! Last year I massively revamped my entire world building, which made a lot of the 400+ pages of outlines and world building I had obsolete. That isn't bad at all - I'm incredibly happy with everything I have now it feels much more true to who I am as a person and what I want to stand for. It was also taken with a ton of enthusiasm by my friends which just makes it more exciting lol. However, I feel like I'm sitting in front of a big pile of shards (affectionate) now. There's a ton of things to be sorted and worked on new, and I traded a more linear kind of story for a more ethereal and "wooshy" setting. I'm p much laser-focused on my Istrati vampire clan right now, even worse than before, and am developing the world around them. I still don't have a set protagonist, I prefer to see that world as many lives intertwined.

In short, I would absolutely love to release something physical one day. I have so much art. The BotS pages alone went over number 40 last year, and while most of them went equally as obsolete as the five year old world building, it's still a pretty dear project to me even when I stopped plastering it all over the web. I'm just really bad at wanting to sell people things, which is inevitably what comes when you release stuff. That also makes me a pretty lousy freelancer actually rofl.

Also, I'm eternally grateful that so many people love and support what I do, no matter how little or much I talk about it. It's genuinely healing and whenever I see someone getting excited about something I did, be it friend, or acquaintance or just some stranger on socmedia, it makes me just so fucking happy. If you have any questions feel free to throw yourself at me anyway, I always love answering questions and talking about stuff lol.