#not art related but this seems serious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gyuuberryy · 3 days

Text

a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

#౨ৎ 𝓐dy writes🪄#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #jay #jay park #jay x reader #jay imagines #jay fics #jay oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen royal au #jongseong park #jay enhypen

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risuola · 1 year

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DON'T HOLD BACK — F. READER x GETO SUGURU, who'’s as sweet as he's mean to you

If anyone got to know Suguru Geto, they would say that he's really nice guy, very kind and soft spoken, and they wouldn't be exactly wrong, but it seemed like you were the only person in the world that knows that Suguru, your tattoo artist boyfriend, is a meanie.

cw: smut, no-curse au, size difference, spanking, hair pulling, cunningulus, slight description of pain (tattoo related), so many pet names, Geto has tattoos and piercings (yup, that's a warning), there's an appearance od Satoru at the end, reader discretion is advised — 7,9k words

masterlist

If anyone would ask you few days ago what will you be doing on friday at 21:38pm, you’d probably respond with a large dose of confidence, that you’ll be resting in your bed. Maybe catching up on your favorite anime because you had no time to watch the newest episode during the week. You’d be lying comfortably, sipping on your favorite, fruity tea and if you’d feel fancy enough, maybe you’d even order yourself a pizza. That’s what you’d assume you’ll be doing late on friday, it sounded reasonable and reasonable is what you liked to call yourself.

Making spontaneous decisions is not a trait you’d give to your personality. You were always the one to think at least twice, usually more like seven times, before you commit to something, especially when it came to serious things such as body modifications or a choice of college. You were an overthinker, a helpless one to be exact, but that got you through life somewhat safely up until the point of reaching the sophomore year at uni. Your grades were fairly good, you had a little circle of people that were close to your heart, and you couldn’t think of many that you’d actually call your enemies. Being called a bore by your best friend was just a side effect of your usually cold and calculated thought process, but it never bothered you.

That was just who you were – a helpless overthinker – so it’s only natural, that you couldn’t find an answer reasonable enough to explain why on earth, on late friday evening, while the clock was slowly but surely heading towards 10pm, you were standing in front of the deep purple, slightly flickering neon sign that read Curseive.

A clever concoction of something so dark and mysterious as a curse and the intricate art of lines and shapes that the font cursive is all about – it hung up high above the entrance, written in a way that mirrored the conflicting feelings and somehow making it work. It was a tattoo salon, a relatively new one in your area, but it already had many good reviews online – or at least that’s what you assumed while doing the quickest research of your life. If scrolling through the messages left by customers for at most thirty seconds could be even called research. Why were you here? You had no clue, but you pushed the doors open and there was that little version of you sitting on your shoulder that wished you’ll just get asked out, because the salon was closing in about 20 minutes, but you decided to ignore the frail voice in your head and move forward.

When you stepped inside, it was empty in the lobby where the little sofa was situated for those who are waiting and a desk that was probably a reception. Dark walls around you were adorned by paintings that on the first glance looked to you like were handmade. Quickly you found yourself lost in the soft sound of buzzing that mixed with the quiet rock music playing somewhere in the background, as you began examining the artworks around you. One of the walls was made into a gallery of sorts, with the photographs of finished tattoos and printed patterns displayed in an array, supplemented with little descriptive notes and sometimes comments, that you assumed were left by clients. All of them were breathtaking and although you couldn’t see yourself rocking most of those heavy inks on your own skin, you were more than happy to appreciate and analyze. The precision of lines, the shading, the colors and composition – all of those tickled your artistic soul in ways not many things could and maybe it was the aesthete in you who stopped you from decorating your own body until this point, because fact is – you thought about getting a tattoo many times before. You really did and even had a pattern you really wanted, but it just scared the shit out of you to think someone could butcher it up and charge you for the mess. So, you never made an appointment. Until now. Now you were determined to do so.

You took one deeper breath, as if encouraging your own self to speak up and make your presence inside more obvious. The subtle scent of antiseptics and inks filled in your lungs as you inhaled, but instead of giving you more courage, you became more nervous. It’s just an appointment, you thought to yourself, you can always call later and say you have to call it off. Yeah, that sounded like a plan in your head and with that plan, your legs automatically moved towards the exit, despite what you wished to do.

“Running away, princess?”

That voice. You couldn’t mistake it for anyone else, you knew the soft, tender tone that even laced with malice sounded so pleasurable to the ear. You knew the owner, although not that close, but you met him many times – not one of them being all that nice. It was Suguru Geto, one of the biggest heartthrobs in your college. He rocked a disposable, black surgical mask that was pulled down under his chin and a pair of black gloves that he was in the process of taking off. Silver earrings glistened in the dim light of the salon, just as his rings were when he finally dealt with the hand protection. Your eyes glazed over the metallic accessories he had on – that also tickled something inside of you, triggering an unknown fantasy of having those long, ringed fingers of him deep in your… Suguru had nice hands.

“I’m not running away,” you told him, hoping that your voice was as firm as you intended it to be. Spoiler alert, it wasn't.

“No? Looked like it.” He chuckled, throwing the latex to the designated trash. His tone was taunting, you felt so small under the weight of his golden gaze. “Are you lost, little girl? You don’t exactly fit in that place now, do you?”

“You’re working here?” The question slipped through your mouth as if it wasn’t completely obvious from the very fact that he was here, alone, equipped in safety gloves and a mask, so near the closing time.

“Do I work here?” He took a look around himself, taking the mask off his ears and throwing it away before once again looking at you. “It’s kinda my place, so yeah, you could say so.”

That actually made sense the more you thought about it. Suguru was your senior, he was two years older and now finishing college. You had some of the faculties joint with his year and you were always the one to sit beside him – by the orders of the teacher, not by your own choice, although sitting next to him wasn’t that bad usually. You can clearly remember that during every lecture, he was doodling something on the screen of his ipad – something that you never really paid attention to because for your own good, you decided that staying away from the so-called frat boys was the best you could do. All this time, he probably was designing tattoo patterns.

“Right, so-“

“I assume, if you’re here that means you’d like to have something inked, is that correct?”

“Y-yeah, but, uh-“

“Are you 100% about it or did you come here to stutter?” You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious about your decisions or just mocking your nervousness, but either way, you felt it in ways you probably shouldn’t. This man had some power in his demeanor, and when he leaned over the counter, propping himself on the elbows and looking at you like a predator would glance at his pray, you felt small.

Suguru wasn’t the typical fuckboy, although he for sure was a magnet for the ladies, thanks to his absolutely stunning visual. That, you couldn’t deny – he was just gorgeous, with his sharp features that somehow still looked soft and inviting, the golden irises of his eyes that never faltered from eye contact, manly jawline and long, luscious locks of black hair that he often tied in a low bun. You never seen him in anything that wasn’t grey or black – white when it really was an odd day – but other than that, he was dressing in monochrome and you truly couldn’t blame him. He was a type to make the most boring sweats set look like the sexiest outfit on earth with just the fact that it was him who wore it. Yeah, he was gorgeous, you had to give him that, or rather blame him for that, because his apparition was for sure going to be the beginning to your end. Speaking dramatically, of course.

“I’m sure.” You forced out, mentally kicking yourself for being caught off guard just because it was him. You were never that taken aback near him, but you were also never alone with him. It was easier to stay indifferent when there were people around, when all of his focus wasn’t targeted at you and when that gorgeous pair of eyes wasn’t gazing straight into your soul. You felt like he could read your thoughts just by looking at you.

“Cool. So, let me close and you’d tell me what’s your vision.”

Suguru found your presence in his studio amusing. He’s seen you at uni, you were quite known in his circle of friends that unofficially were called the frat boys, even though your college didn’t really have this kind of organization. It’s due to your friendship with the cheerleader’s leader, but thing is – although you’re close with most of the fun girls, you were most definitely no fun whatsoever and for some reason, Geto found it interesting. And the fact you never faltered to speak up for yourself… How he’d wish to fuck the attitude out of you. He himself wasn’t exactly the type to party until blackout, drink until sunrise or have a checklist for girls to screw at the college. He had no wish to cross any names off of any list. Aware of his good looks, he used them to their limits to make his way through studies smoother and there were not many things that he couldn’t achieve if he tried hard enough. Even the principal of his faculty had a soft spot for him, so many things he was able to get away with. That being said, if he really wanted to have a girl, unless she was really hooked in someone else, he would probably face no issues of getting her. That’s what he thought, until you came to picture. Considering every charm and trick he had up his sleeve, he was almost certain that getting you wouldn’t be so easy for him, or for any of his friends. And now you were here, in his shrine, trying to sound confident when you most certainly weren’t. Adorable.

You watched him pulling down the shades in the windows and turning keys in the lock, effectively closing you both inside the studio and in a matter of few minutes, you were situated with him on the couch, sitting quite snug as you scrolled through your phone to find the picture of your little drawing. It took everything from you not to melt into his side. The way he smelled was intoxicating, a mixture of cedar wood, pepper and some kind of citrus – a tangerine if you were to guess. And the warmth of his body was so inviting. Before being so close to him, you didn’t even notice how cold you were – apparently your shorts and a sweatshirt weren’t good enough for the October evening, even though during the day it still was way too warm for the fall attire.

Geto waited patiently for you to find the picture you just told him about. The sketch you did that was meant to present him the idea of what you wanted to have tattooed onto your skin and as you were scrolling through your gallery, he took this time to take you in. He noticed that you have a really nice profile. Your lips were pouty, just slightly pushed forward and so kissable right now, as you were focused on the display in front of your face. Your hair looked good also and he couldn’t deny the fact that you looked like you’d perfectly fit into his arms. And on his dick. You were way smaller than him, but that wasn’t unusual – he was a fucking giant, but something in your frame made you appear like you’d slip into his embrace just right and that thought make him go crazy. It’s been quite some time since he found a girl so captivating.

“Here, I found it,” you informed, showing him the screen, and he placed his hand over yours, slightly shifting the device so he can see it better. A hum left his mouth as he analyzed the drawing you did. It showed two betta fishes, one black and one white, positioned in circle, as if they were chasing each other’s tails. The pattern was intricate – the fins were ruffled and detailed, scales bearing a little bit of shading and yet, the whole image was quite a simple one. It also reminded him a little about the yin and yang symbol. He liked the idea, it worked well with his perception of you and what surprised him was the fact that he as well had a little tandem of bettas tattooed on his body and there was no way you’d know that.

“And where would that be?”

“I thought on the sternum maybe?”

“Oh, that’s going to hurt like hell, princess,” Suguru chuckled, already opening the new canvas on his tablet. “How are you with pain?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be good,” you accentuated the words with a nod at the end and leaned in a little bit to see what he began to draw. The pencil slid over the grey colored screen with skill that stunned you. Just from memory and the little reference you had in your hand, he quite quickly created the basic sketch of what you just showed him.

That night you spent two hours with him on the couch in his salon, admiring in quiet the process of creating a finished artwork. You enjoyed every second of it, the artistic sequence of lines made something unbelievably good, impressing you to the very core, even though you already looked through the little gallery he had on the wall. Seeing it being put down in real time made it that much more captivating and you didn’t even notice how during the process you glued yourself to him, nearly laying your head over his strong shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

When he was about to finish, you understood why he chose grey background to work with. As the last step, he dragged the white color over one of the fishes and that really made the whole piece magical.

“That’s perfect,” you told him when he tilted the screen so you could see it better. Taking his ipad in your hands to closer examine the creation of his hands, you nearly gasped at the incredible detail he put into the scales, shading each and every one individually. And the tails were so beautifully drawn, perfectly reflecting how they would just flow in the water.

Geto would lie if he said that the admiration your eyes were overflowing with wasn’t fueling his pride. Sure, his clients liked his projects – obviously, cause they let themselves be tattooed with them, but somehow the sparkle in your eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

“Is that so?” He purred, wrapping his arm around your back and planting his hand on the curve of your hip. There was no protest from you – quite the contrary, Geto noticed you even scooted a little closer, but the reason made itself apparent sooner than he’d expect. Even through the fabric of his dark washed jeans he could feel how cold was your thigh when it made full contact with the side of his leg. He placed a hand over your naked skin to check if his senses weren’t fooling him. “Gosh, you’re so cold.”

“It’s nothing,” you tried to shrug it off, but the feeling of his palm pressed against your plump flesh sent searing impulses through your nervous system. Slowly, you became almost painfully aware of how pleasant the near proximity of him was. How perfectly warm he felt next to you and your mind couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be even closer. You actively tried to suppress those thoughts, but it was damn difficult, when he was just right there, so easy to reach.

“You look great in those shorts, but the summer is over, pretty,” Suguru muttered, his voice just slightly amused as he let his fingers smooth over the supple flesh of your inner thigh. He was so close to where you wanted him to be and yet so far.

“Yea, I know. It was warm during the day though. I was supposed to be home hours ago,” you confessed with a sigh, already thinking about the cold you have to walk through to get to your apartment. It wasn’t far, but if you were freezing inside Curseive, you’d most likely turn into an icicle when you get out, considering it was already midnight.

“Well, let me schedule your appointment and I’ll take you home.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I’ll set you up for next month, so you’ll have plenty of time to chicken out,” he teased, shooting you a wink and making you roll your eyes.

That night, you did many things you’d call unreasonable. You spent few hours in closed space with a man you probably shouldn’t have anything in common, you leaned into him without giving it a second thought. That night you made an appointment to your first tattoo. That night Suguru carried you home in his arms, wrapped in a blanket he kept in the studio in case someone felt cold during the inking process. And that night, you let him into your bed.

If anyone was to meet Suguru for the first time, they’d probably say he’s absolutely perfect human being. Kind and always keen to help, very soft spoken and caring and mostly, they would be right, because he really was all of those things to the public eye. Before, you considered him a red flag, but it turned out, he didn’t leave you alone after he fucked you. You expected him to be gone as soon as he pulled his dick out of you, you expected him to ignore you after that night, but he stayed with you till morning, not even once letting go of you. You woke up to the soft kisses smeared over your shoulder and a little tickle of his hair brushing against your flesh instead of the cold bed.

You spend day after day at learning things about each other. You got to know how he liked his coffee in the morning, what foods he enjoy and what shampoo he uses to keep his hair so luscious and gorgeous all the time. Suguru noted to himself what sweets bring you the most joy, he discovered that the little scrunch on your nose when you’re laughing is the most adorable thing in the world and he also studied the playlist of your favorite music, finding out you share similar taste when it comes to songs. You spent hours drawing with him, creating designs on his tablet while sitting in between his legs, your back pressed to his broad chest. Sometimes he was suggesting changes to what you created and sometimes you were the one to add some details to what came from underneath his pen.

It’s been a month since you got together with him, or at least, since you started paying more attention to each other. With good dose of confidence, you could call him your boyfriend – even though it wasn’t officially talked through between you two, your actions made it pretty hard to deny. It just happened, after the first night together, you just became closer and there was no need to give it a title, when everyone knew you’re in relationship. You were holding hands in the campus, kissing publicly and spending time together for most of the breaks. You got to know his friends, his brothers and even got the password to unlock his phone. Yeah, it’s been only a month, but your bond with him developed quite quickly. Turned out, Suguru Geto wasn’t anything that you assumed he is. He’s lovely, really. Saccharine sweet if he really wants to be, but what no one seemed to be able to notice was that he really is a meanie sometimes.

Just like now, as you laid on the dark leathery bed in Suguru’s salon, already having enough of this whole idea of getting a tattoo and he only just started. To his credit, he did warn you that it’s going to hurt like hell, even suggested picking another place for your first tattoo with real concern in his voice, but you weren��t anticipating this kind of hell when you insisted you wanted it below your cleavage. It really was something you couldn’t compare to anything else in your life – maybe a kick in the shin, but continuous and in the middle of your chest.

Geto was working in focus, keeping his eyes on the pattern he was permanently imprinting onto your skin and taking little breaks from time to time to check on you. Last thing he wanted was you fainting there, and you felt like you were close. You couldn’t even focus on how the chocolate tasted on your tongue – the one he bought you, so you can have something to snack on during the process. The way his needles were stabbing the delicate, sensitive skin of your chest millions of times made you feel sick. The vibration of the machine reverberated directly into the bone below, enhancing the horrible experience and you could have sworn you were actually hearing the pain, while he was going over and over again through some areas. The choice of white ink made it that much worse, because to even make it properly visible, he had to re-trace the shapes more times and you felt each of them.

“Oh, you’re such a crybaby,” he teased softly, noticing the glistening trace of a tear that just rolled down your cheek. “Told you it’s gonna be a painful process.”

“Oh, shut up, Sugu,” you muttered, wiping the salty mark away and taking another chocolate. “Can we take a little break?”

“Let me finish that one and I’ll give you a minute. Sounds cool?”

“Uh-huh…”

You weren’t looking at what he was doing, and those little moments that he promised will get you that breather you asked for seemed to stretch for hours. The constant, sickening poking of the needles seemed to never end and at some point, you really were that close to just yank him by the hair and throw the tattoo gun out the window, just so he’ll stop for even a moment. But the break never came, Suguru just kept going, telling you he needs to just finish that line until the relief washed over you, when he smeared some kind of gel over the area of your sternum. You felt almost orgasmic, when the cold, soothing fluid covered the burning skin between your breasts.

“You can stop crying now, baby girl, we’re all done,” he all but sneered, making sure to cover the entire pattern with the healing formula that he made sure was enriched with anesthetics. He ordered that specially for your session.

“We’re done?” You repeated after him, wiping away the tears.

“Yes, baby, save those tears for me later.” He teased, helping you get up from the bed and you hopped down on the ground to properly see the artwork in the mirror. The skin around the lines was red, but the pattern itself made you gasp. It was made so beautifully, the lines were crisp and very thin, perfectly mirroring the vision you had, and the white ink? Gorgeous. Suguru put his entire soul into your tattoo, it was a mark he left on you that will stay there forever and sometimes you wished he’ll stay with you just as long.

“You’re so mean,” you grumbled, admiring the shapes that now were stuck to you permanently. Geto laughed quietly and wrapped his already ungloved hands around you, standing right behind and checking his work in the reflection.

“And what’s my crybaby gonna do about it?” He couldn’t help the mock and the glare you shot him only made his laughter bigger.

“I’ll ban you from my bed,” you deadpanned, a soft pout forming on your mouth and you slapped his hand away when he tried to undo the only button that held your tiny cardigan together.

“Then I’ll take you to mine and you’ll have to deal with Satoru sleeping with us. You know he can’t help himself and you know how that will end, right?”

“I know, I know…” you sighed, too focused on the lines that adorned your skin to care about the clinginess of Gojo, although you felt the soft cringe washing over you quickly. The artist in you was screaming, giggling and kicking its legs – the tattoo was everything you wished it to be and more. “It’s so beautiful, Sugu.”

“You like it, huh?” Geto smiled, leaning in to have a taste of you. The kiss he pressed to the side of your neck sent immediate shivers down your spine and you tilted your head as an automatic reaction. Your body knew that giving him more space will result in more pleasure. “I like it too,” he purred against your skin. “No bra for you for at least few days, pretty. I’ll be checking.”

“No cum on my tits either, poor little you.”

“You didn’t just call me little, did you?”

“And if I did?”

“Isn’t my dick pretty much the size of your entire forearm?” He joked, looking you up and down in the mirror. It was comical in a sense, to see what buttons you were eager to push when it was clear as day that you’re just tiny next to him.

"I wouldn't say so."

“Oh, you little brat. And to think I felt guilty for making you cry today,” Suguru shook his head and it was you this time who chuckled.

“You shamelessly tortured me for two hours, where’s the guilt in that?”

“I could have tortured you for three. Am I not the best for making it quick?”

“You’d love to make me suffer for longer, wouldn’t you?”

“Not before, but now I might wanna make you cry a little more.”

You shook your head and followed him, so he could put the protective film over the tattoo and once you sat on the edge of the tattooing bed, Geto pressed not only the second skin to your chest but also his lips to yours. The force with which he leaned against you made you almost loose your balance as the metallic frame underneath you squeaked from the sudden weight change. With ease, the man encaged you between his arms, intimidating your small form with his much larger one. You were no match for Geto when it came to sizes. He is a damn giant next to you – tall and broad, nothing but wall of muscle with limbs long and strong. Sometimes, you found it unfair how easily he was able to overpower you, manhandling you any way he wanted, no matter how much you’d fight.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, feeling his weight overpowering you and you tried to push him away, desperate to catch some air into your lungs but that desperation only made you mewling into his mouth. The cold metal of his lip piercing never failed to send shivers down your spine, whenever he was kissing you like his life depended on it. He made you feel special, even though you were far from it.

“My sweet girl,” Suguru praised, his words being kissed away by you, because as much as you needed oxygen, you also needed him just a little bit closer. “My little crybaby.”

“I think you owe me some kind of apology for the pain you’ve put me through,” you muttered, grabbing his lower lip between your teeth and swiftly taking the elastic from his hair. The pitch-black locks fell down his broad shoulders, keeping the slightest curl to them from the way they were tied up.

“Oh yeah?” A grin stretched his lips and his fingers immediately found their way to the front of your jeans. “I’m not going to apologize for something you signed up for, but I’ll gladly eat that pussy as a form of payment.”

His remark made you roll your eyes, but any comment you wished to throw at him got lost when he pressed his digits to your clothed clit. Suguru smiled in satisfaction, feeling the wet patch spreading over your panties. Desperate to see it all, he pulled back and took those jeans off of you completely, taking your underwear along with it. Cold air hit your soaked folds, making you shiver as you spread out for him.

“Look at you,” Geto smirked, sitting down on his stool and spinning your panties around his pointer finger, “all wet and ready and I barely just touched you. Or is it that pain you’re so whiney about what made your panties so soaked?”

“Don’t focus on that,” you muttered, snatching the cotton from his hands. “Focus on me.”

“So demanding.” Suguru chuckled, but truth was, as much as he wished to tease you a little more, his mouth was already watering at the sight in front of him. You were a meal he’d choose to have as his last supper, the most delicious dessert he could slurp on for hours and never get bored. Every inch of you, he found to be perfect, you raised the bar of his standards to the point he couldn’t even look at other girls around him. You really got him addicted and he wasn’t even mad about it.

The feeling of hot kisses Suguru was planting all over your thighs made you scoot closer to the edge. Usually, you’d let him do his thing – you loved his mouth marking your skin. You loved the bruised spots he liked to suck on here and there only to claim his place beside you, you loved the soft touches and harsh grips. But now, you really wanted him to jump straight to action. Those nips and kisses can wait.

You allowed your fingers to brush through his silky locks, your nails scratched his scalp along the way and he purred softly before a gasp cut the sound short – it surprised him how roughly you grabbed the strands of his hair, right next to his scull and pushed his head nose deep into your pussy. It was new to him, no one ever dared to tug at his hair and when it was you, he was more than keen to get used to it. The stinging feeling of the pull at his hair follicles sent an impulse straight down to his already erected cock, making it now impossibly hard and Suguru was thanking himself that his work attire that day consisted of sweatpants and not jeans.

You couldn’t help yourself, you knew he had the strength to fight you back if he really needed, so his suffocation wasn’t any of your concerns. And Geto took the challenge with pleasure. His pierced tongue danced over your clit as if he was trying to tattoo his own name over the swollen bud between your folds. The mixture of his hot muscle and cold metal made you whine above him, squeezing his hair even harder, pushing his head even deeper. A low, deep purr that left his throat reverberated through your entire nervous system and sipping into the bloodstream, making the pleasure rush inside your veins instead of blood.

“Oh my god, Suguru-“, you breathed out, coming undone just underneath the skill he had in his mouth. He was eating you out like his life depended on it, like he would die if he won’t bring you over the edge just with his tongue, like he was born to pleasure you. A coil quickly began to form in your stomach, a string threatening to snap at any given moment if he’ll continue with the intensity of his actions. Your thighs trembled, squeezing around his head, but he held them apart with force. He wasn’t done with you yet.

You couldn’t control the way his name was leaving your mouth; it came out like a prayer that he’d love to listen on repeat for the rest of his life. A music that filled his ears with pleasure and that pleasure seeped down, creating a river of ecstasy running down straight to his straining cock. You really got him to the point he felt he’s going to cum in his pants, but then the hold on his hair loosened. He used that moment to catch a breath before going back to his work.

“Don’t hold back,” he purred, keeping your hand where it belonged over his head, getting rid of any guilt you felt regarding pulling at his hair. You came not long after and he happily slurped you through the bliss, licking away everything you gave him, devouring your pussy as if nothing better was ever going to happen to him. “So sweet,” he grinned, finally pulling away. His face covered with your slick and hair messed up from where you held it, and he looked so beautiful like that when you looked back at him. Surrounded by haze of your release, he looked nearly angelic when he got up, pushing back the stool and taking his rightful place between your still trembling thighs. Giving you a moment to collect yourself, Suguru used it to take off his t-shirt for no other reason that to feel your hands over his skin and you were quick to press your palms over his tattooed flesh.

Geto’s body was only one of things that were impressive about him, but unarguably one of the most breathtaking. Years of training martial arts made his shape resemble the stone statues of gods. A hard wall of muscles covered with a light layer of soft skin and adorned by black lines of ink. You never failed to trace your fingers along the dragon that curled around his entire arm and spreading onto his chest. He also had a line of letters underneath the side of his ribcage and two betta fishes swimming up along his spine, following a trace of abstract lines and dots. He had told you once about the meanings beside all of images that adorned his body, but you couldn’t recall them now as he was once more kissing you feverishly. You tasted yourself all over his mouth, you took in his purrs and low groans that vibrated in his throat when you pushed down the waistline of his sweatpants, palming him through his boxers.

Geto grabbed your thighs, repositioning you closer the edge.

“Shouldn’t I avoid any physical activities with that tattoo so fresh?” You asked him with the littlest teasing undertone and he grinned, kissing your lips and everywhere around them with fervor.

“I’ll go slow, babygirl,” he promised, but slow is hardly the word he’d use once he pushed his girth into you. If you were a drug, Suguru was addicted to the point of no return, he never had enough of you, always too little, always eager for more and more and more. You were a godsend to him, a gift he was certain he never deserved but he cherished it with all of his might. Just like with all of his might he began thrusting into you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking them above his pelvis as if you needed to make sure he’s not going anywhere. Soft pants and whimpers were leaving your mouth every time his hips collided with yours and the sounds you were making concocted an erotic symphony with the low grunts he let slip through his throat. The melodic line of mixed voices, quiet praises and heavy breaths accompanied the desperate squeaking of the bed below you and wet reminders of how he was fucking into your dripping pussy.

Every ruthless push and pull of his hips sent surges of pleasure through your body. Lust and heat erupted inside of you like a volcano and the searing lava of endorphins turned your brain into a flurry. The room around was lapsing, nothing else mattered and even the untrusty bed underneath you, that held there just barely underneath the force of Suguru’s relentless slams couldn’t bother you when he was fucking you that good.

Flaming hot waves of white covered your vision as you hid your face in the crook of Geto’s neck. Panting for air, you held onto his shoulders harshly, digging your nails into the flesh there and marking it in red with crescent moons and scratches. The stinging pain made him whine in excitement, the sound low and prolonged enough to make your walls clench and flex around him. The stretch of his cock was setting your mind ablaze along with your body, your heart was beating fast and threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Sugu-ru-ah~”, you were panting, whimpering shamelessly under the force of his pelvis slamming against yours and he grinned above you, his grip over your hips merciless and bruising.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praised, smearing wet kisses along the line that led from underneath your ear to your shoulder. Something incoherent left your mouth and you felt yourself close, the swollen walls of your pussy squeezing him repeatedly and he knew you were close but wasn’t ready to give it to you quite yet.

It’s like you blacked out for a moment because it felt like you barely blinked and then your position changed. You didn’t notice how swiftly Geto slid onto the bed himself, situating you over his lap.

“Hop on baby, work for it a little,” he mocked lovingly, giving your ass cheek an encouraging slap. There was barely enough place for the two of you, but you made it work anyway, sliding back down onto his dripping from your juices cock. A soft moan escaped your lips as his girth once again squeezed into your oversensitive insides, pushing against every sweet spot on the way and making you shiver as the tip kissed your cervix. Desperate to feel more of him, you began rolling your hips, working your way into the palace of pleasure that Suguru Geto was and making the most out of the current position. His exposed chest and neck begged to be devoured and you couldn’t leave them neglected, so your mouth was on his skin in no time.

Suguru kept bucking his hips upwards, gasping and growling underneath you. His hands left burning marks over your ass, each slap sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body and the little whines you were letting out against his skin fueled the intense fire that burned inside of him even more. Sometimes Geto couldn’t believe you really were with him. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he’s high on something, maybe he’s imagining you, but only thing he really was high on, was you. Nothing could compare to the way your tight pussy swallowed his cock, to the way your little hands were grasping his arms and shoulders just to steady yourself when his force was becoming too much and absolutely nothing could stand even close to the intoxicating feeling of your lips on top of his. You really were made just for him, it had to be fate that once you stumbled upon his studio. He still remembers the first time you let him in, spontaneously inviting him over and after that, every day seemed to be somehow better than the previous one. Every minute he spent with you managed to surprise him with how good it felt. Suguru was hooked on you. But how could he not, when you had the ability to strip him of everything that was cool about him, leaving him raw and sensitive just for you?

“Fuck, c’mon, cry for me,” he panted, forcing your hips to move even when you clearly were running low on power. Your entire body was tensing, the velvety walls of your pussy squelching over his length and he felt himself flexing inside the hot embrace of you. The rush of ecstasy sent him overboard, it filled his veins and neurons with blissful daze of desire, and he found himself chasing the high, bracing for the impact of upcoming climax.

You whined and melted into him, lost in the haze and diving head first into the puddle of pleasure. The feeling overtook you, you couldn’t think anymore when he was pulling you underneath the euphoric sea. You felt light from pleasure, the ferocity of his movements burning you inside out, sending seething waves throughout your entire form. With vision blurred, nothing felt real anymore and if not for the rough grip he had on your hip and ass, you’d probably fly away and never get back.

Lost in the stars and haze of orgasm, you pushed yourself up, encouraged by few more harsh slaps and Geto followed you to sit up for no other reason than to be able to still taste you. At this point you were sure he tattooed not only betta fishes onto your chest but also the imprint of his hands to your butt cheeks. Gathering every last bit of strength you had in your muscles, you rolled your hips against him few times more. All of the intensity that was building inside of you snapped suddenly. Your spine arched and head rolled back, exposing your neck and chest to his kisses as he pushed you over the edge of bliss and you fell off that cliff with nothing but acceptance. Tears of pleasure rolled down your face and Geto was quick to kiss them away as they gathered along your lashes and down your jawline.

The weak sound of his name slipping down your tongue was enough for Suguru to let go. White hot ribbons of cum sprayed deep inside you as you rode him through both of your orgasms, the movements of your hips now slower and sloppier, bearing no more strength in them and yet, time after time you pulled them back and forth, desperate to feel him a little longer, to take more from him.

“My little crybaby,” he cooed, when you finally run out of battery, settling down on him and leaning against his broad chest, hiding there to catch your breath. You were sore, still overwhelmed by the avalanche of feelings that just fell over your head but satisfied to the point of delirium – so much so that you let the little honey-covered taunt slip. Suguru smoothed your back softly, relaxing in your proximity, once again stunned how somehow, you managed to make all of it feel better than the last time you slept together. Highs with you were unforgettable. Nonreplaceable. Incomparable to anything else he ever felt with anyone.

“Thanks god you’re strong,” you muttered against his skin, planting there few kisses while you’re at it. “I don’t think my legs will work after that.”

Geto chuckled. Yeah, he was going to marry you one day.

“No worries, sweet thing, your place in my arms is secured for lifetime.”

“Good.”

“But first, let me get you cleaned up.”

Your legs were weak when you got off of him, but surprisingly carried you enough to allow you to slowly pull yourself together. Suguru cleaned the space a little while you got dressed and made sure the protective film over your fresh tattoo was unharmed during the activities before you buttoned up your cardigan.

* * *

“Suguru, you still here?” Gojo stormed in, even though the studio was locked, but truth was, nothing could really be locked when it came to Satoru.

“Don’t tell me you copied the keys to my studio.” Geto chuckled, finishing the final wipe of the bed. There was no force that could stop his friend from invading his spaces, he dropped the effort years ago.

“I won’t tell you, you got this.” Satoru shrugged and looked at you. Then at Suguru and back at you, repeating that at least few times. “Were you two fucking here?”

“And why would you ask that?”

“No, the real question is, did that thing endure it?” White haired man pointed at the leathery bed. “What a champ, I thought it’ll collapse.”

“Fair,” you admitted at the same time as Suguru, and handed your man the hair elastic that you snatched from him earlier.

“So, what were you doing here? Besides contaminating the area of course.”

“I got a tattoo,” you replied to him and Satoru grinned.

“For real? That chest piece he told me month ago that you’ll for sure chicken out for?”

“Yeah, that one.” This time it was you who laughed and Geto just shrugged, tying up his hair.

Satoru wasted no time, it’s like he teleported to you and before you registered what was happening, he was already unbuttoning your blouse and truly, you couldn’t really be bothered. It’s been only a little less than a month since you really got to know Gojo, but it was very quickly presented to you that him and your boyfriend have a thing for sharing. It was as natural for them as breathing and whenever you saw them together, you wondered how it happened that they weren’t brothers by blood.

“It’s so cool, Suguru. Who knows, maybe I’ll let you tattoo something on me too.” Snow white grinned, examining the concoction of lines over your sternum. He had to bend in half almost, to be in line with the pattern on your skin so you brushed through his hair, messing them more than they were already.

“Not that it’s my life mission to do so, Satoru.” Geto stretched his body and glanced over the room once more, making sure he can close the studio for that day without leaving any visible remnants of what happened just moments ago.

“Doesn’t it kinda look like us?” Gojo asked, stopping you before you covered yourself back. “The black and white contrast… am I the only one who think so?”

It wasn’t your intention, but as he said it, you began seeing it. It really made sense, especially considering that Geto mixed the tiniest bit of lavender ink to the white, to prevent it from yellowing over time. That lavender coincidentally being the exact shade as the undertone of Gojo’s hair.

“Well, not anymore,” the black haired one sighed and once you managed to button up your blouse, he swooped you up into his arms. “You’re gonna lock the doors, Satoru. Turn off the lights.”

“Sooo…” Gojo nearly sang, flicking off the switches and turning the keys in the locks, making sure everything is well secured before he joined you two, already walking slowly towards your home. “Are you ours now?”

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readychilledwine · 1 month

Text

A Helping Hand

Rhysand Week Day 4 : Lord of Night

Summary - High Lord, Husband, father. Rhysand's plate is just far too full, leading the Inner Circle to take over some duties.

Warnings - workaholic Rhysand, discussions of classism, new dad Rhys, platonic bond, loose editing so forgive me if I fix things later

A/N - I am so sorry this is late! I think someone *cough baby daddy cough* accidently deleted it when he did a run through for me. But anyways, happy late day 4 and day 5 of @officialrhysandweek! It'll be a double post day 💕

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

“Please just let me handle this for you,” you were firm in the request, hand still on the request of approval to renovate the Opera house in the Rainbow. “We both know this project is completely unneeded. There is no reason for you to waste your time penning the letter.”

Rhysand stared at where your hand met the paper. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, “I-”

“No. It's time for us to have a serious discussion.” You took the paper from him and then held his hands. “Rhysand, you have spread yourself far too thin. You are not sleeping well with a newborn, you are helping Feyre as she's healing, you are recovering from trauma. Let me help you by organizing the report by who should actually be handling them.”

Rhys seemed to consider your words before nodding, “I want final-”

“Rhysand, we have known each other for 500 years. Do you truly not trust me enough to make a decision based on your preferences?”

He tugged that power exchange bond between the two of you, silently asking for a bit of your energy. You offered it to him without hesitation, without even so much as thinking about your well-being over his. “I do not want the fae in this court knowing I'm not the one running the court.” You couldn't help but sigh and roll your eyes and stare at him, blinking as if to say, “Duh.” His lips twitched into a smile at you, “What are you going to do, sweetheart? Forge my signat..” His eyes went wide as he realized that was exactly what you had planned. “I expect brief rundowns first.”

“And you will have them. Now go take a nap.”

The Inner Circle gathered in the new father's office claiming reports left and right. Cassian took anything involving Illyria and the training camps. Azriel took anything involving newcomers to the City of Starlight, border related issues, and requests for visiting. Mor and Amren split Hewn City. Dividing those reports among issues relating to rumors of uprisings or requests for help and sanctuary from tortured females. It left you with things regarding the inner workings of Velaris. You were curled in your own office, writing the rejection letter for the Opera House Project. The Opera House had been a gift to Velaris after Rhysand's return home. It was barely more than a few years old and every single feature had been planned to perfection by you and Rhysand as a way to heal the odd bind that tied you two together. The wealthy fae of Velaris were asking to redo the seating. Specifically, they wanted the seats to be made larger.

You knew this wasn't for comfort. You had fallen in love with studying the patterns of consumerism throughout Prythian history. You knew this project was aimed at accessibility. Less sears meant higher prices for shows. Higher prices meant exclusion of the middle and lower classes. Exclusion from the arts was dangerous, though. Something you, Rhysand, and Feyre stood firmly against.

Hours seemed to pass as you finished one thing and moved to the next, realizing how far behind Rhysand had gotten. He was hardly sleeping, rotating nights with Feyre, or just forcing her to sleep while he handled nights with a newborn alone. He was being the father he never had. One who earned the title of Dad, and you knew the last thing he'd want was the fae he cared so much for to suffer because of it.

The sunset when Cassian arrived, his work completed. “Rhys has been given the gist of everything. I am to only have to send one thing to the camp leaders,” Cassian slid a letter, one penned by himself over to you. “Rhysie is having them start to direct all issues to me first. Using your whole chain of command idea.”

Silence.

Cassian's words were met with silence as you swallowed hard, holding in tears of pride. “He's delegating?!”

The commander nodded, scarred lips twitching to smirk. “He is.”

You'd never faked his signature so fast, quill flying across the parchments, “This is good.”

Azriel was next with Nuala and Cerridwen in tow, “City guard is to report issues to the twins from now on,” he leaned into his chair. “If they deem it serious enough, they will handle it unless I need to get involved.”

“And if you can't handle it,” you questioned as a joke.

Azriel scoffed before schooling his reaction to your jab, “Then, and only then, is Rhys to get involved. My part of his reports are done and sent. I didn't think anyone would have issues with me answering security related issues.”

They'd be a fool to, is what you wanted to reply with. Azriel was not the type of male to fuck with unless you had a death wish. He was petty at times and loved to plot.

Mor came next, throwing herself dramatically into the chair. “I hate how your Office is a dry zone,” she groaned. “I'll be visiting daddy dearest.”

You gagged at that and the two of you launched into a gossip session. Turns out, her father had taken Rhysand's recent absence in Hewn City as an open invitation to run a few illegal trade rings. Rings Mor was all too happy to be putting an end to.

“That summarizes what Amren and I will both be dealing with,” she yawned, perfect red nails flying to her lips. “I'm going to bed.”

10.

11.

Midnight.

2am rolled around and your door opened again, a sleepy Rhysand carrying a sleeping Nyx. “Go to bed,” his tone was commanding but held an air of affection to you. “You're no better than me.”

You only maintained eye contact, smirking as you put his name on a document approving a community vegetable garden and greenhouse, “Yet here we are,” you whispered. “All your reports, acquisitions, and petitions done and handled.”

His face fell, eyes shutting as he nodded, “You all got me caught up?”

With a wave of your hand, all the stacks vanished to their proper locations where they would sit and wait to be opened by their receivers. “We did,” you stood as silently as possible and moved to him and Nyx, “Do you want me to go lay him down?”

Rhysand only responded by pulling you into a tight side hug, his face burying in your hair, “How can I repay you for this? You have no clue what this meant to Feyre and I.”

The hug was payment enough. Contact with your best friend making that power bond hum as you hugged him back, “No repayment is necessary, Rhys. We all need help sometimes.”

“But-”

You whispered again, interrupting him, “We all need help sometimes.”

Understand, gratefulness, and admiration filled his almost violet colored gaze, “How did I get blessed with Feyre as my mate and you as my carranam?”

“Good question,” you shot back. “Maybe it was so we could keep you humble.” You took Nyx slowly, moving to walk the little heir back to his nursery. “Or maybe it was to keep you from dying in your office. Goodnight, Rhysand.”

You could tell he wanted to sass you back, to have the last word. It had been so long since that side of him came out, and you were glad to see a day of rest brought some fire back to him. He seemed to settle with nodding, walking backwards as he watched you take Nyx, “This isn't over. Once I wake up refreshed tomorrow, it's on. Goodnight, Y/n.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

#elizabeths.updates #acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand fanfic #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysandweek2024 #rhysandweek2024 day 4 #prompt : lord of night #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #inner circle x reader

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taylortruther · 26 days

Note

also re: the racial component of TS/fan base, if you haven't you should watch Alex Avila's video on Taylor Swift, I think it was really well done

youtube

this is SO good. thank you SO much for this recommendation.

i really liked how avila noted how masterfully taylor blends authenticity and social normativity - "the reason taylor swift seems so authentic to young girls is because she's conforming to an image [of white patriarchal girlhood] that young women internalized from a young age." similarly, the popular feminism of 2014 (when 1989 was released) was flimsy and did not challenge patriarchal norms, and we see how she made feminism part of 1989's branding.

and he asks a question i often pose: is there anything subversive in idolizing the most popular cultural object? does poptimism (the critique of pop music as a serious form of art) simply reinforce existing power structures??

taylor swift and whiteness

understanding how someone becomes a legend and icon means understanding how they challenge, but also reinforce, the biases in society, which includes race, class, gender, and so forth. and "there IS something deeply white about [taylor's] image" (1:18:33). her image is cultural whiteness! taylor swift's relatability (which is and has always been part of her brand), her social capital, her social normativity, is directly tied to the neoliberal racial philosophy that, instead of calling whiteness superior, establishes whiteness as the norm (1:21:23).

millennials want celebrities to be morally pure. this is a mistake.

also - LOVE that he points out that millennials don't judge female celebrities by their sexuality or modesty anymore, but instead they judge based on political awareness, which is just another way of continuing the "patriarchal history of regulating narratives around women's actions" (1:42:39). avila focuses specifically on millennials here, cautioning us not to consider this a a sign of true political engagement from millennials. as he points out, systems of oppression adapt to our ever-changing culture. when we try to 'cancel' or 'hold a celebrity accountable' for their ideologies or missteps, sometimes it's because they're truly terrible, and other times it's because we hold women to "unrealistic standards of purity." ie, this isn't necessarily real political engagement, it is just another example of judging women. often it's both (pointing out missteps, and also being sexist.)

whiteness again

avila goes on to discuss how white women have long been held up as virtuous, moral centers of american families - and while this is a racist and sexist practice, given that woc aren't seen as virtuous, it also lays the foundation for why white women in particular dominate conversations about politics in the public sphere. it is an Event every time a white celebrity frames their political awakening as a personal, spiritual journey of self-realization. yes, this act is important, because women must learn about their own oppression, and talk about it, in order to educate others.

but when taylor (or any other famous white woman) frames politics solely through the personal, it relieves her of the obligation to critique systemic issues. her own political awakening is all that matters - she must prove her own political purity (instead of sexual purity, as before.) there is a deep problem in society demanding this, rather than larger systemic change, but we'll get to that later.

this personal political purity awakening earns her a lot of goodwill, but her resistance ends with herself. and this is a pattern that we see happen all the time, in what robin james calls "neoliberal resistance discourses" in pop: someone is damaged by oppression (sexism), she overcomes it brilliantly with an awakening (miss americana/lover/denouncing trump era), and she absorbs this goodwill into her brand. these individual damages and awakenings supposedly symbolize society's own awakening and resilience(!). (1:52:48)

🚨 some readers might be getting tired/annoyed at this; i can hear y'all saying "well, what do you even WANT from her omg!!!" just stay with me here. 🚨

she holds a mirror up to society, tho

what avila so brilliantly points out is that... this cycle of damages and resilience isn't helpful. it goes nowhere! and we are all at the mercy of the same patterns as taylor. it's not about taylor, it's about us, and how capitalism commodifies everything, including social movements! including personal 'goodness'! a neoliberal system wants individuals to care about their individual choices and looking like good individuals; it encourages the use of "purity tests" and "commodified algorithmic social movements" to discourage challenges to systemic issues (reminds me of the celebrity blackout situation earlier this year, and conversations we have about politics, well, daily on here.) and the pattern of a person failing politically as an individual is part of this machine. if we're too busy policing individuals for their purity, we won't ever organize together for shared material goals. unfortunately, unlike taylor swift, most of us are not extremely powerful, wealthy, and influential as individuals. she does have more power than us in this regard.

taylor as cultural hegemony

anyway, avila goes on to talk about how taylor had this musical renaissance with folklore, and became more honest about her masterminding her own career in midnights. she has shown herself not just to be a musical chameleon, but a cultural one as well, positioning herself as white teenage purity when the culture called for it (circa 2008-2010), neoliberal pop feminism (1989 -> lover), pandemic escapism (folkmore) - and the culture has become part of her brand, part of her music. music that is already heavily wrapped up in her own life. she is the brand she is the culture. of course she put the work in, and not just anyone could do this. but imo, her whiteness (which, again, gives her this "default" "neutral" background to work with) is part of this success. "sure, she's challenged the institution but all in the effort to become the new face of musical hegemony" (2:06:25.) she challenges systems to assimilate into them, or create them in a way that requires assimilation.

of course, this is all based on her REAL experiences, her REAL life. she is living her own life, and also living it in this metacognitive way that mirrors culture.

but we don't have to hate taylor, actually!

and MOST interestingly, avila closes out by suggesting: it's not actually super healthy to always be suspicious and critical of art (2:17:24.) yes, there is a long political history of "paranoid reading," of critique based on marx, freud, and nietzsche's philosophies. it is the basis of A LOT of our frameworks for thinking about the world, including art.

as i've said before, it's interesting to discuss taylor or celebrities because they hold a mirror up to society. but we can't just relentlessly critique ourselves - after all, the critique is supposed to protect us from being bad! the critique is what keeps us good! and it's why we project so much onto them (the celebrities, or "bad" people.)

this video dove into a term that may be new to a lot of people (i only learned of it recently) - "reparative reading." rather than relentlessly critique art or what-have-you, engage with it in ways that is "affirmative, creative, and caring." this does not mean you toss out critical readings - reparative readings can coexist, and give us hope, optimism, feelings of beauty/appreciation, and affirmation.

for example, it's why -while i enjoy critiquing taylor (or what she Represents) - i am also here to just... have fun. i don't want to linger 24/7 on her emissions, or what she hasn't done, or who she's friends with. it's also why, as a fan of color, i hate that she is often dismissed and minimized to "white musician making music for white women." i find affirmation in a lot of her music, regardless of her race; i find optimism and hope in the way women so deeply relate to her, and how queer fans (also like myself) relate to her! (which avila points out too 2:21:00.) it's why i stopped debunking stuff, because queerness - like any other aspect of the fandom - is such a critical, significant part of why her music is beloved. it's so important for people to recognize that she is more than just 'music for straight white heterosexual cisgender women.'

#hot taykes #writing paragraphs about taylor swift

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issa-pheonyx · 1 year

Text

Being Johnny Cage's Niece...

𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹. 𝗬𝗲𝘀, 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝘀✨𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗮𝗻✨, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱-𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻𝗻𝘆. 𝗟𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗻 𝘆𝗮'𝗹𝗹 [𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆]🤭

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

-He is literally the fun uncle...with such dad jokes and puns that makes you double take on being his favorite. Yes, you're his favorite what makes you think he is open with you hanging around when he is in acting mode at work or he invites you to the red carpet to announce the winners for best actor (AKA him). Plus, there is a new game system you've been investing? He got you. Student loans? No need just tell him how much it is for each semester, he is very supportive of your career. "Is that your uncle Johnny fucking Cage!?" He is at the drop off waiting for you to be picked up in his red Lamborghini, blasting California Love,"Yup...that is my uncle."

-Speaking of his acting career he will NOT permit you to go to any film industry if he is not around. He will confront any sleazy creeps who dare to make you sign a contract, because you will be the biggest star like your uncle. Nope! Not on his watch. "Give me that. Who gave you this paper?" "Uh, some bald guy-" "Yeah, didn't I teach you any better talking to strangers??" "Uncle J you're not even my da-" "I'm calling your mom."

-Not only is he protective, but he will keep mad bugging you to teach you his martial art skills. It is just an excuse to have some uncle and niece bonding-both you hang out 24/7 it is ridiculous-so, you could be his trustee side kick and who knows if he ever has another movie coming in he would definitely drag put you in since you learned martial arts like him. On a serious note though he would let you know he is not doing it for clout (bullshit), but to make sure you are safe and know what to do in dangerous scenarios

-Of course, you will be bombarded with paparazzi when you're hanging with your uncle, however the pictures seem to have a unique pattern about you both. It is like a game between you and Johnny against them. You received little attention before your first movie with your uncle, yet after that you decide to troll them. Every picture they failed to take your face either you wearing a hoodie only seeing your mouth in view, surgical masks and not being to capture you pulling it down when you're eating/drinking cause the angle is shit. Or even then you would position yourself around objects or things that it just looks like a tree branch covered the majority of your face flashing a smile cause Johnny cracked a joke as he was smiling too, eating frozen yogurt going for a walk at the park

-Now being introduced with Lui Kang God of Fire, Sub Zero, Scorpion, and so much was mind blowing. Even you were part of it. Johnny being the protective uncle he absolutely REFUSED to get you involved. So, instead you had to stay close to him at all times since you were forced to join. It was quite a beauty since these different timelines had gorgeous views, so you would snap pictures here and there (without uncle Kenshi knowing cause he bonked you with the sword once). Plus, you were stunned how pretty everyone was there like holy shit why is everyone so hot???

-Furthermore, everyone was just as curious as they were with Johnny to you. "So, you're related to Johnny Cage?" Lui Kang asks as he was behind the entrance door of your uncle's mansion with his arms crossed,"Unfortunately, yes-" "That's it! Youngins' shouldn't be here. The adults are talking." The ladies were a little confused you can be the opposite of Johnny being humorous and all. "How can you tolerate such patience with an uncle so untamed, (Y/N)?" Kitana whispered to you after he told her she was gracefully aging for a 10,000 year old,"I don't know, princess. I question myself that everyday."

-Of course, your uncle J told you to be close to you at all costs, but you end up snapping when someone laid a hand on your uncle. That's when all that work of martial arts paid off when you were popping awf, honey. Everyone was shook and couldn't believe their eyes even Mileena complimented,"Such fire you show within kombat! I wish you can stay here in the Outworld to teach all my guards." You chuckled,"I would be very honored, your majesty, but I don't think uncle Johnny would be okay with that."

-Being his niece has taught you to enjoy life even when things don't go your way it'll get better. With you he learned that not everything shouldn't be taken so lightly when it is necessary especially to those he has a special bond with. Lets just say it is a healing and mind opening moment for you and you uncle away from the riches, the media, and fame into the Outworld

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁. 𝗠𝘆 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹~🖤🫣

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk 1 #johnny cage #mk1 2023 #mk 1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 2023 #lui kang #kitana #mileena #kenshi takahashi

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geopsych · 7 months

Note

re: the tumblr ai stuff, please don’t wipe your blog!! your blog has been so important to me and many others as a place of authentic light and beauty and i would hate to lose it forever 💕

there is a way to download the contents of a tumblr blog (it’s in settings, i don’t remember rn, but i’ll find it if you need it) maybe you could upload to another site or a personal site?

i know this is very serious, and i hate how we are unwillingly contributing to synthetic art, but the world would be poorer for me without your pictures <3

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.

This is a dilemma for me. I have loved doing this blog and going out to look for pictures and interesting things to bring here has given me motivation and meaning through years of struggle with depression and several kinds of grief. Going out to look for pictures has put me in situations where I have seen incredible beauty, much of which I never really managed to capture. Also, the many warm and kind messages I've received from people all over the world have given me heart and made me feel less meaningless as a person and more connected. Sometimes I've been criticized for buying the checkmarks and giving money to Tumblr but I wanted to do what I could because Tumblr has been my one happy and safe place online. But now this. To me AI in relation to creativity is just a way for well-to-do but untalented people, the proverbial tech bros, to profit from other people's hard work and creativity. It has no redeeming value in relation to creativity and is actively harmful to artists of all kinds. <trying to figure out how to put a read more link here> I don't even count myself among the real creatives, artists and writers and others who have worked hard and put years into honing their crafts, into learning to translate their hearts and unique spirits into their creative expression. I just see beautiful things and take pictures of them. But it would still make me sick to see AI works based on my pictures, on these times and places that have meant so much to me. Recently I saw a set of cat 'photos' on here that everyone was reblogging and exclaiming over but that to me seemed to just be AI art that was more convincing than most. As time goes on more and more output of AI is going to be almost indistinguishable from real works and unscrupulous people will pass them off as real, getting credit for what was actually created by others. Whether they profit from them becomes almost irrelevant at that point because what's worse is that we will have less and less sense of what is real. And as some have pointed out AI will now also be scraping from AI, muddying the waters further from here on in. This is an apocalypse of sorts, an apocalypse of creativity, ultimately likely to kill the joy of artistic endeavor for many who would otherwise produced brilliant, beautiful, funny, and/or shockingly original things. I'm still parsing and dissecting my thoughts and feelings about what Tumblr has done and how to react. Staying and leaving my blog up feels like consent. I am not confident in the integrity of anyone connected with scraping sites for AI. I'm not convinced that a little toggle in settings is going to make much of a difference in the long run. On the other hand I like posting here and I have received enough messages over the years to know that my blog is a positive influence on some lives. I was looking forward to May and June and posting pictures of the incredible beauty of eastern Pennsylvania in those months. And I was planning on making a side blog for posting some poetry I've been working on. It will break my heart to leave.

I haven't decided yet. Believe it or not this whole thing has given me awful physical symptoms. I'll let you know when I decide. Thank you again for your kind and lovely note!

#ask #ai #tumblr #thank you #sigh #the whole you’ve already been assaulted so you may as well stay and be assaulted more isn’t the great argument you think it is

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astrow0rldx · 22 days

Text

Seduction Types

BE THAT MANIPULATIVE POWERFUL FEMME FATALE.

No matter how unconventionally attractive you perceive your face, body, or overall appearance. Or if you think your one of the best looking people out here, beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder. Attraction is literally psychological. Beauty standards, The person you idolize or attached to. But that's the power over knowing how to control someone psyche, you can be the ultimate in their eye & take control. This goes for relationships to the whole room.

Psychological Study from the book Art of Seduction by Robert Greene

The Siren

Seduces your senses, smells good, talk sexy, feels good, touches nice, looks good, taste good, etc etc. Sensual, physically stimulating. Has feminine energy, Charming, Graceful, Beautiful, Empathetic, Loving. An irresistible allure. She's clearly special, a prize so keep that allure by seeming unattainable. Never appear needy or desperate, because that signifies too much vulnerability for people to have power over you, YOU & your confidence controls your narrative. Mysterious & Unpredictable where you are high value. Take advantage of the push-pull manipulation tactic for emotional highs & lows and attach them. Make sure to make them feel exclusive & special to, so they can still honor you but THEIR ecstasy & worth lives in you. Target people fear of abandonment & desire for escape. Be exotic & make them act on emotion & impulse.

Ideal Lover

You understand Human Nature & their need to fill a void. more excitement, more more meaning, more connection. Position yourself to the answer to their search & be their soulmate. Create a fantasy, study and peep out their insecurities & needs. So you can make them co-dependent, where you are their meaning to life, you make them feel complete & fulfilled. Be their ideal for everything they been looking for. Mirror them, empathize and make them feel very comfortable with you. Figure out their missing piece & void to fill, then fill it. Thrive on their Broken dreams from Childhood.

Dandy

Thrive in your individuality, be that alien. Create your own persona, be eccentric & authentically you. Don't live to be liked. Most people feel that way & are trapped within their limited roles that the world expects us to play. People are attracted to people who are more fluid & free than us, excite them you can't be categorized. Play with fashion & gender roles. Dandy is Ambiguous, Unique, Free & liberating. Stirs up people repressed desires, be what they don't understand. You are a Rebel, Unpredictable. Break that mold!!! Don't conform to any standards of masculinity or femininity. Be rare & unusual that intrigues people & fascinates their attention and curiosity. Your hard to pin down, but you also don't reveal a lot. Very Mysterious, like a puzzle, exciting adventure. If your so bold & different where people feel comfortable exploring and expressing their own suppressed desires, it makes people feel non-judged & restricted by you.

The Natural

Unlike other archetypes, The natural is less toxic & more transparent & Straight-forward. Kind of like a best friend, genuine, a carefree child. All about creating an emotional connection. But targeting their childhood nostalgia, spontaneous, sincerity. Make them feel at ease, comfortable and caught up in your playful spirit. Neutralize their defensiveness being playful & innocent. Don't take things to serious & show emotional vulnerability to create intimacy and relatability. Express flaws, and weakness with humor and humility. Make people want to care & nurture you, protect you. Live in the moment, have fun and make things feel fresh & new. life of the party energy. Your their non-burden! your effortlessly easy-going so your confident in your skin, but it doesn't seem arrogant. Be unpredictable, exciting. Show joy & enthusiasm.

Coquette

The ultimate emotional manipulator. Play with the fear of abandonment & rejection. Delay their gratification, giving enough attention, affection or interest to keep the target intrigues, but then pull back, create a sense of longing. Very patient game. But it's all about making them idolize your attention & affection, to keep it more valued. Your always creating emotional tension, hot & cold, people are trying to guess your feelings. Never makes thing easy!! Often disappear and become unavailable right when they are the most interested. Make them compete, & be jealous. Mixed signals, build anticipation. Most importantly have an air of independence, never be needy and your sufficient in yourself. You are the prize, your affection is the prize. You have to stay in control & never have them feeling to clear, stay mysterious.

The Charmer

Charmer plays with people most primary weakness, their ego. Your going to target them by making them feel special, but still being exclusive. Deflecting attention from yourself, & focus on the target. But still not being needy & be very detached. Be witty & entertaining to empathetic and sincere. Flexible & ADAPTABLE. Remain calm, composed, & IN THE MOMENT. Be observant & attentive to really know how to play your cards. Projecting confidence without arrogance, approachable & not self-centered, but still comfortable in themself. Be inviting, friendly, positive, make people feel comfortable while making them feel unique & important. Charmers are skilled at finding common grounds & making them feel familiar and understood & relatable. Mirror body language, speech patterns. Subtly give them thoughtful compliments to make them feel uniquely appreciated. Avoid conflict & tension to build emotional connection.

The Star

Standing out from others, make us want to watch them. Their key is their like a blank canvas for fantasies & desires. People escape in their greatness, so they are vague & ethereal. They achieve large, best style, best looking, shine uniquely, big achievements, just extraordinary where you stand out especially in social situations. Be unattainable, a blank canvas & confident in your life. Make them imagine, and idolize you. Be a celebrity.

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 1 year

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Twst Handful - Strong, Understanding, Silly & Teasing Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

IT'S FINALLY DONE! The reader is described as muscular. The reader is implied to be tall. For Crewel; the reader is the art teacher. For everyone else but Vil; you are in their dorm. For Vil; you're related to Coach Vargas and are in an unspecified dorm. I hope this is what you wanted @kawaistrawberry21! —Benny🐰

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

🦯 Ugh, you! He can't stand you! Nah, he's just kidding. He likes you just as much as the average coworker by day, lover by night would. Though, he must say, even if he loves you now, he certainly didn't before you both got together.

🦯 The first issue Crewel had was obviously your abhorrent taste in fashion (to him at least) that's what made him dislike you right off the bat. But as any good dog wrangler would say, he cannot judge a pup by its coat alone. So then, with much hesitancy, he got to know you and you hit it off from there.

🦯 Your silliness is... appreciated, to say the least. It's a great distraction for when he's feeling stressed with work. You always know how to make him smile with your little jokes and eccentric attitude. Don't misunderstand though, he values professionalism quite a bit and will tell you to straiten up when he feels that it's needed.

🦯 You want to tease him? Okay. Just be ready when he teases you in return; he was never one to hold back after all. But Crewel's teasing is never the mean spirited kind, that's reserved solely for Vargas. His teasing is sultry in nature, sure to leave you with glowing hot cheeks and swirling thoughts as you fumble for a come back.

🦯 A feature of yours he most definitely enjoys is your immense physical strength. He's surprised that you teach art and not physical education instead of Vargas. Loves watching your muscles flex when you lift things that would seem immovable by the average person's standards. It's not that he dislikes it, but warn him next time you want to pick him up! You're going to give him a heart attack.

🦯 Crewel is really thankful for how understanding you are. You're such a good listener and you give surprisingly wise advice when he goes to you with his problems. He'll let you lay on his lap in the teacher's lounge; stroking your hair as he rants about the misbehaving puppies he had during his last class.

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

"You always know how to make me feel better when I'm down, don't you, Puppy. Such a gentleman you are. I suppose you deserve a treat for all your hard work, hm? Alright, here boy."

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

🌹 Seven help him, you infuriate Riddle so much. Seriously! Even though you and Yuu helped him with his overblot he still finds you irritating. He doesn't hate you though, he sees you as a good— no, a great friend. A really annoying one, but he supposes that's what makes you yourself, unfortunately.

🌹 You're quite silly, he found that out even before his overblot and at that time he was annoyed by it. Couldn't you be serious for once? The Queen of Hearts's rules are nothing to joke about! But... after his overblot, he really learns to appreciate it. It was you after all who broke the tension in the infirmary when Yuu and the others came to see him; lightening the atmosphere to make room for pleasant conversation.

🌹 The teasing. By the seven, the teasing. Please... give poor Riddle a break, you're going to make him burst a blood vessel with how irritated he gets. Stop calling him short, he gets it already! Yes, his hair is red, now stop calling him the names of red fruit! His head is NOT shaped like an apple, dammit! He's glad if you stop after a while, because if you don't he might start losing hair and you might (read as: most definitely will) lose your magic.

🌹 Just because you're strong doesn't mean you're allowed to throw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes whenever you please! It's scary! It's like he's getting kidnapped or something! But your strength is appreciated sometimes. He definitely makes you carry around or move heavy items for him. Maybe the common room furniture needs to be rearranged again.

🌹 Riddle was quite literally moved to tears after you immediately forgave him for his behavior before and during his overblot. You didn't even let him finish telling you about his mother in the infirmary; you just hugged him tightly and said 'I forgive you. I don't need to know your past to understand that you regret your actions. People can change, Riddle.'. He cried. He sobbed. You have no idea how badly he needed to hear that.

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

"Call me 'shortstack' one more time and it's off with your head, you hear me! And get your arm off my head! I am not an armrest for you to go and just lean onto, you— you miscreant!"

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

🦁 He doesn't pay you too much mind. Your personality is comparable to Ruggie's, and he has no issues with the way Ruggie behaves and does things, so you're cool in his books. Just don't interrupt any of his naps like Ruggie does, or else.

🦁 A silly attitude is something he's used to interacting with giving his attendant and his neffew being the same way. Leona mostly tunes out any jokes you tell him unless they're about Malleus and the Diasomnia dorm, he finds those pretty funny. He likes when you tell him random made up stories as he falls asleep, they usually influence his dreams so he always asks for peaceful ones.

🦁 Oho? You? Teasing him? No, no, no, sweetheart. He's teasing you. Each and every time you attempt to tease him he flips it around on you and makes you a flustered mess. This man is absolutely ruthless with his teasing and won't let up until he's rendered you too embarrassed to even look him in the eye for the next few days. Maybe you should think twice about teasing him next time, yeah?

🦁 You're strong, are you? Say, you wouldn't mind doing Leona a morally questionable favor would you? If you think he wouldn't take advantage of your strength to further his chances of winning Magishift, you're sorely mistaken. But outside of of his schemes, he loves making you carry him to the greenhouse and his bedroom when he doesn't feel like walking.

🦁 One time, when the two of you were just relaxing alone in his room, he shared the details of his past to you. What he got in response was a 'Well, that explains alot.' as well as a tight hug. After that he tells you all about his insecurities and troubles and you just listen and nod. He's thankful for someone who understands him and makes him feel seen for the first time in a long time.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

"Hey Herbivore, you'd better carry me back to Savanaclaw. Consider it your punishment for stepping on my tail again. Shouldn't be a problem for you since you're so strong, right?"

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

🍩 You and Ruggie get along pretty well. Sometimes you both meet in the Savanaclaw dorm kitchen and make a meal together or you help him prepare a meal for Leona. Speaking of the lion beastman, you both like to get together and gossip about him. Not in a malicious way of course, but Ruggie always has a full kettle and needs to spill the tea once in a while.

🍩 You're silliness is something he can mesh well with. The both of you are pretty similar in personality anyway, so you definitely get along. You both like to joke around about Leona being your son, with him being the mom and you being the dad. You definitely play pranks on the unsuspecting student body together like partners in crime.

🍩 Ruggie honestly finds your teasing nature to be a breath of fresh air. Being around a grouchy pessimistic person all the time really does a number on his mood after a while. You both partake in playfully teasing one another; never mean spirited and rarely suggestive. You and Ruggie are just here to have fun, why spoil the mood with negativity; that's why Leona's never invited when you guys hang out.

🍩 By the seven, are you strong! Here, carry this; and this; oh, this too. Would you be so kind as to drag Leona to class? Thanks a bunch! To say that he's living for your strength would be an understatement; everything is so much easier now that he can get you to help him. Now hold still and let him get on your shoulders so he can dust the ceiling.

🍩 Dang it stop being so good to him! You're making Ruggie feel bad for injuring all those students! He vents to you about how bad he feels about hurting everyone even if Leona told him to do it. After you express that you don't fault him for following through Leona's orders because he's in no position to refuse, Ruggie jumps on you and damn near sqeezes you to death in a hug.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

"Huh, 'Mister Mom'? My son? I don't got a kid yet, 'm still in school, man. —Oh! Pfft! Shyeehyehehe! Are ya callin' Leona a kid! Awe man, that's friggin' hilarious. I guess I am 'Mister Mom', huh."

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

🪞 You... remind him of Coach Vargas for some reason. That's not a good thing. His eyes are burning, please Stop flexing like that, you look like you're constipated. And please, PLEASE for the love of the seven shave your chest hair, he visibly cringes every time your shirt is open. Vil thinks you're very handsome and could do very well in Pomfiore but it's overshadowed by your agregious lack of tact.

🪞 He's well versed in all sorts of mannerisms, so you being silly isn't a shock to him in the slightest. 100% will he try an make you be more serious in situations that can effect his public image, so be prepared for that. Even though he tries not to smile too hard to avoid developing smile creases, you always make him laugh. Stop that! Stop making him so happy, you scoundrel!

🪞 Vil does not like your teasing nature. Whether it be his name, actions or appearance you're teasing him about, he can't stand it. He's already insecure as it is and here you are 'teasing' him as you call it. The only indication of how bothered he is by it is a sharp glare that's usually too fast for you to catch. Seriously, don't tease Vil; friend or not, you'll most likely end up with ipecac in your tea. Don't push your luck.

🪞 Your strength is nothing to scoff at; he had found. He thought your muscular physique was very easy on the eyes and often tries to squeeze you into a corset to slim your waist down more. In his words: 'Muscular men with small waists are quite a sought after figure'. He'll have you model with him often in position that has you lifting himself and another model or a heavy product that he's advertising.

🪞 Vil appreciates how good of a listener you are. He'll often come to you and talk about how he thinks his dorm members hate him. How he feels a little bad for pushing them so hard. Vil vents about how, one time, Epel had accused him of trying to erase his personality. You only rubbed circles on the small of his back and encouraged him to keep talking. He felt bad... but it didn't stop him from carrying on to do it all over again the next day.

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

"Alright, my Chivalrous Sweet Potato, you know what to do. I simply can't dirty my shoes, so you'll have to use that strength of yours to carry me over all of this awful mud, understand?"

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

🏹 Oh, Rook just LOVES you! You bring him so much joy. Though he comes off strange considering the whole hunting you thing, he really means well. He considers the two of you to be the best of friends; connected at the hip, partners in crime, two peas in a pod and so on. Truly you and Rook have the most beautiful, albeit somewhat one sided, friendship.

🏹 He finds your silliness quite admirable and finds similarities between you and Epel pretty often. You make him laugh pretty often when you make jokes about beauty or even the art of hunting. Often times he sits down with you to write silly poems together and read them out loud to each other, or have Vil and Epel unwillingly sit in as the audience. Please release them, they're suffering.

🏹 He loves when you tease him and he loves to tease you back. Rook plays pranks on you pretty often as well. Suddenly appearing behind you, hiding in your bedroom and jumping out to scare you when you get comfortable, shooting an arrow with a bag of glitter tied to it just above your head; you know, the usual. Ah yes, Rook loves a good prank.

🏹 Pilier de force; pillar of strength. That is the nickname he gave you after you picked him up with one hand, like he weighed nothing. Oh, how he swooned in that moment. What a heart throb you are, swooping in and cradling this humble huntsman in your arms. He's definitely suggested you taking up archery on many occasions, you certainly have the upper body strength to pull a bow string properly.

🏹 You have what Rook calls an insightful heart. One full of untainted, unshakable love, compassion and forgiveness. He believes that in a previous life you must have been an angel of some kind with how beautiful you are. Rook has even said your more fair than Vil in his eyes because of your beautiful and noble heart.

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

"Oh, mon Pilier de Force. Your compassion knows no bounds. Your heart is pure as the first snow of autumn. One cannot help but to swoon at such a loving disposition, monsieur."

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

🍎 Epel thinks you're pretty cool! No— badass is a better descriptor. You two are best friends! Or at least, he wants to be your best friend. The both of you had never even conversed before he literally ran into you in the halls; he was just too shy to approach you. But then you helped Epel up and introduced yourself and you hit it off from there.

🍎 At first he thought you were going to turn out to be another creep like Rook. However, he was pleasantly surprised by the lack of weirdness. No stalking, no appearing out of nowhere, no breaking into his bedroom. You were just a bit af a goof and by the seven did that have him relieved. You supply him with a great outlet to let all the stress of being in Pomfiore melt away just by being around him.

🍎 Epel is okay with your teasing so long as you don't mention his appearance being feminine in any way since he's pretty insure about it. He can take a joke about his height pretty well but he'll climb on you in retaliation, so be prepared for that. He also loves pranks! Epel will even get Rook to join in if he can.

🍎 Your so cool! How are you that strong! Teach him! Teach him! Please, teach him your ways! If he's as strong and muscular as you he'll be manly for sure! Here, lift this bookshelf right here. Yeah, it has books on it still but that'll make it even cooler when you lift it. Ah! No! Don't pick him up! He'll bite you, he swears on it!

🍎 You're such a good listener; has anyone ever told you that. Epel is surprised that he feels comfortable enough to confide in you about his insecurities. How he feels about his appearance and how he feels about the way Vil treats him. And by the time he's finally got everything thing off his chest, Epel cries into your shoulder as you simply pat his back and tell him to let it all out. You never chastise him for not acting masculine enough; in fact, you never bring his appearance up at all.

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"Woah! That's so cool! How can ya even lift that much weight? D'ya think I can lift that too? Ya gotta teach me how! I know yer gonna be the best teacher f'me, so let's get started!"

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🐲 Are you talking... to him? Are you sure, you do know who he is right? You know, Malleus Draconia, scary dragon fae, immensely powerful mage, Diasomnia's prefect and heir to the Valley of Thorns's throne? Oh. You really are taking to him! And you're not scared of him? This must be some kind of blessing from his grandmother, right? No, it doesn't matter, he's thankful either way.

🐲 He doesn't mind your silliness, it's such a nice change from the near constant fear that's directed towards him whenever he goes somewhere that's not Diasomnia. You make him so happy he can't even put it into words. When he's with you he's sporting a constant toothy grin because that's just how powerful of an effect you have on him. Please keep goofing off with him, his heart wouldn't be able to take it if you got bored of him.

🐲 You remind Malleus so much of Lilia when you tease him. Perhaps he should introduce the two of you! He knows that you never do it in a malicious way; it's just for fun. Malleus definitely indulges himself in teasing you back. For him it's playful banter between soul mates.

🐲 Oh dear, you've got quite the strength in you, haven't you, Child of Man. Perhaps, only if you wanted to, you could be trained to wield a sword and join his guards? Though, you don't have to, it's only a suggestion. When you scooped him up in your arms one time like he's as light as a feather? Oh he's over the moon with joy that you're even near him, let alone sweeping him off his feet.

🐲 Malleus finds it really endearing that you listen to his trivial issues. You must be bored of his voice by now with how much you've allowed him to drone on and on. He's not even speaking of his troubles anymore, he's telling you about what his day entailed. Surely, Malleus always finds himself wondering, you must have things to share as well. Please share your troubles with him as well! He wants to be a supportive friend like you!

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"I never thought it would be quite so relieving to confide in someone other than Lilia about my present worries. So I must thank you, child of man, for lending an ear to me in my time of need."

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🦇 You two get along like white on rice! Seriously! You and Lilia are nearly inseparable! Except that one time he rendered you bedridden with one of his culinary abominations; you were out of it for almost a week. Lilia felt kind of bad of course but the face you made kept him laughing the entire time you were ill.

🦇 The two of you are the silliest people in Diasomnia, it seems. Not that he minds of course; having you around will help him on his mission to get Malleus and Sebek loosen up a bit. It's healthy to be a goof every now and then, it just so happens that you're like that nearly all the time.

🦇 You'll rarely succeed in teasing Lilia. You can rarely catch him off guard or fluster him. Even your pranks are unsuccessful most of the time. But don't give up yet! It really amuses him to see you so passionate about getting one over on him. Lilia prefers to tease you instead, it really makes his day. He'll also insist on playing pranks on other together rather than alone, it's just much more fun that way. The few times that you can tease him, it's the funniest thing he's ever experienced to be honest.

🦇 Well, aren't you strong. He may offer to train you with a sword like he did with Silver and Sebek. Whether you want to train to be one of Malleus's vassals is up to you, but he did offer.. You've got physical strength, yes. And you might be able to be him in an arm wrestling competition. But! Can you defeat him in this new video game that the youngsters say are all the rage? He's serious. Can you beat him?

🦇 You're quite compassionate, aren't you. How sweet. Lilia often finds himself coming to you and talking about his concerns with his three children. He's thankful that you hold no ill will towards Malleus and Sebek because of how they come off. Though he rarely does it, Lilia sometimes tells you about his experiences in the war. Sometimes he'll be reduced to tears from the haunting memories of his fellow fae being slain, but you just hold him tight and let him cry. Lilia's thankful for that.

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"I know I assured you that I'm far older than my looks my lead on... But ... baby faced grandpa. Pfft- that's— Wait! I still want you to elaborate what you meant when you said all my past lovers 'dodged a case'!"

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