#that second sketch is far from perfect but. it’s a sketch and it gets the job done ABDJDBISNFKDND

[crazysnor1ax]

So what does Callie have to deal with after that first transformation?

Oooo, where to start LOL.

Werekrakens, even when transforming at a young age like normal, experience super intense senses, emotions and instincts for a good while after transforming.

Callie already had fairly good senses prior to transforming, but after they were unbelievably strong for her. Being able to hear, smell, and see everything out of essentially nowhere with no way to make it stop is agonizing for her. She's forced to get accustomed to it, which takes her several moons to do.

Not to mention her kraken side is more intense than ever and she can't let it out.

Prior to transforming she had SOME instincts, but it wasn't anywhere near how intense they normally are for a werekraken. After her first change her kraken is CONSTANTLY making her want to go wild. Even in small forms her kraken wants to come out-vocalizing her happiness/discomfort through growling or clicking like a kraken would, getting physically affectionate (like hugging more than she normally does lol) or aggressive, or just simply behaving like her kraken self in her inkling state.

The most notable instinct Cal has is the desire to change into her kraken state constantly. If she gets too emotional, either positively or negatively, her kraken IMMEDIATELY wants to take over and she can't let that happen for obvious reasons-which is painful for her because that's still her, that's still Callie and her kraken, as different as she acts while changed, is still fully her. A werekraken isn't divided into two halves, the "halves" are intertwined together and a part of each other. What Callie thinks she has to learn is how to separate them and regulate each one. She does not want to do this but understands that she has to.

[icewindandboringhorror]

more photo diary posts.. various life images...

[caraphernellie]

SLOW HANDS. EIGHTEEN PLUS INTERACTIONS ONLY.

so in this drabble, i mentioned having a draft about a reader with an oral fixation and always wanting to suck on ellie's fingers. here is the aforementioned draft, mostly self indulgent because i just really want ellie's fingies in my mouth and also this is straight up more yappery about her hands and how much i love them (bordering on hand kink atp) than anything oral fixation related (but that's included, don't worry)– just using this as a thought space to get myself into the writing mood, and i'm not the proudest of it based on the writing style but thought i'd post it anyway.

ellie's hands are a true blessing, are they not? calloused and rough from years of guitar, a testament to the bond she has with loved ones (of course joel, who taught her to play) but perhaps also from the determination to perfect her art. hours spent journaling and detailing every moment of her day like a sweetheart, keeping tabs on things and always taking time to keep herself grounded. she'll sketch things throughout her days, drawing everyday from the pettiest of pretty landscapes to her most beloved people, all in the name of improving and documenting her journey through life. 

ellie is quite an awkward person in general, at least that's an observation i've made overtime – i don't mean her personality with this, although that's certainly true as well! i mean physically. she's not so coordinated. she's not precise. she's always stumbling or falling around the place, she's got that gay ass gait, and she takes less time thinking, always acting without it. 

but i think even despite her being a little challenged in a coordinational sense, and how she's rather lanky, it doesn't mean she isn't practised. moving away from a modern au for a second– think about living in the apocalypse. how she's grown so used to defending herself, handling heavy weaponry. her hands will move deftly to fire, reload, and protect herself, every action memorised after years. and moving a little more towards a modern au once again, although ellie does have a ps3 in canon, how she'd be so good at gaming. nerd activities are right up ellie's alley and of course gaming has to be up there too– her hands have a wide breadth and her fingers are nimble and long, she'd probably be really good with that advantage.

so, all this to say, it'd be hard not to be so distracted if you were dating ellie williams. especially watching her work on any of the many rather attractive passions of hers – her music, her art, or, well, gaming. large hands veiny and rough, perhaps smoothing out a page in her journal, retuning her guitar, or fumbling with a controller. and yet, all you can focus on is the capability of them, lost in memories that live in your head of the way she warmly grabs at your body or how it feels when her fingers are buried deep inside you, soaked in slick and rubbing at the walls that squeeze around them.

and it really could just be a comforting thing for you, getting to sit, observe, and take in every detail of your girl while she's right there next to you. and really, it's something she's noticed. it was nothing unexpected. it was just so cute to ellie how if she'd let you get a hold of them, you'd pepper little kisses along her wrist, up the back of her hand and onto her knuckles. she'd sit with rosy cheeks and watch you, rub her thumb along the curve of your lip gently before replacing it with her own lips.

what she never really expected was how far your fixation goes. she'd had a habit of sometimes liking to lick her fingers before or after touching you, a sight that of course made you squirm, but in some way, you started to get jealous of ellie.

before ellie could even try, you'd already grabbed her by the wrist and taken two long fingers between your lips, sighing almost in relief. best believe it shocked ellie at first, but she couldn't keep her eyes off of you, nor the way it clearly turned you on so much more than usual to suck her fingers into your mouth. 

staring down at how your cunt took her so easily after, she whispered dirty words in utter shock. "fuck, baby, just swallowin' my fingers, aren't you?" 

after that day, no longer was ellie able to indulge in the taste of your pussy on her fingers. it was commonplace for to let you lick her hands clean, and she'd started taking advantage of your fixation in other ways, too. too loud? she'll wrap her free arm around you and shove her fingers into your mouth to silence you while her other hand is between your thighs. she'll relish in the sweet humming muffled by her digits, looking into your sleepy, pleased eyes.

it starts manifesting in different ways, less heated and amorous situations, instead quiet and calm times. wrapped up in blankets together on the couch one evening, ellie so casually rubs her forefinger over your lips to play with you; teasing you with the closeness whilst pretending to be engrossed in the movie playing on screen. her thumb tugs gently at your lower lip, pulling the soft skin down before slipping into the wet warmth of your mouth. 

it's not like you were paying attention to the movie anyway, but it's much harder to look now – as if taking silent instruction, you close your eyes and slowly run your tongue along her skin. you fall victim to the sudden heat radiating the couch, holding her wrist close with three fingers in your mouth and a wet patch growing into your pyjama shorts.

photomode creds to @/stcreeka and @/T1OU_ on pinterest!!

[deedeeznoots]

You’re? Correction! I’m Yours 

➺ Characters: Ryomen Sukuna, GN!Reader 

➺ Word Count: 900+ 

➺ Genre: Fluff

➺ Content: Non-Curse!AU, Nerd!Sukuna, Established Relationship (with some pre-relationship sprinkled in), Swearing

➺ A/N: Shout out to my wonderful mutual @heian-era-housewife for this post about Heian Era Sukuna doing poetry. If she’s reading this: I hope you don’t mind the tag but your post seriously inspired a huge chunk of these headcanons 🥹

➺ Synopsis: Headcanons of all the nerdy things Sukuna does because deep down inside that’s all he is and all he wishes to be ❤️

➺ At first glance he doesn’t read as someone who would be super nerdy or all that interested in learning. 

➺ I mean, can you blame anyone? No one really expects the dude constantly looking for a fight to pull up with some textbooks during his free time.

➺ Once you get to know him though, you realize that on the inside he is in fact a giant nerd about basically everything.

➺ It starts off subtly: at first you’d ask him questions and he’d be able to easily come up with answers without even giving it a second thought.

➺It could be a question about anything, regardless of the subject or perceived difficulty, and Sukuna would be able to explain it to you. Not only that, but he’d be able to explain it to you in a way that made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. 

➺ At one point you basically just started playing trivia and just started asking him stuff normal people didn’t know the answers for and he’d answer with ease, albeit he’d get really annoyed with your constant random questions.

➺ Sometimes if he’s really excited about a subject his explanations would turn into full lectures that’d put most college professors to shame.

➺ Although it was shocking at first, it started to make sense when you realized that the main reason why he takes time to learn about stuff is because he’s constantly bored and looking for new things to entertain him.

➺ He’s good at basically everything so long as it piques his curiosity, but his one and only love will forever be literature, mostly because of how infinite the possibilities are with the medium.

➺ He’s well versed in literature of all genres and different cultures, but he is the most drawn toward Japanese works (and let’s be honest, his favorites would probably come from the Heian Period).

➺ Ever since getting with you, he’s been leaning more toward the romance genre. Just in case he needs any inspiration on how to spice up your relationship, you know? 

➺ He’s taught himself multiple languages just for fun and to see how far he could go.

➺ He LOVES poetry, he both writes and reads it a lot and it’s his favorite hobby besides eating.

➺ Other than literature, he also has a huge fascination with art.

➺ He designed his own tattoos because he wanted to play with the idea of turning his body into a canvas. It also just so happened to make him look intimidating as hell which was a plus in his book.

➺ He also has a little journal that he carries around and he sketches a lot whenever he’s bored or sees something interesting.

➺ As for styles, he’s a really big fan of Sumi-e painting because he’s allergic to color but he basically just uses and does whatever he feels like at the moment. 

➺ He’s the type of person who draws what he sees, but he would especially enjoy drawing nature. 

➺ He would go out on hikes whenever he felt the need to draw and would walk until he found something interesting. 

➺ He’s really into meditation while he draws and he uses sketching as a way to keep himself level headed during particularly annoying days.

➺ He isn’t too fond of drawing people, but you’d be the exception. 

➺ He would 1000% draw you while you sleep. It’s the perfect time since you’d be still for most of it. 

➺ Sukuna is able to write really good cursive and also does calligraphy because he got bored one time (shocker) and so decided to see if he was able to do it well and to no one’s surprise, he was eventually able to.

➺ The reason why he leans towards the humanities so much is because they’re both subjects no one can really “master”. With both art and literature, there isn’t a point where someone knows absolutely everything about either subject. Since Sukuna loves a challenge, he wants to be the first person to go “Fuck you, I DO know everything about this”.

➺ One of the little things he does every day includes writing you short little romantic poems on a post it note and leaving them in out random spots for you to find. 

➺ Sometimes they would be in your pocket or other times on the bathroom mirror, wherever it is they would make you smile. 

➺ Though, sometimes he would stick them onto such odd spots that you’d wonder just how he did it?

➺ He has TONS of pride in his writing (to be fair, he’s prideful about basically anything he does) and he always appreciates it when you mention his little notes and complement the work he put into writing them.

➺ Sometimes when the both of you are talking together he’d say some of the most poetic sentences that you’ve ever heard like it’s nothing. 

➺ When you gasp he just goes “What? Why are you staring at me like that?” as if he didn’t randomly drop lines that sounded like they came from straight out of a novel.

➺ He’s a dick when it comes to spelling and grammar, especially during petty arguments.

➺ “How many times do I have to tell you, if your going to the restroom put the damn seat down afterwards” ➺ “It’s YOU’RE*, actually” ➺ “Fine, YOU'RE** a piece of shit Ryomen!”

➺ Don’t fret though, because while Ryomen Sukuna wants to know anything and everything there is to know about the world, he knows deep down inside that the best thing the world could have ever offered him was you.

-

➺ Edit: Okay I made this story quite a while ago but I HAVE ANOTHER HEADCANON TO ADD! I think his observation skills are super on point which is how he’s able to understand things so easily

A/N: Everyone list what you think Sukuna’s favorite book(s) would be 🗣️

A/N: If you enjoyed my thoughts on Sukuna, you’d love this story I also wrote paired with some headcanons! 

[nonranghaes]

heads up: painter!reader

there's a slight ache in joshua's neck now from holding this pose, but it hasn't been long enough since the last break for him to ask for another. you're already back to your groove, too, and he likes when he glances over for half a second and sees how concentrated you are. the way you press your lips together, almost as if you need to hold your breath to get this perfect. today you told him that this would be the day. that you'd finish this final piece for your portfolio, and that would be that for the two of you. there's an envelope with payment in it set atop the other stool, right next to his bottle of water (he saw you place it there after his last break, just to remind yourself to give it to him). that was the last break, too, although you didn't let him see your work in progress.

he thinks he'll miss this. the slight chill that your little studio has that seems to disappear when he's underneath these lights. most of the time, he just sits and thinks when you aren't engaging him in conversation (although that was always during your sketching phases, when you were just trying to get his basic shape down before you began painting). will you yearn for his talks, too? for the conversations you had together, both silly and serious? this isn't an easy life for you, he knows that, but he thinks he's falling for the determination you hold in your heart. you're a masterpiece in your own way. he wants to say it out loud.

an eternity passes. and you finally let go of this piece, no more fiddling with it now. you lean back, let out a sigh, and wipe sweat off of your brow. "it's finished."

he looks up, and he feels his spine pop with every movement as he gets up. he's already buttoning his shirt back up as he crosses the room, stepping into his slippers as he steps off the rug you'd set up. "can i see?"

you give him a curt nod. he finishes buttoning his shirt, and steps around you to look. you've captured something in him he didn't know he had: this hungry look in his eyes, desiring something more. that feeling had been caged deep down within him, and yet it shows in the intense look in his eyes you've captured so carefully.

"it's beautiful," he says, voice soft. what else can he say? he admires your work so much.

when you go to hand him the envelope, he denies it. "joshua," you say, oh-so-serious now. "i have to pay you."

"then buy me dinner." he decides to be a little bolder this time. he's not going to lose you before he really knows you. but something quivers inside, deep down, as he hopes this wasn't a step too far when he sees how uncertain you look.

you lick your lips, swallowing hard. "what?"

he just smiles, reaching up to wipe a smudge of paint away from your cheek. your skin seems to burn underneath his touch. "please?" he's playing with you now, just a little, to see what you'll do. "i thought you said it was done. shouldn't we celebrate?"

"but..." you look back at the piece. a moment later, you turn to him again. "okay." you poke his chest, "but only if you take whatever money is left over."

"deal," he says. he grabs his jacket from where it's thrown over a chair, and offers his hand to you. "shall we?"

[so-bitya]

Whitewashing in Anime - Agni ft. Cithis

Browns of the Same Shade

Hello again! I decided to revisit this topic again now that we have Agni's official appearance in the anime. I also wanted to go over some aspects that I did not get to include in my first post.

In the end, Agni also got lightened! His skin tone was always somewhat darker than Soma's in both the anime and manga appearances. Yana does describe his appearance as a "dark-skinned woman" in her genderbend sketches. So, for the anime to lighten him this much to such an degree is disappointing.

The skin diversity in the anime has been pretty lacking so far. Once again, A1 studios was not perfect, but they did manage to give all three Indian characters different dark skin tones, while this anime has every Indian generally the same lightened shade.

(every indian character in the anime are the same skin tone... cloverworks stand up, you can't let a-1 studios beat you like this)

Personal opinion of mine, I feel like animation studios aren't willing to play with skin color values as much anymore. I remember even seeing white characters being various shades of brown, especially under certain lighting and environments. Unlike now, when every character looks bleached the second they hit the sun.

I also wanted to review what I think of Soma's appearance. Soma's skin tone isn't any darker than it was in the teaser shot sadly, so we can't blame the lighting. I already was expecting it, but it's still a shame.

One positive feature I'll give to the anime is that Soma's nose isn't pronounced all the time. In certain scenes, his nose isn't as sharp as it would be for other characters. I believe that's just the style for the anime and its dependent on the shot.

Anyway, I felt this image was pretty on topic with Soma and Agni's situation and just anime remakes/reboots in general lately:

Brown ≠ Grey

Something I'm embarrassed I forgot in my last post is saturation! I mentioned often how darker skin tones tend to be neglected, but not only that, but the color! The vibrancy in the skin, the life!

A common feature I noticed, especially in East Asian media, is how they avoid the "brown" in dark-skinned characters, by constantly making their skin tone duller, ending up with more grey-toned skin.

I often see art advice for digital artists that they should pick desaturated colors or colors in the "grey zone" as to not overwhelm the art piece. Which is fine most of the time! But when you apply that advice for brown skin, what you get are mostly grey tones, and end up having your character look like a zombie.

Here are some colors I randomly picked. The colors on the left are those sandy, dull grey tones I was talking about. If you want to get those richer, deeper-toned browns, you need to pick colors with more saturation like the ones on the right.

Now of course, color is relative and you can't just color pick your way around without considering how it fits in with the rest of the piece. You can even end up washing out your brown character despite choosing a strong brown color. You have to consider the background, lighting, undertones, the environment, and how they'll affect your character. There may even be times desaturated colors work better, but you have to at least consider why it works "better".

Let's take a look at everyone's favorite manga artist right now, Ryoko Rui! Ryoko Rui is praised often for her diverse character roster and creature design, however I always found her darker skin tones rather... lacking, as such for the elf Cithis.

(I color picked her skin tone and it matched my light grey shades above lol)

Her skin tone is very washed out and grey. She not nearly as dark as she appears in the manga. Once again, there's that dissonance between skin tones. Now take a look at the manga's grey tones.

When you see this, what skin tone do you imagine for her? Do you imagine the greyish, washed out tones from above or do you imagine something more akin to these black fae models I found?

(credit: @jaharajayde on twitter and @glassmarigolds on pinterest)

I'll give Rui credit that her color illustrations of Cithis improved and she's gotten better giving Cithis stronger undertones. I really like how the fandom has been illustrating her too, there's been some amazing fanart of Cithis such as these (the lighting in the last one is lovely).

Just adding saturation helps so much with skin tone. I even found an fan edit of Soma that added more color back into his skin, and he looks so much better for it.

One might say, "Oh what's wrong with having grey skin tones in a fantasy story!" Well... nothing really! You can have green or purple or blue characters if you like. But when there's already a startlingly lack of brown characters in a fantasy story, it can get awfully uncomfortable seeing the story portray different fantasy "races" with obviously non white racial features... but don't want to include any black/brown skin tones.

(fantasy artists would sooner give an orc dreads than a human, forget a "noble" creature like an elf... such decisions only reveals the artists' viewpoints)

It all just comes back down to avoiding that dreaded "brown". When it comes to these "reasons", we have to question whether they aren't just more excuses to not include black and brown people in stories, which makes me come to my next point:

Essence of Brown

There's some severe misinformation I want to address about Soma. I saw a fan a while ago say that Soma has a white mother which explains why he has light skin.

Firstly, that information is false. It was a concept Yana had for Soma, but quickly decided to drop it. Soma is not half white.

In the early drafts of the series, Soma had a white mother and, thus, white skin. However, this was later omitted in final revisions.

(quoted from the official kuroshitsuji wiki as an excerpt from the character guide)

Yes, you can have mixed parents and any kind of skin tone really! But it feels... dishonest to create "reasons" why the manga's first major Indian character, joining a cast of white people in a European country, should have white skin as well. Especially considering Yana's artstyle, without Soma's skin tone and Indian wardrobe, is his physical characteristics like his face even distinguishable enough for him not to be mistaken as white?

Imagine I wrote a story set in France, and teased an appearance of an African character in story that only had white characters until now, only for him to be completely white in appearance, and identical to every other white man, except for the occasionally exotic dress and other drab stereotypes.

What would you think? That his race is only a dressing to fulfill an exotic need at times? That he's a supposed homage to another culture, but it's wrong to have him actually look like the majority of people who made said culture? Why is he even this way?

Did he have a white parent? A white upbringing? Lived in a white culture, lived a white life? Maybe he was separated from birth! From his hometown, his country, his people, anything to justify why my "brown" character is so divorced from that part of his identity, from that side of the family whose skin tone runs a little too dark.

And I think that's why Yana decided to drop the concept of giving him a white mother. Why go through all those loopholes and explanations? Why all that justification for him to have white skin?

It's just another way to avoid the "browness" again for a character, what makes them brown in the first place and related to black/brown cultures. It's what we should consider in the future when we find ourselves coming up with "reasons" why black/brown characters should be anything but themselves.

Whitewashing in Anime - Soma ft. Usopp

[chochuuya]

his muse.

fashion designer mitsuya x reader

disclaimers: slight angst, tension, lots of back and forth.. possessive mitsuya yup yup |･ω･)

word count: 685

“why?” mitsuya asks, not looking up from his sewing machine. “you’re my model. i’m not fighting for your time with another man (y/n).”

he’s always had an obsession with beautiful things. you’re no exception, so you can’t leave him.

all of his designs are catered to you. when he sees you smile, or hears you laugh, he’s already sketching another. he shuts the machine off, looking at you.

“do you not like the clothes i make anymore?” he asks, brows furrowing. because why else would you leave?

you chew your bottom lip as you fidget on your hands. it’s always nerve wracking to talk to mitsuya when he’s tense.

“it’s nothing like that, takashi. trust me, your designs are par to none! it’s just that.. i want to dress more and for others too? i am still your model, yes but i’m just signing up for more houses.”

he frowns.

“my designs are for you and you alone. we established this (y/n).”

you know mitsuya is stubborn, and once he gets an idea into his head, it doesn’t budge easily. he takes his designs seriously and doesn’t like to see his models modelling for other designers. the thought of you modelling for anyone else makes him feel jealous and angry, and he struggles to mask it.

you shake your head in protest.

“takashi. of course you had and have support me enough up to this point, but i just thought i could get more experience if i get myself out there more you know?” you reasoned.

“you don’t need to get more experience, you’re perfect!” he exclaims with eyes pleading.

“my designs are made with you in mind (y/n), and they look best on you! the other designers won’t be able to replicate my work. they’ll probably mess it all up.” mitsuya continues, “you could ruin your reputation modelling for someone else, no one would want your image on their projects anymore!”

he stops, breathless for a few seconds.

“you’re my muse..” he says quietly. “you’re all i’ve got, don’t you see that?”

you sighed in defeat.

“how am i supposed to grow as a model when i’m not getting out of my comfort zone, takashi? i admire you and your talented quality crafts but please, try to understand me!”

he glares at you, anger in his eyes.

“i don’t want you to grow, (y/n)!" he shouts.

“i want you to be mine and only mine. if you can't understand that then- then-" he stops himself before he gets too carried away.

“i understand that you have your own goals and aspirations but i’d rather you keep me in mind too.”

he steps back, breathing rapidly.

“i’m sorry, i- i shouldn’t have yelled.” he pauses, trying to get ahold of his emotions.

“you have other models too, mitsuya..”

“but i want you to be my main model.” he says, a hint of pleading in his voice.

“you’re my best, and i can help you far better than anyone else ever could. you’re my muse and inspiration. i just- i don’t want that to change.” he added.

you thought of what he said so, there was silence for a mere moment before you break the ice.

“there’s something else you’re not telling me. i know you.” you said with your arms crossed.

he narrows his eyes at you, not liking being accused of hiding something.

“and what do you think that is?” mitsuya asks icily. he wants to hear what you think it is, but won’t admit it just yet.

“i don’t know. you tell me.”

mitsuya is silent for a moment, debating over whether or not to let you in on his secret. his eyes scan your face, trying to gauge your trustworthiness. you’d never betrayed his trust before, so why not now?

finally, he speaks, his voice softer.

“i didn’t want to tell you because i knew you’d be upset. but... i’m in love with you (y/n)." mitsuya says quietly, looking at you.

“i’ve been in love with you for years.”

...

maybe hakkai and yuzuha should come by another day.

please do not steal, copy, translate, repost to other sites or claim my writings as your own. plagiarism is real!

ngl that one panel where he fixes takemichi's suit is just *nosebleeds* (＿ ＿*) anyway, i hope you like this one! reblogs & likes are vv appreciated ♡

[eternitariant]

Lesson One: How to turn a Trick.

cw: stalking

the principal dragged you into his office and you saw a familiar mess of dirty, black hair that made you immediately aware of what was about to be discussed~

"Miss Y/L/N, have a seat please."

you glanced at Patrick who was smirking at you as you sat down and returned your eyes to the principal,

"Hockstetter is failing."

"i don't even get a Mister?" Patrick scoffed and the principal just ignored him,

"Failing what exactly?" you asked sheepishly,

"Everything."

your mouth fell open and you stared blankly for a few seconds before shaking your head like an etch-a-sketch in an attempt to return to reality,

"So, you want me to tutor him in all of his classes?"

"That's correct." The principal nodded curtly and you could feel Hockstetter's eyes burning through you,

"B-but Sir... I already have a full tutoring roster... I'm spending every night in the tutoring centre, i can't- "

"Slow down Miss Y/L/N," The principal said through a throaty chuckle, "Your other students have been reassigned. I need my best on this." he was buttering you up and you knew it but you couldn't exactly say no anyway so you just agreed.

Patrick followed you home from school that day. He didn't have to, you weren't meant to start tutoring him until next week but he always followed you home, you just didn't know it. Something else you didn't know was that he had specifically requested you during his meeting with The Principal.

He climbed his tree whilst you climbed your stairs and he perched up on a branch to watch you, like always.

Your routine was his.

The first thing you always did was tie your hair up & he'd stare at your neck... fantasising about touching it in any way he could, he wanted to trace it with his fingers, brush his lips against it, wrap his hand around it and sink his teeth into it.

Then you'd change, usually into something kinda skimpy because you didn't think anyone could see you & it was starting to get hotter outside. Typically afterwards you would sit yourself at your desk and do your homework like the studious angel you were... that's what he started calling you in his head anyway. Angel.

By the time the sun started setting, you'd be finished with your homework and you'd listen to a record, your music taste was good... that had surprised him at first but the more he watched you, the more it made sense. He'd been able to observe how good you were at pretending that your life was picture perfect, peachy keen. It was anything but.

You'd gotten good at hiding, even in your own home. Turns out, you'd had to. Your mom was a flake who treated your house like a drive thru convenience store & didn't care who she brought around her daughter. Most of them wanted a turn with you and if it were up to her, your mom would let them. So you started fleeing to the attic where you could lock yourself in whenever you heard anyone come home.

Patrick would kill anyone who hurt you. Anyone at all.

Monday rolled around and you were going to meet Patrick in the tutoring centre after 5th period but he intercepted you as you came out of English class ~

"Oh.. hi." you blinked up at him and he smiled,

"Hey Angel."

"M-my name is Y/N." you said innocently,

"i know that, it's called a nickname." he challenged, leaning into your personal space a bit more,

"oh." you nodded, looking at your feet, "well, we should go to the tutor-"

"let's go to your place instead." he suggested and you paled, shaking your head rapidly in panic- "it's okay, whatever big bad wolf hangs out there won't scare me off." he insisted, knowingly which kind of creeped you out.

"fine." you sighed, "it's kinda far, are those heavy?" you asked, pointing at his boots and he laughed,

"don't worry about me, sweets. let's just go."

He carefully kept a half pace behind you so he didn't make it obvious he already knew where you were going. You were chittering away about the lesson plan you had devised over the weekend and he smirked pridefully behind you, knowing you were thinking about him all weekend.

Finally, you made it to your house & you already knew your mom wasn't home which had you releasing a tense breath. Patrick saw your shoulders shuddering and couldn't help himself, he held them and applied a little pressure, helping your ground yourself.

"My, uh, my room is upstairs to the left. You want a soda?"

"Sure." he nodded, striding up the stairs to see your room up close.

It smelled like you. The whole space was just you. It consumed him & he loved it. So much that his skin was practically vibrating when you came upstairs. You had all your books and sodas in your arms so you kicked the door shut behind you and he rushed over to help you.

"Thanks." you blushed,

"course." he shrugged, "so this is your room, huh?"

"um, yes." you breezed, "so i was thinking that we start with, um..." you swallowed the lump in your throat and then straightened your posture, "you cutting the bullshit, Trick."

He quirked his head to the side and scowled, "huh?"

"you don't want to be tutored. you don't give a shit about school." you pressed, stepping closer to him,

"you just wanted to hang out with me, right?"

his eyes blew wide. just for a second though because if you got creeped out by him, he'd be so angry with himself.

"actually, i can't get held back another year."

"so drop out." you quipped, raising your eyebrow in a challenge, "c'mon... don't play it cool now. I see you out there," you tipped your head out towards the tree in your neighbours yard, "watching me... every night."

"y-you do?" he stammered,

"mhm" you nodded, slowly

his eyes raced over your face, looking for any semblance of fear or revolt but there was none there,

"why didn't you ever say anything?" he pressed, leaning slightly forward, expecting you to move back but you didn't. In fact, you stood on your tip toes and kissed him lightly before whispering,

"because i like it."

[jarofstyles]

Indigo- Cobalt

Hellooooo.. Here is part 3 to indigo! Hope you enjoy tattoorry. 

Warnings- tattoos, mention of needles, blood, brief mention of vomit, anxiety, you're going to want to eat harry

Check out our Patreon!

WC- 2.9k

-------

Y/N felt dizzy.

It wasn’t the prospect of getting a tattoo that was making her so nervous- it was the fact that Harry’s thigh was pressed right up against hers, his body angled towards her as he sketched on his ipad drawing program. He’d said he prefers pencil and paper but it was easier for this type of session to do it there. Faster. She had no input other than the fact that he smelled really fucking good and his leg was warm against her own.

She had indulged some information to him. First and foremost, she wanted a sunflower. A dainty little sunflower with a bit of shading and a longer stem that would go down a bit and twist near her wrist. Her plans for one day having a floral sleeve with her favorite flowers and the birth month flowers of her family had been shared, but she wanted to start off relatively simple with the first one. See how her body reacted, her healing time, all while leaving room if she liked it and wanted to continue with the sleeve.

Harry had been endeared and slightly impressed. It was rare that he got new clients anymore, as most were fairly covered by the time they got to him. However when he did do new clients back in the start, most didn’t have the extensive research she had done, nor the plan. He was all for going for what felt right, but Y/N had been specific and practical in her planning and it made him feel even more fond. She had taken the time to research not only the safety, but the importance of listening to artists suggestions and double checking the work.

It’d been a while since he had done a floral piece, but he was up for it. Truthfully, Y/N could have told him she wanted a rose skull with an infinity symbol in the eye socket and he would have done it for her, but he was relieved it was something that was relatively easy to perfect.

The man knew that he was a perfectionist when it came to his work. Harry didn’t do sloppy- at least not in his work. He kept clean, crisp lines and smooth shading, he did his best to keep any blowout from happening as much as he could on his own end, and he educated each client on the likelihood of the colors they chose longevity and when they’d probably need it touched up. His tattoos were for the clients, sure, but it was also a representation of his work. He was lucky enough now to have his choice on taking clients- there were plenty he turned away or handed off to other artists he thought could better suit them. His hard work had bled into the success he had wanted, leaving him the ability to be picky.

Normally he wouldn’t want to do a first time client because, well…  he really didn’t like doing them. First timers didn’t know what to expect the majority of the time, they didn’t know how to sit still, they would wince and move and complain far too much for Harry to feel at his best. He wasn’t judging them, but now that he had a choice he chose to keep to people who had at least one.

Y/N was the exception to the rule.

He felt honored that she would like his art on her, a bit of that primal satisfaction that it would be his too. No one else would have touched her with the needle, no one else had a shot at marking up her pretty, soft skin. It was a privilege, especially considering their origin.

“What do we think?” He murmured, showing her the second sketch with some of her notes. She hadn’t liked the thickness of the stem originally, and Harry had agreed it had been a bit too leafy so he had taken some off. “S’a bit thinner in the stem and I did a curve at the bottom so it’ll fit with the movement of your arm.”

“Moment of my arm?” She asked curiously, hitting him with a curious gaze. Harry had been extremely patient with her thus far and it made her nervous to ask for corrections, but he had told her that it was going to be on her forever and he needed it to be exactly what she wanted.

“Mhm. Where you’re putting it… The skin moves when you rotate your arm. S’why we don't usually put straight lines there, at least I don’t unless in specific situations. We want it to run smoothly regardless of which way your arm is positioned. So adding a bit of a curve in the stem would make it look straighter when you move it.” He showed the motion on his own arm so she could have an example.

“Oh. I never would have thought of that.” She blinked, watching as his arm moved. He had quite a few tattoos, some she had never been truly able to make out. Now being up so close, she had a front row seat to the anchor on his wrist and the cross on his hand, some of the little doodles that she had been so curious about. He seemed to have different styles of work and she liked that each one seemed to differ just a bit. “How many tattoos do you think you’ve done in your career?”

The question popped into her head out of nowhere but it still remained there. She was increasingly curious as to how he had gotten started, what he did and didn’t like doing. Pure thirst for the knowledge of what went through his head. He’d been a silent shadow most of the time she’d known him, so it was interesting to purely listen to him talk.

“Erm.. I’d say a couple hundred? There are some days I only work on one, some I do none, some days I can do three to four.” He paused, placing his apple pencil down, turning slightly to look at her. Their thighs pressed further together. “When I first started, I did a lot of flash sheets of shit that wasn’t my own. Think of, like, the pinterest stuff. Little hearts and stars, stuff on my mates, myself. They had me practice a ton when I was apprenticing but it made me good.” He brushed the hair out of his face. He really needed to find his hair clip. “Was frustrated at first, because I knew I could draw and stuff, but they were making me do those tiny things for basically no money- but, y’know, It’s harder than you’d think. Especially on someone who’s moving or someone who’s giggling with a bunch of their friends that they brought.”

“Is that why there was that sign out there?” Her face broke into a little grin, remembering the hand lettered sign before you went back to the rooms. ‘No children, No drinking, No plus threes’. “I find it hard to believe that people want to bring three people into the room with them.” That was inconsiderate. One? She could understand. That made sense if you were nervous. But multiple people just made it more crowded and loud. She’d rather be alone and deal with the experience being potentially awkward rather than make herself an inconvenient client.

His scoff took her by surprise, head tipping back in amusement. “Oh, they do. They did. Now it’s limited to one person in the room and you’ve got t’be over 18. Special allowances are made sometimes, but some of the places I worked at before starting my own place had no one enforcing or making those sorts of rules. It’s just unsafe. You’d be surprised how many drunk people come in demanding ink.” It was one of his least favorite clients. Drunk people tended to squirm and vomit, you know, besides getting a permanent image inked into the skin. That’s one thing he would never do again.

“Hm. Well it seems like you’re running a great place. I saw your stuff on instagram.” Her praise made him flush slightly, feeling a tiny bit shy as she continued. “And then the articles and awards you’ve got up front. It’s massively impressive. I’m surprised you’re tattooing me if I’m honest. She said up front I had virgin skin?” A head tilt at the end of her words reminded him of a puppy.

“Well, like I said. Special occasion.” He knocked his knee against hers in a playful attempt. “Just means no ink. Nothing nasty. I usually don’t do people with no ink because they can be twitchy and I can choose the pieces I do now. Usually I do more long and involved ones but, I’m more than happy to be doing yours.” His smile was a reassurance that he was more than happy to do it.

“Are you sure?” Y/N frowned slightly, suddenly feeling a little guilty. She didn’t want him to do a tattoo he didn’t want to do, or even more so do it on her just because he felt bad about the times before. “If you don’t want to do it, I’m happy to go to another artist in your shop-”

“No, I want to do it.” His voice was fast, interrupting hers without meaning to. It had rushed out without his permission, but the ugly twisting inside his gut had started at the mention of someone else doing this. She had wanted him, had planned on him, and if he was being honest? He was a bit selfish. His art was meant to go on people like Y/N. People who appreciated the art, who appreciated the skill. Add in his big fat crush, and it was not something he was going to pass up.

“O-Okay.” Y/N smiled, looking back down at her lap. His jeans were against her leg, and she couldn't stop thinking about how warm he was. How happy she was that he had chosen to sit with her on here instead of the armchair. A giddiness bubbled in her stomach as she felt his eyes on her, a hand coming down into her field of vision and gripping her knee. Her face felt hot, looking down at the fingers that curled over. It felt like she had been shocked at first, but moved into a warm glow.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

If she was any less strong, she would have squeaked. The large hand rested there, giving her leg a squeeze before he continued to speak.

“You ready to get some ink, then?”

—-------------

“You’ve had somethin’ to eat today, right?” Harry’s voice spoke to her as she sat in the red leather seat. His back was turned to her as he opened up a few drawers, grabbing what looked to be some sort of tape, vaseline, ink caps, different wrapped needles maybe? A blue liner sat over the tray, keeping it sanitary as he placed the supplies down. There was no reason to doubt he would be, but it only furthered her comfort.

“Yeah, I had a croissant and a pastry. Coffee too.” She peeped, hoping that would be good enough in his eyes.

With the way he turned in his chair, it wasn’t. “C’mon, babe. You’ve gotta eat better than that… but I can say m’glad you didn’t have a heavy meal a few minutes ago.” That would be a nightmare if she felt the need to spew. “Nothing with protein.. If you feel like you’re getting lightheaded, like you’re going to faint? Tell me immediately. This shouldn’t be too bad, all things considered, but there's no shame in taking a break.” He really didn’t mind it. That was much preferred over someone passing out on him.

“Okay. I’ll tell you.” Her eyes widened slightly but she avoided his eyes again, instead choosing to look at his hair. He’d found his hair clip when they’d walked in, saying something about having been looking for it for ages before gathering hair at the front of his face and clipping it back out of the way. He looked fucking adorable.

Tattoos, piercings and all, he looked adorable. Y/N had always thought he was handsome, hot, even, but his little smiles and concern for her had made her feel a little floaty and giggly and she needed to contain herself.

“Good girl.” His hand squeezed her leg again before turning around on the stool to finish unwrapping supplies.

If he heard her squeak, he didn’t let her know it.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the music hooked to his phone playing at a comfortable level as he did his thing. Y/N looked at his back, admiring the broad nature, his strong shoulders and how it strained slightly against his shirt. At this point, she was nearly positive she was just being extremely thirsty over the man who had always been a faraway object of desire- even if she had thought he hated her.

“Alright.” Harry returned, voice making Y/N jump slightly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve got the stencil.” Holding it up, he let her take a look and smiled to himself as her eyes rounded and she smiled widely. It did that weird thing to his chest as she squirmed, sitting straighter as he approached with it. “Good? We can put it on in a moment. Just got t’prep you.”

“It’s so beautiful, Harry.” Her wispy voice nearly made him fall off his chair. He wished he wasn’t so weak, wished he wasn’t such a soft heart for her, that he could be a bit more suave, but when she spoke like that, looked at him like that, said his name like that? All he wanted to do was scream.

“M’glad you think so.” He replied gently, taking his seat. “Is it okay if I touch you? I need to adjust your arm.” Touching bare skin was a limit a surprising amount of people had- himself included. He usually preferred his bed partners keeping their hands to themselves, no matter how much they wanted to trace his ink. His actual partners, he enjoyed, but people didn’t have much of a sense of boundary sometimes.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Dangerous fucking words, Harry thought. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to stray at the moment, so he decided to save that sweet tone and double meaning sentence to obsess over at a later time.

It didn’t take him too long, his fingers brushing over the skin as he shaved it to make sure the canvas was clear and prepped her for the stencil. Y/N was quiet, watching his concentration. He got a cute little thing between his brows as he focused on her, making sure the stencil was straight and where she wanted before laying it and pressing down.

When he peeled it away, she audibly gasped. “This is perfect.” Her voice went up in pitch. “It’s better than I imagined, H. Really. I love it.” Speaking like the ink was already in her skin, he flushed again as he placed the paper into the tray.

“You sure? Placement’s good?”

“Perfect. I like it right here.” She nodded, eyes not leaving the blue stain.

“Okay. We’re going to get started then, okay?” He pulled on a pair of fresh gloves, scooting himself and the station a bit closer to her. “We’re starting with the outlining, then we move to shading. It’s gonna be uncomfortable, mostly when I have to go over the lines again but we aren’t going to be too close to bone so It shouldn't be terrible.” He was doing his job now to mentally prepare her. “You can tell me if you need the bathroom or if you need to move at all. Everyone’s pain thresholds are different. Don’t feel embarrassed. I’m sure as hell not going to judge you.” His smile was reassuring as she looked a little nervous, but more so the excited type. It was easy to tell.

“I will tell you. Do you need me to stay quiet when you're tattooing? To keep focus? I don’t want to distract you.” Y/N questioned, big eyes looking at him with curiosity.

Anyone else? Anyone else in the entire world, he would tell them yes. He preferred a quiet environment to work, to get into the zone and truly concentrate. But there was no way in hell he was going to pass up an opportunity to hear her talk and babble. She had been so quiet around him before- rightfully so, considering she thought he would tell her to shut up- but he ached to just get a little bit closer. That yearning of his soft heart was pulsing, wishing to get to know her more. His brain was telling him to relax and be logical, but they both knew who would win out.

“Absolutely not, Sunflower. Chatter away.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

I don’t want you like a best friend | Xavier Thorpe x Reader

Summary: You and Xavier have been best friends for a while, but you don’t want to be just friends anymore. Come the Rave’n dance, you decide to tell him

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: suggestive themes

"Say my name and everything just stops I don't want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off"

—

‘’Are you coming the the Rave’n dance?’’

‘’I don’t have a date.’’

‘’You could go with Xavier?’’ Enid suggested with a knowing grin.

You and Xavier have been best friends since your first year at Nevermore Academy. Being away from home for this long and adjusting to a new environment had been difficult. You missed your family and the comfort of home. Making friends wasn’t your strongest, so you ended up very lonely.

Until you met Xavier. Although he was part of the popular crowd, he preferred solitude. He could spend hours on his own, drawing or painting.

One day, his sketchbook fell out of his bag in botanical class and you were amazed by the close to perfection sketch of your mutual classmate, Ajax. You hadn’t been able to stop the compliment that spilled from your lips. Xavier had smiled, a little shy, and thanked you. The next day, he had made a drawing of you sitting in the courtyard, reading a book.

You never talked to him outside of class…until parents’s weekend. You had been anticipating that day for so long — you missed your parents very dearly —, only to hear from Principal Weems that morning that they would not be coming. Sadness had filled your heart and you ended up crying silently between two shelves at the library.

You weren’t the only student whose parents didn’t come. Some parents, like Xavier’s father, were so busy with their work life that they cared very little about their son’s school event. Unlike you, Xavier didn’t come to cry. He was looking for a book. Except he found you instead.

You spent the whole day together, getting to know each other and talking about anything but your parents and, for the first time in weeks, a smile curled on your lips. Especially when he shared with you his little ability of making his artwork move.

Your friendship tightened over the years, friends turning into best friends. You called each other during summer break, and sometimes visited because September was just too far away. The Thorpe manor was massive and Xavier had his own art studio — which was even bigger than his shed on school grounds.

It was nice to have a friend like him.

But since your last visit, some things changed. Your friendship had developed into deeper feelings — non-platonic feelings. You held back from acting on them because Xavier was freshly broken up with Bianca and hurting. You also didn’t want to be someone’s rebound.

‘’I heard he’s going with Bianca,’’ Wednesday butted in, making Enid narrow her eyes at her.

‘’Only because she asked him,’’ the blonde quickly clarified. ‘’It doesn’t look like they’re getting back together though. Like ever. Xavier’s been very indifferent toward Bianca lately.’’

Enid wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t heard Xavier say Bianca's name in the past two months and you were the second person he spent the most time with — after Ajax. He came to you when he had doubts about the genuineness of their relationships, so he would tell you if he was still into her. Right?

That’s how the plans were made.

‘’That means we’re going dress shopping!’’ Enid grabbed her pink fuzzy backpack, looking at you excitedly. ‘’You need a dress that screams ‘stand back bitches, he’s mine’.’’

*

There weren't many shops in Jericho, so everyone ended up in the same one. It’s gonna be a miracle if two girls don’t show up in the same dress.

The bell above Hawte Kewture dinged as you and Enid stepped in. ‘’The dance committee is suggesting all white to match with the team, but that’s not gonna fly with us. If you want to catch Xavier’s attention and make him see you as something else than a best friend, you need to stand out.’’

‘’I’m not gonna wear bright pink, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’’

You weren’t afraid of colors like Wednesday, but brighter tones and pastels were Enid’s palette. Not yours.

‘’That’s not what I had in mind. Come.’’

None of the dresses you tried were to your liking. Too much tule, too itchy, too plain. You needed something that would make the whole place shimmer, to quote Enid.

Time passed and, around you, your classmates were all finding their dresses. All except you. Even Enid had found hers — a white number with a fluffy collar and cuffs. You were starting to feel defeated.

A sigh left your lips. I'll never find anythi—’’ You cut yourself, catching a velvet fabric smushed between the tule and sequins. You plucked it from the rack and held it before you.

‘’What about this one?’’

Enid stopped flicking through the dresses and turned to you, approval flashing in her eyes. ‘’Yes! This is the dress,’’ she confirmed, squealing excitedly.

*

You and Enid were getting ready for the dance in her dorm, both of your makeup bags spilled and mixed up on her bed. It was a complete mess — and will probably be staining her comforter in some places because of a missing cap on a lipstick and a broken highlighter. Sorry, Enid.

‘’If Xavier doesn't kiss you tonight, he is the dumbest guy ever. I mean, look at you. If this doesn’t push him to make a move, someone else will.’’

But I don’t want someone else, you thought to yourself as you applied a light wash of color to your cheeks.

You didn’t want to be that girl, but to your eyes there was only Xavier.

His sweet smile that never fails to make your heart swoon, those pretty green eyes you want to stare into all day, those lips you were dying to kiss and taste. The way only he knows how to make you laugh when you're sad and the warm hugs you never want to break from. He is always real and honest with you, even if his thoughts are sometimes dark. The speckles of paint on his shirts and sometimes on his school uniform — which he always needed your help to clean —, the late nights sneaking in his dorm to talk about everything and nothing.

‘’Y/N! Are you listening?’’

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, thankful for the color on your cheeks covering your natural flush. ‘’Sorry. What did you say?’’

‘’You were thinking about him, were you?’’ Enid teased, grinning like a teenage girl in a rom-com.

‘’I was not thinking about Xavier,’’ you denied.

She scoffed. ‘’Liar.’’ Enid held up two lipsticks, asking for your input. ‘’Should I do red or pink?’’

‘’Pink.’’

*

When you entered the room of flashing lights and buzzing music, all eyes turned to you.

All except Xavier’s.

His were too busy staring at the layered white tablecloths while Bianca was talking about god knows what. Before him was an empty glass, telling you enough about the fun he was not having.

You bit back a smile, secretly happy to see he was not having fun with his date.

‘’Ohh, look, Xavier’s there,’’ Enid pointed out in the least subtle way, grabbing your arm and looking right in his direction. ‘’He polished up nice.’’

He was wearing an all white suit with a thin black bowtie and his hair was pulled back, showing off his features. You sucked in a breath, feeling butterflies in your stomach. He looked so handsome — gorgeous.

‘’I’m gonna get us some drinks.’’ You tore your eyes from Xavier and went to the table where the punch was. With luck, someone will have spiked it and it’ll give you some liquid courage for later.

As you were filling the second glass with blue smoking punch, someone came up to your side. By the whiff of their cologne, you knew immediately who it was.

‘’I thought you weren’t coming.’’

His eyes raked up and down your body and you held back a smirk. Your plan was working, the dress was working. It was nothing too revealing. You wanted to get Xavier’s attention, not get sent to your room by Principal Weems.

‘’I changed my mind.’’ You grabbed your other drink and handed Xavier the second one. ‘’Yeti-tini?’’

It was for Enid, but oh well.

Xavier accepted it with a soft dimpled smile and brought the glass to his lips. ‘’You look…’’ He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes while searching for his words. ‘’Beautiful.’’ A light flush covered his cheeks, quickly correcting himself. ‘’I mean, you look great.’’

‘’Thanks.’’ You brought your drink to your lips to hide your smile. ‘’Shouldn’t you be with your date? Bianca seems a little lonely.’’

He glanced at Bianca who was sitting alone at a table, swishing her drink in its glass out of boredom, then drew his gaze back to you. ‘’I’m not allowed to come and say ‘hi’ to my best friend?’’

Best friend. You tried not to wince.

Xavier Thorpe was the king of mixed signals. A minute ago, he was complimenting you and looking at you the way a platonic friend wouldn’t, and now he was calling you his best friend. The words hurt like a knife in your chest.

You shifted your eyes to the dancefloor and faked a gasp. ‘’I gotta go. There’s a girl code emergency. Someone is flirting with Enid and she’s giving me the help signal.’’

‘’Oh. Okay. I…I’ll see you later, then.’’

You walked away with your drink and searched for Enid. The night was off to a bad start.

*

Eventually, you got dragged to the dancefloor. Most songs the DJ was playing were normie modern pop, but you tried to not cringe too much. One would think a school like Nevermore would be into more unorthodox music, but they can’t escape the radio hits.

You were dancing with Enid and Yoko, letting go and having fun between girls when you caught sight of an upset Bianca leaving the dance and Xavier sulking in a chair. Abandoning the girls, you snaked through the crowd of students and made your way to him.

‘’I know you are Nevermore’s tortured artist, but you’re allowed to have fun once in a while. Come dance.’’ You extended your hand, waiting for him to take it.

Xavier raised an eyebrow. ‘’With you?’’

‘’Yes. I promise I won’t step on your feet.’’

He accepted your hand with a sigh and you pulled him to the dancefloor as a better song came up. A sliver of a smile curled on his lips as your back was turned to him, hidden from you.

You swayed close to him, moving your arms, hips and shoulders to the music. Xavier chuckled and followed automatically, dancing as he pleased and fully letting go. He pulled silly moves and even made you twirl, making you both laugh. A perpetual smile etched itself on your face and pieces of hair were coming loose from Xavier's hair tie, forgetting about the people around you.

The music switched to a slow song and you both stood there, not knowing what to do. His eyes flicked down to you, looking at you in a way he never had before. You've never been nervous around Xavier before. He was your comfort person, the only one who you could be unapologetically yourself with. But the way he was looking at you sent nervous butterflies in your stomach.

Your hands shaking from holding back from him. You didn't want him like a best friend anymore. You didn’t want him to touch you like a best friend anymore.

As if he had heard your thoughts, Xavier stepped closer, so close not even a sheet of paper could pass between you. So close you could smell his cologne, a mix of pine notes with a softer undernote. His hands found the courage to rest on your waist, his gentle touch sending electricity through your body. ‘’Is this okay?’’ he asked, gulping as his eyes bore into you, the close proximity making his hands sweaty and causing his heart to pick up.

You nodded. It was more than okay.

‘’Xavier?’’

He hummed, his green eyes shimmering from the mirrorballs hung to the ceiling, reflecting the party lights. You curled your fingers around one of the tails of Xavier’s bowtie, wishing you could undo it and attach your lips to his neck and fastening yourself to him like a stitch.

‘’There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while.’’ He motioned for you to go ahead as you swayed to the slow music. You took a last breath and allowed the words to leave your lips. ‘’I...I don't want us to be friends anymore. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with us being just friends when all I think about when we're together is closing the space between us and kissing you.’’

‘’Like this?’’

Xavier leaned down and when his lips touched yours, all pieces fell into place. You melted into him and slid your hands around his neck, as if you were afraid he would break the kiss and run.

You were both out of breath when you pulled away, eyes filled with desire.

‘’I take back what I said earlier, you look fucking beautiful tonight,’’ Xavier said, his mouth overing over yours. ‘’And that dress— It's killing me.’’ His hands moved up and down your sides while his eyes stalled on the swell over your breasts. He was trying to be respectful with all the chaperon professors around, but his pants were getting a little tight.

There was absolutely no subtlety in the way you and Xavier snuck out of the room to go to his dorm. Your red dress stood out like a sore thumb among all the white.

Your dress hit the floor the moment you made it to Xavier’s dorm and remained there all night. After all, it was the reason you had bought it.

—

Xavier Thorpe taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n

[leidensygdom]

Just a bit of a personal thought, but I have grown to deeply dislike how social media, with its' competitive algorithm and need to have a perfect performance, is often giving people a really wrong idea of what is it actually to do art.

Most times, artists are rewarded by posting only their best work: A badly performing post in places like Instagram may affect how well your next post performs. It also prefers you to post finished pictures, very presentable sketches, that kind of stuff. Which is rarely the bulk of an artists' work. Even speedpaints have been chewed down into palatable videos barely reaching 15 seconds. Tiktok and Instagram reels prefer extremely short videos, and speedpaints are mostly just few (sparkles) aesthetic (sparkles) shots of minuscule parts of the process.

And all of that, I've found, gives people this really weird image of what is art actually like. A lot of starting artists grow to make idols out of bigger ones, thinking that these people can only create perfect pieces effortlessly, but that's not how it works. Very far from that. It's mostly that artists that keep active social media and have grown to know the game, know that showing the rough parts of art is not what gets you favoured by the algorithm.

I've been thinking about this ever since I saw a video on twitter of a fairly long speedpaint for what you usually see in social media, I think 4 minutes long, where the person redrew portions of the sketch up to five times. And a lot of people mentioned it was enlightening to see the struggle, to see that even a competent artist sometimes will struggle doing a little phone cord for an hour.

I think that's something I have kind of experienced, too. I'm not a big artist, but a lot of people have mentioned they find me intimidating still, up until they know me on Discord or something and realize I'm just a goof like any other. Up until I mention a face refused to work for 2 hours and I gave up, or how I randomly keep learning new basic functionalities in my drawing software of choice. And I think that's crucial to share too: Art is not a linear road! It isn't a smooth trip! You'll fail again and again and sometimes will end up going back to a previous point, then take another path. Sometimes you render a whole drawing and decide it looks bad so you start over. Sometimes you realize the lines came out wonky as hell and end up redoing it. Sometimes you gave a character 6 fingers or forgot people have eyebrows. It happens! And it's part of what making art is!

I mentioned this on Twitter- I rarely have visible proof of these struggles, but for an Artfight drawing (where I am trying to be speedy), I struggled with a cloak. For long. I made a thumbnail, I made a sketch, realized the cloak didn't work out, so I redrew it over and over again. I deleted most of the discarded sketches, but here's a few of the things that survived.

And like, I'm tired of not talking about this! I'm sad that people think they're failing because their art process isn't as smooth as it could be! So, yeah: I guess rant over, but I just have been thinking about this a bunch lately. If you'd like, do please feel free to reblog or share in replies any similar situations, struggles and flops. I think it could help people to realize how this is actually just a natural part of the process.

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Three

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: So sorry last weekend’s chapter was late this week, I’m back to my regularly scheduled posting! I’m so excited so many of you like this series so far!!

Word Count: 1131

Series Masterlist

• January 25, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

My second day at Forks high school started much smoother than the first. It was pretty much uneventful until I decided to eat lunch alone outside on the picnic tables in the quad. It was an overcast day much like all the others and maybe a little chilly, but still decent enough since it wasn’t currently raining. It made for the perfect condition being that no one else really wanted to eat outside.

That is, until I spotted none other than Jasper Hale headed in my direction.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, pointing to the opposite end of the table I’m currently occupying.

“Not at all.” I respond, idly tidying my area self consciously.

“Sorry, sometimes it’s a little overwhelming inside and I come out here to get away.” He says by way of explanation, laying down the sketch pad he carried with him along with a few pencils and a smudge stick. “Mostly I just come out here to draw uninterrupted.” He sits and flips to an empty page, tilting it a little away from my view.

“I get it, large crowds aren’t my thing either. Plus in the two days I’ve known Emmett I can already tell that he probably creates a hostile drawing environment.” I finish with a light chuckle, turning my attention toward the unfinished apple in my hand.

“You draw too?” He asks, eyebrows lifting as he begins a rough sketch on the blank paper.

“Oh heck no, I don’t have any artistic abilities like that, as much as I wish I did.” I frown, taking a bite of my apple.

“I didn’t think I had it in me either, but I took some classes, watched some videos online, and doodled around a lot. Finally got the hang of it although I still don’t really think I’m that good.” He trails off, concentrating on his pencil strokes. “It helps with the stress though, especially when there’s a lot going on.”

“That is… actually kind of neat. Having an outlet that’s also inspiring, creating art and it centering you in the process.” I muse out loud, watching a face beginning to take shape on his paper.

I’m about to ask who he’s drawing when the bell signaling the end of lunch rings out in the empty air surrounding us. I gather my trash and stand while he tucks his supplies away.

“Thanks for keeping me company today.” I tell him as I gaze into his beautifully golden eyes, not quite ready to part ways with him.

“Thanks for allowing me to disturb your peace and quiet.” And as if reading my mind, “Mind if I walk you to your next class?”

“Oh um, sure.” Trying not to seem too excited by the proposition of spending more time in this gorgeous boy’s presence. I tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear and walk towards him.

“Lead the way, darlin’.” He announces, sweeping his arm in the direction of the main school building, a smirk on his lips.

I laugh and shake my head at his antics, a blush creeping up my cheeks as I walk past him in the direction of my economics class.

Ditching my trash in the trash can as we leave the quad, I miss the way he grins at the accomplishment of making me giggle. I also fail to notice the astounded looks of his adopted siblings as we pass them unaware of their presence through the windows of the cafeteria. Faces reflecting their shocked thoughts at seeing their brother openly flirting with a female compared to his normal stoic facade.

“How did you do it?” Emmett asks, leaning against the locker next to mine.

“Could you be a little more specific?” I ask, a little confused by his blunt question.

“You’ve been here less than a week and my brother is wrapped around your little finger.” He says, holding up his pinky to wiggle in my face.

I laugh and shut my locker, “Emmett, I’ve had all of like two interactions with Jasper, you’re looking into this a little too much.”

“He usually keeps to himself, this isn't the normal Jasper we’re talking about.” He falls into step slightly behind me on my way to the last class of the day, his large build not moving through the throng of students as quickly as I am.

I turn to look at my new friend, “I literally have no clue, it’s probably nothing Em!” My heart picking up speed at just the thought of Jasper. Is he actually interested in me? Is that what Emmett is getting at?

There’s no way, beautiful people like him don’t go for people like me.

I turn and leave Emmett behind in the hallway as students finish rushing through the halls, the tardy bell ringing.

American History, the class I share with Jasper Hale and it also happens to be the last class of the day. Unfortunately though, his assigned seat is on the other side of the room. At least it’s more forward than mine, leaving me to observe him for most of the class period without him seeing.

History is also my worst subject; whether it’s world or US history, I hate it all the same. So many mistakes and atrocities, I wish I could let it flow in one ear and out the other without having to remember it for tests.

Today though, I get the sense our teacher has had a difficult day since he’s decided to let us work together freely. Seeing as I don’t really know anyone yet, I’m forced to work alone.

As if he could feel my discomfort and irritation with the assignment, Jasper Hale appears at the edge of my peripheral vision, claiming the abandoned desk next to mine and turning a few heads of our classmates.

“You’re thinking so loud I could practically hear it from across the room.” He mutters lowly without looking up from his worksheet.

“I’m thinking too loud?” I respond defensively as I cut him a look that would normally skin boys alive.

“Would you like some help or not, doll?” He asks, a grin sliding across his lips as his eyes meet mine in challenge.

“I-uh, I hate history.” I manage to blurt out, a little flustered that he so easily bypassed my frustrated facade without a blink.

“I do want that explanation eventually, but we have work to finish and only,” He breaks eye contact to glance at the clock above the board, “thirty seven minutes left before you’re on your own.”

“Alright Hale, what did you get for number four?” I deflate and accept his offer to save me from the misery of suffering through this stupid assignment alone.

Next

[rosetterer]

the peace the evening brings (by rosetterer)

(Sequel to mornings are sweeter with you and such a perfect day)

Summary:

”Only one cup?” Chimney asks when Hen comes to stand in front of them. There truly is only one cup of coffee in her hands. ”Yeah,” she says with a small smile and shoots a smirk at Buck. ”Turns out, it was a delivery for a certain Evan.” "Evan?" Chimney asks, sounding confused, and then mirrors the smirk on Hen's lips. "Oh, Evan.” - A horrible shift + a second date (just bucktommy continuing to be cute af)

Read on AO3: the peace the evening brings - rosetterer - 9-1-1 (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Or continue reading here:

The sun is beginning to rise and that usually means one of two things: either their shift is about to calm down even more because the darkness of the night will soon fade away or more calls are about to start coming in with the traffic that will be created when people start making their way to work.

Buck doesn't say the Q-word and he certainly doesn't mention how he thinks it's going to be a Q-day. He almost wishes something were to happen. There are only so many games to play or meals to be cooked.

After checking the firetruck and all its supplies, he helped a couple set up a car seat in their new car.

In other words, it has been a very boring start to their shift.

”Ooh, who’s ordered us coffee?” Hen says then, sitting up from her lounching position on the couch.

Buck turns to look around at what she’s looking at with a hopeful smile on her face and sees a nervous-looking young man typing something on his phone and holding a cup holder in his other hand.

”Maybe this is one of those influencer things,” Chimney speaks up.

Hen raises her eyebrows at him.

"You know, those ones where they do nice things for others for views," he explains. "Maybe this time around they decided to treat firefighters for coffee."

”If that was the case, I think they would’ve come here themself,” Hen tells him and gets up on her feet.

”Unless they’re filming the delivery guy and us from some bush nearby,” Buck joins the conversation.

Chimney smiles at him and gives a nod, ”Exactly!”

”Whatever it is, I’m getting the caffeine,” Hen tells them and makes her way to the delivery guy.

Buck turns around on the couch to face them so that he can see how it all goes down. He is genuinely interested in who it is that has decided to bless them with coffee. Maddie likes to do such things every once in a while, especially on special days, but as far as Buck is aware, today is nothing special. He doesn't think.

Hen talks to the delivery guy for a surprising amount of time and if Buck didn’t know that she was a lesbian, he would’ve teased her about flirting with the guy when she finally makes her way back to them.

”Only one cup?” Chimney asks when Hen comes to stand in front of them.

There truly is only one cup of coffee in her hands.

”Yeah,” she says with a small smile and shoots a smirk at Buck. ”Turns out, it was a delivery for a certain Evan.”

"Evan?" Chimney asks, sounding confused, and then mirrors the smirk on Hen's lips. "Oh, Evan.”

A sheepish smile rises on Buck's lips as he reaches for the coffee cup. On the side of it, there is a crappy sketch of what looks somewhat like a cloud and a rainbow (with no color in it.) Right on top of the probably-a-cloud, it says: Have a good shift, Ev.

”So…” Chimney begins, having slid closer to him in the blink of an eye, startling Buck slightly. ”What’s with this… ’Evan’ thing?”

”W- What do you mean?” Buck mumbles out, taking a quick sip of the coffee. It’s still nice and warm.

”Nobody calls you Evan,” Hen joins in.

”Maddie does,” Buck reminds her, looking between the two. ”And my parents do.”

”We never do,” Chimney says.

”So?”

”I think what he means is…” Hen starts, moving closer, ”As far as we know, none of the people you’ve ever dated have called you Evan and you never really introduce yourself as that, so… How’d that happen?”

”He…” Buck begins and gives a small shrug. ”He saw my name on my Starbucks cup and just… Has called me that since then.”

”You give them your real name at Starbucks?” Chimney asks then, seeming even more confused and Buck is just happy to move on with the conversation.

It’s not that he doesn’t like to talk about Tommy. He loves it. But he also wants to keep this to himself. It’s so new still. They haven’t been able to go on a second date yet. Haven’t even seen each other in two weeks because of their shifts. It’s been hard but they’ve been texting and it’s also been so good. He just misses him.

”Buck?”

”What?” Buck asks and then shakes his head, ”Oh yeah, right. Uh, I… They wrote ’Fuck’ on my cup last year and I don’t want them to do that again, so… Evan.”

Hen nods, sitting down next to him, ”That makes sense.”

When silence washes over them, Buck allows himself to relax again. He leans against the back of the couch and sips on his coffee as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. The phone flops clumsily into his lap as he uses his left hand to get it, and finds Tommy's name at the top of the list of people who he has been texting.

How much did you pay some poor barista to draw a sad black and white rainbow on my cup?

Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. Any good?

It’s perfect. Thanks. ❤️

❤️

”So, how’s it going?” Chimney asks, blurting out the question with such force that it seems like he was truly trying to hold it back.

”It’s going fine,” Buck tells him, pocketing his phone and sipping his coffee.

Hen squints at him, ”You’re being weird.”

”I don’t know what you mean,” he replies and sips again.

"Usually when you're really into someone, you can't shut up about them," Hen tells him and Chimney nods vigorously in agreement, "I even asked Bobby if you've talked to him about this Tommy and he said you haven't."

”That suspicious,” Chimney says.

”Look,” Buck says with a sigh and sets the cup down. ”We haven’t been able to go on another date yet, even though we both very much want that, and that’s that. Everything’s fine.”

”Fine?” Hen asks, raising her eyebrows.

"That sounds… exciting," Chimney mumbles and shoots him a look. "What does that mean? Fine? Like… There's no heat?"

There hasn’t been much time for there to be heat, Buck thinks to himself. But it’s certainly bubbling under the surface of their new relationship. He felt it when he first met Tommy. When their hands touched for the first time. When they kissed.

Buck doesn’t answer Chimney’s question but gives him a look that hopefully makes it clear that what he’s asking is ridiculous.

Hen lowers her voice, ”Have you guys had sex yet?”

Buck’s mind goes blank, mostly because he didn’t expect Hen to be the one to ask such a question but it seems that she is more curious about the relationship than she leads on. Also, because it’s none of their business.

Also, because the mere thought makes his heart beat just a little faster.

”You know…” Buck begins, instead of telling his friends off. ”I’ve really got a feeling that today’s going to be a quiet day.”

The looks sent his way would definitely kill if the saying was true but Buck only laughs. He takes the cup in his hand again, downs the rest of his coffee, and gets up. He places the cup in his locker, puts on his gear (which gets him an odd look from Bobby who happens to be passing by), and waits.

And then, the alarm goes off.

-

The universe responds to his comment by sending them to a housefire, from which they thankfully manage to save everyone. If they hadn't, Buck would definitely have had to take a couple of weeks off because of the guilt. Eddie, of course, already told him that even if something bad had happened, it wouldn't have been his fault because, in reality, the universe doesn't care whether he said that it was going to be a quiet shift or not.

But still. Buck feels relieved.

But the moment that he’s about to step back into the firetruck, tired and dirty from soot, his phone decides to drop onto the ground and when he panics and tries to catch it, he ends up stepping on it as well.

"Damn it," he mumbles, taking his poor phone into his hand and turning it on.

Half of the screen flickers, and the other doesn't.

”God fucking damn it,” he swears again as he climbs in, and finds that Chimney and Hen are having the time of their life because of his misfortune. ”Yes, I’m sure you two are really enjoying this. Oh, come on, I was meant to-”

He pauses. Hen stops laughing and looks at him.

”Meant to… What?” She asks, curious now.

”Nothing,” Buck mumbles, trying to make himself small in the corner of his seat as Bobby begins to drive.

”He was supposed to text Tommy,” Chimney teases with the biggest grin on his face. ”Poor Buckaroo, you’re going to have to send him smoke signals or something.”

”You can use my phone,” Eddie tells him then. Thank God for Eddie. ”If you can remember his number...”

Buck glances over at Chimney and Hen, who are now whispering to each other about something that hopefully has nothing to do with Buck, and takes the phone that Eddie is offering him.

He does, in fact, remember Tommy’s number. He has stared at the cup with his number written on the side of it every single day before his shift.

Hi! I wrecked my phone, so I have to use Eddie's. I'm still coming over this evening, right? The plan hasn't changed? -Buck

It doesn’t take long for Tommy to reply.

Hi. Yes, we’re still on for this evening.

Can’t wait to see you.

Buck smiles and doesn't care that Chimney and Hen's attention has turned to him again.

Me neither.

He makes sure to delete the texts before he hands the phone over to Eddie with a mumbled ’thanks.’

-

The rest of the shift isn't any better and Buck really is regretting that Q-word now.

When they come back from their hopefully last call and the B-shift starts slowly rolling in, Buck throws himself on the couch and closes his eyes, hoping to take one of those micro naps. But instead of peace and quiet, his brain decides to replay every single call of the shift: the multiple housefires, a factory explosion, a car accident involving teens…

He’s never going to say that word again. He’s going to have to find synonyms. Maybe the universe won’t catch those.

Noiseless. Soundless. Muted. Faint. Silent.

”Buck?”

He blinks his tired eyes open, quickly realizing that he managed to fall asleep for just a little moment.

Eddie’s looking down at him, ”You were talking in your sleep. Well, listing things, I guess.”

”Oh,” he mumbles, a little embarrassed that he’d been saying his list of synonyms out loud. ”It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

”You do know that this shift wasn’t your fault, right? No matter what those two say,” Eddie continues, nodding his head toward Chimney and Hen, who are in the kitchen, chatting. ”They just like to tease you.”

”Yeah, I know,” Buck says and puts on a smile. ”I’ll get over it.”

”Good,” Eddie says and pats him on the shoulder a couple of times. ”Because the universe doesn’t care about what you have to say.”

Buck frowns, ”Well-”

”It doesn’t! It doesn’t care about what anyone says!” Eddie lets him know as he walks away with a smile. ”Look: Oh, I bet it’s going to be quiet today.”

Hen and Chimney don’t hear him but the B-shift does and Eddie gets a good death glare from them. Buck chuckles.

And the alarm… It doesn’t go off.

-

The micro nap he managed to get really helps him feel confident in driving over to Tommy's house even though the sun is setting and he still feels a little tired. The traffic isn't bad and he gets to Tommy's place a lot faster than he imagined he would.

Tommy’s talked about his house a lot, especially the amount of renovations he’s done on it over the years, and Buck has seen pictures but it’s different seeing it in front of his eyes. The house isn’t huge but the garage definitely makes it seem bigger than it is.

The front door is painted green. Buck knocks.

He sees a light come on and hears footsteps. The door opens.

”Hey Evan,” Tommy says with a smile.

”Hi,” Buck whispers back, answering the smile with his own.

They stare at each other for what feels like a small eternity and then, Tommy steps out of the way.

”Come on in,” he says. ”I just finished cooking, if you’re hungry.”

”Kind of starving,” Buck tells him, his eyes flickering to Tommy’s lips. Involuntarily, of course.

Tommy seems to notice but doesn't say anything. Just smiles again, places his hand on Buck's waist for a split second, and makes his way into the kitchen.

Buck follows.

The house is… warm. That's the only way he can describe it. When he steps into the kitchen, he feels like he's stepped into another country, maybe Italy, and like an Italian grandmother is about to walk in any moment now to stir the pasta or get started on a pizza dough.

That might be a little stereotypical but that’s how he feels. Plus, he knows that Tommy’s grandmother is Italian, so that probably has something to do with it.

”This is so nice,” Buck comments on the decor and leans against one of the kitchen counters.

Tommy smiles as he dips a spoon into some kind of sauce and holds it out to Buck, ”Thanks, baby. Tell me, is this any good?”

Buck blows on the little bit of sauce at the tip of the spoon and tastes it. It’s unlike any kind of pasta sauce Bobby has ever taught him to make and it’s so good. He lets out a small, satisfied groan and it makes Tommy laugh.

”I take it it’s good.”

”It’s so good,” Buck tells him.

-

The need to kiss Tommy grows over dinner. It has been far too long since he has felt those lips against his and ever since that first date, he has wanted to do nothing but kiss him again. Tommy talks about his day off, and what he'd done around the house and Buck listens with, what he is sure looks like, actual hearts coming out of his eyes.

Tommy’s eyes sparkle as he smiles, ”What?”

”What?” Buck mumbles right back, breaking himself out of a trance.

”You keep looking at me,” he says. ”And I finished my story about a minute ago.”

”I can’t help it that I love the way you look,” Buck finds himself saying.

Blood rushes to his cheeks immediately but before he can take anything back (he doesn’t want to take anything back), Tommy chuckles and lowers his eyes at his mostly empty plate.

”You’re very sweet, Evan,” he says.

”So are… So are you,” Buck tells him.

He desperately wants to reach out to hold Tommy’s hand but before he has the chance to even suggest such a thing, Tommy places his palms against the table as he begins to stand up.

”Why don’t we clean up and take this over to the couch?” He suggests.

And whatever this is, Buck is more than in.

-

Tommy’s arm is resting on the back of the couch right behind Buck’s shoulders as he searches through what movie they should put on. He keeps asking for Buck’s opinion and he keeps replying with: Whatever you want.

”Is there something wrong, Evan?” Tommy asks when Love, Actually begins to play.

Buck blinks, ”W- What do you mean?”

”You’ve been a bit quiet,” Tommy says gently, and finally, finally, wraps his arm around Buck’s shoulders and pulls him closer. ”Which, I get. You said you had a rough shift, I just… Want to know if everything’s okay.”

Buck opens his mouth, then closes it again. Gets lost in Tommy’s eyes once more.

”And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Tommy continues. ”Just-”

”I really want to kiss you,” Buck blurts out.

Tommy blinks at him, ”Oh.”

”And I really, really want you to kiss me,” Buck says, unable to stop himself anymore. ”Why haven’t you?”

”Well, Evan,” Tommy says and takes hold of his hand. Buck feels himself melt. ”This is only our second date and on our first date, I told you that we’d go at your pace, so… I’ve kind of been sounding you out all evening and-”

”And it hasn’t seemed like I’ve wanted you to kiss me?” Buck asks but before Tommy can answer, he scoots just a little closer. ”Because I do. I don’t want you to worry whether I want this or not, because I do. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted something, someone, this badly. I want you to hold my hand and wrap your arm around me when you feel like it. I want you to kiss-”

The arm around his shoulders tightens a little bit and pulls him closer. And then, those soft lips are pressing against his, moving slowly and Buck could cry from relief.

When Tommy pulls away, he rests his forehead against his.

”Like that?” He asks.

Buck feels breathless, ”Yeah, that works.”

Tommy chuckles, ”Good to know.”

And then kisses him again.

-

The last rays of the sun, barely peeking over the horizon make Tommy’s living room look almost golden. Buck snuggles a little closer as the movie keeps playing and takes his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

Only when a sharp corner of the broken screen pokes him in a very unpleasant way, does he remember what happened earlier that day.

”You okay?” Tommy asks immediately.

His finger, thankfully, isn’t bleeding but Buck handles the phone with more care as he sets it down on the couch in front of him.

”Yeah, just this damn thing…” He mumbles.

”You really wrecked it, huh?”

”It fell on the ground and then I stepped on it,” Buck says. ”I doubt it’s worth fixing anymore. That’ll probably cost as much as getting a new phone.”

”Mmh,” Tommy says, rubbing his thumb against his collarbone. It makes Buck shiver. ”I did do a little shopping today, you know…”

Buck looks up at him, ”Yeah?”

”Yeah,” Tommy says with a small smile. ”I remembered which kind of phone you have, so I bought a new screen and a back glass for it. I’ve fixed quite a lot of phones, so I’ve got plenty of pieces I can use to fix yours. It might not work but I can try.”

”Wait,” Buck says as he sits up. ”You, the man who refuses to download any kind of social media app on his phone, knows how to fix a phone?”

"Well, those are two very different things, Evan," Tommy explains, his hand coming to rest on Buck's thigh. "I like to fix things, not watch… Five-second clips of someone… I don't know, reviewing hair products?"

”That’s not all that TikTok-” Buck shakes his head. They’ve had this conversation many times over the phone. ”Let’s not get into that again. Do you really think you can fix it?”

"I'm not going to cause any more damage to it," Tommy tells him.

”Alright,” Buck says with a nod. ”That’s kind of hot.”

Tommy throws his head back in laughter.

-

Buck hadn’t been joking. He’s sitting on a very uncomfortable stool right next to Tommy’s workbench in the garage and a man who knows what he’s doing… It’s making him feel some type of way.

The insides of his phone are scattered on the table, in Tommy’s words: in an order that makes sense to him, and Buck already got one slap on the back of his hand for having messed with this order, and that awakened something else within him that he just couldn’t even begin to deal with right now.

As he leans his cheek against his hand and watches Tommy work, a terribly soft feeling takes over him. It’s peaceful and hopeful of the future. He has imagined a future with his partners in the past but never after only a second date. But this feels so easy, so natural… Like it’s meant to be.

He thinks about Eddie’s words about the universe and how it doesn’t care about what he has to say. And he’s still not sure whether he believes in something more powerful than himself or any other human being on this earth, but if the universe does listen to him, at least every once in a while, he would like to thank it for the man in front of him.

"I'll start putting it back together now. It should be fixed," Tommy mumbles, takes the first piece, and places it back inside the phone.

”You’re amazing,” Buck finds himself whispering.

A soft but surprised smile spreads on Tommy's face and God, Buck wants to kiss him. He will before he has to leave.

”Thank you, baby,” he says and places a hand on Buck’s thigh for just a fast moment before getting back to work. ”You’re quite amazing too.”

”Do you really think it’ll work?” Buck says, glancing at the phone.

”Mmh, I hope so,” Tommy tells him. ”I’ll just put the new screen on and it’ll be as good as new.”

Buck glances at the watch on Tommy’s wrist. It’s nearing midnight.

”There we go,” Tommy says after another ten minutes or so as he has reassembled the phone. ”Now the screen.”

Buck watches him work again. Despite his big hands and thick fingers, he works smoothly, like he has done this many times before. Maybe he has.

When the screen is in place, Tommy takes the phone and rubs it against a rag he finds on his workbench, cleaning up the screen from any possible smudge or piece of dust. Then, he holds the phone out to Buck with a proud smile.

”There we go, Evs,” he says. ”It’s the moment of truth.”

Buck takes the phone in his hand, careful not to drop it again, and presses the button on its side to turn it on.

And it does turn on and the whole screen works. There are no cracks.

”This is insane,” he says, looking up at Tommy. ”Where’d you learn to do all this?”

”I’ve been fixing things my whole life, kid,” he says, and Buck has to swallow at the nickname to calm himself down. ”I like to learn stuff like this in my free time. Comes in handy every once in a while. Especially when a cute guy needs his phone fixed.”

Buck places the phone back on the workbench and leans a little closer, ”And how many cute guys’ phones have you fixed?”

Tommy pretends to think about it for a moment before lowering his voice and leaning closer to him, ”Well… Only this one, really damn cute guy.”

”Mmh,” Buck hums with a smile. ”Must be a lucky guy.”

He is the one to press their lips together and when Tommy’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, heavy and warm, Buck moans into the kiss. Thankfully, this doesn’t seem to scare Tommy off and instead, he only deepens the kiss.

Buck stands up, awkwardly leaning down to keep their lips locked and Tommy’s hands slip to his hips. His ass is pressed against the workbench in a very uncomfortable way but he doesn’t care. He runs his hands through Tommy’s hair, messing it up, and allows them to travel down to his arms.

Those muscular, strong arms.

He has to pull away. Tommy looks a little dazed. Buck feels the same way.

”You okay?” Tommy asks, a little out of breath.

”Mmh,” Buck says, still stroking his arms and enjoying the feeling of muscle beneath his palms. ”But it’s midnight.”

”And?”

"And I can't stay the night," Buck says. Before Tommy gets the chance to say something, he continues, "It's not that I don't want to. God, I want to and there's something really hot about you having this workbench, and… God, that's the issue. If I stay the night, I know what'll end up happening."

”On the workbench?” Tommy asks, the tiniest of smirks on his lips.

"Maybe," his answer comes out as a punched-out breath of air.

”Sorry,” Tommy says with a chuckle and strokes his thumb along the tiny sliver of bare skin between the hem of Buck’s shirt and the waistband of his pants. ”I guess… I also know what would happen if you stayed the night and… Just like I said before, we can go at your pace, Evan.”

”I want to,” Buck promises him, ”I really do. But I’ve got a shift tomorrow and maybe… We can go on a third date and then think about it. I don’t want to rush this, Tommy.”

”Me neither,” Tommy agrees.

”Because I think…” Buck starts carefully. ”I think this could be something special.”

He gulps, feeling a little nervous. He watches Tommy’s face, waiting for a reply or some kind of look that will tell him that he has crossed a line and that it’s way too soon to say things like that to one another.

But instead, Tommy smiles again, ”I think so too, Evan.”

”God, I’m glad that I was late for work that day,” Buck says with a relieved laugh. ”Or, well, that I didn’t care that I was late and wanted my coffee.”

”And thank God that my friend made me think I could get a Pride rainbow cup from Starbucks,” Tommy says. ”Somehow, I managed to get a boyfriend instead.”

”B- Boyfriend?” Buck stutters.

”Oh shit,” Tommy mumbles. ”I’m sorry, it’s way too soon, I mean, we’ve only known each other for… God, I don’t even-”

”Tommy,” Buck stops him and rests his hands on his shoulders. ”It’s okay.”

The look in Tommy’s eyes brighten, ”Yeah?”

”Yeah,” Buck says with a nod. ”I mean, I know that we haven’t known each other for that long and I still have to come out to my parents but… I’d like to be your boyfriend. I mean, we’re dating, so…”

”Yeah,” Tommy agrees. ”Yeah, okay.”

”So… I’ll see you next weekend,” Buck says and adds, ”Boyfriend.”

Tommy grins, stroking Buck’s hips once more before getting up, ”250 pounds.”

”Hm?” Buck shoots him a confused look.

”The workbench can hold 250 pounds,” Tommy says, eyes flickering to Buck’s lips.

”Oh,” Buck says and breathes out, ”Y- Yeah, I can- We can make that work.”

”Mmh,” Tommy hums and then chuckles.

”You can’t just say shit like that when you know I can’t stay the night, Tommy” Buck whines.

Tommy holds his hands up, ”Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

Buck shakes his head at him, laughing as well. He presses a kiss on his cheek, ”Walk me out?”

Tommy nods and takes his hand in his, ”Of course.”

[measuredingold]

seneca

author’s note: hello hello ! trying something new and wanted to make something a little bit more … angsty ? 🫣 as always i hope you all enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. loosely inspired by seneca by movements.

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x reader

cross posted on ao3

word count: 2.7k

cw/tw: angst, hurt/…possible comfort?, past relationship, open ending, 18+ mdni

When he sees you, Nicholas thinks his world comes to a full stop.

It's been three years since he's last seen you, three years since the last time he's spoken to you. It was weird seeing you here at this coffee shop that the two of you used to frequent so often together, knowing you weren't meeting him there. You look good, you always have, but you seem to be glowing now. Skin full of life and the happiest smile on your face when you're conversing with the barista behind the counter and -

Oh. His eyes move down to your hand and that's when he sees it. The diamond that sits prettily on your left ring finger, the sun catching it just perfectly as the light hits off of it. He feels sick again, stomach twisting.

You looked so fucking happy. He's not sure you'd say the same if you ever looked at him.

It's bittersweet, he thinks. On one hand he's happy for you and loves the way that ring adores your hand. He always knew you'd look good with a diamond. Another part of him is sad - heartbroken - knowing that it wasn't him who gave it to you. He could have, though, because all his life plans had always included giving you his last name.

Nicholas doesn't remember why he never did it when he had the chance. It couldn't have been the fear of rejection. You loved him just as much as he loved you, it was obvious. You even outright told him whenever he did it, your answer would always be yes because it was always going to be him.

What stopped him?

Was it the fear of this being permanent? Was it the fear of never being enough for you? He doesn't know, but what he does know is that he lost his chance three years ago, and there was no way of him ever getting it back.

He brings his long forgotten coffee to his lips, face twisting at the lukewarm taste. He'd spent so long watching you that it cooled down too much for his liking. It's fine, his own fault. He'll still drink it. He watches you brush some hair out of your face, tuck a loose strand behind your ear before observing the area around you, and he feels his heart nearly drop out of his ass.

Nicholas hopes you don't spot him but he knows you will. He used to know you like the back of his goddamn hand, so he knows what you're doing. You're scoping the place out, finding somewhere to sit, and he knows he's in your spot. It was his spot at one point in time.

Tucked away into the corner of the shop, a wooden bookshelf next to the table, a big window overlooking downtown. It was perfect, far enough from the hustle and bustle of customers coming and going. You and Nicholas used to sit here for hours, him sketching out a new tattoo for a client and you catching up on a few chapters of the newest book you were reading.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

His world comes to a stop for a second time that day when your eyes land on the table in the corner, finding him instantly. Your smile drops, eyes widening, and Nicholas is finally getting a good look at you for the first time in years and... holy shit. You haven't changed much. Your hair is much darker than the last time he saw you, back to your natural color, and you were still as beautiful as ever.

His stomach drops again.

Shit.

It's like he goes blind to the world around him, everything is muffled and there's a ringing in his ears that he just can't seem to make stop. He barely registers you thanking the barista and taking your drink with shaky hands and then making your way over to Nicholas' corner, a timid smile on your lips.

"...Nick?"

Your voice snaps him out of his trance. He blinks once, twice, and then a third time to make sure you were actually real before saying your name.

"I didn't know you were back home." You say casually and he watches the way your fingers grip around your cup, holding it to your chest as if you were trying to protect what’s underneath it.

He swallows. "Home for the summer. Break from touring."

You make an ah sound, giving him another timid smile as your head nods.

"That's right. Y'all are big-shots now, huh?" He can't help but blush at your words, shoulders going up in a shrug in response. You look like you're going to say something else, chewing on your bottom lip as you look around the shop before your eyes land on him again. "...Do you mind if I sit?"

Oh. That's. Well. "Yeah. That's fine."

He watches you carefully place your bag on the back of your chair before sitting down, placing your drink on the table. Your hands are still circled around the cup and he can't help it, really, but his eyes drop back down to the diamond on your finger again. You catch him this time, a sheepish grin on your lips as you untangle your hands and bring them down under the table into your lap.

"How've you been?"

Your question makes him tense, a sour feeling settling in the back of his throat. It's weird hearing you ask him that. At one point you were the only person in the world besides Noah who knew everything about him. You never once had to ask how he was, you just knew, because you could read him like a damn book.

He shrugs again, lips pressing together. He thinks he's been alright. The last few years have been a blur with the album and the touring, and while he wouldn't trade it for the world, it was a lot. He doesn't remember the last time he was able to sit down and think about how he was, let alone fucking breathe, so he's not really sure how to answer your question.

"Good." He manages to settle on that, voice clipped. "You?"

"Good."

This was more awkward than he ever expected. Truthfully, he figured if he'd ever see you again you'd be angry with him. He wouldn't blame you. The break-up was mutual, you both ending it on your own terms, but he knew it was his fault. Too busy for you, and all the empty promises he never seemed to remember to keep towards the end.

He doesn't know what changed in him because it wasn't his feelings. He'd never love someone like he had you.

Maybe it was the constant realization that he'd never be able to give you what you want. The touring was straining on your relationship, and his time was always spent between being in Virginia or California. It was like you were in a long distance relationship while living together. It shouldn't have been like that. He knew it then and he knew it now.

"How are the other three?"

This makes him smile, small but real, and his arms cross over his chest as he watches you bring your drink up to your lips. "Good. Noah's always going to be Noah, Jolly's trying to keep up, and Folio is..."

"Folio." You finish the sentence for him, and he can see your lips tugging into a grin. His smile grows.

"Yeah, Folio."

"I'm really glad to hear that." You sip your drink before continuing, "Tell them I said hi."

"Will do." He probably won't.

Another wave of silence washes over the two of you and it's still fucking awkward. Nicholas hates it. He's a quiet guy and for the most part you were quiet too, but the silence was always comfortable when you were together. He thinks it's because it's been three years, you're two different people now. He's not the same person he once was, and he knows you're not the same either.

He begins to wonder what type of person you are now and if your new selves would get along. He wants to ask you what's changed, ask about who you are now. He wants to learn you all over again, but the deep ache in his chests tells him he can't. He thinks back to the way the light reflected off your ring and that sour taste in the back of his throat lingers yet again.

He finds himself wanting to ask about him, ask if he's treating you well, and if he's giving you everything Nicholas couldn't.

He decides to keep his mouth shut.

"I bumped into your mom the other day at the store." You finally say, eyeing him from across the table. "She's really proud of you, you know."

"Oh." His mom didn't mention that when he got in the other day. Probably for the best. His cheeks flush at your words and his head dips down, hiding the bashful look on his face. "She's our biggest fan, I think."

"You've got a lot of those now, huh?"

Your eyes meet from across the table and he averts his gaze almost immediately, looking off to the side. "I guess."

Your words really seem to sink in because they do have a lot more support than they did the last time he saw you. It was before the album dropped, before everything changed. He wondered what you thought of it all, if you’re proud of them. Him.

"...I'm really proud of you, too." You finally say, answering his question.

Hearing those words come from your mouth has Nicholas' face heating up, still not being able to bring himself to look at you.

"You guys worked really hard for this. You deserve it all."

You'd been there from the beginning, in the early days when the norm was sleeping in a tiny van way too fucking small for some grown ass men. You always told him that one day everyone else will get Bad Omens, that they'll finally see the potential, and he used to think you were crazy. Now he's not sure if you manifested all this shit on your own.

"Thank you." He says with a smile, but it's strained, and finally manages to cast you another glance.

Both of your hands are on the table again, the ring on your finger long forgotten by you but he didn't forget. It's been on his mind since he saw it and the words were on the tip of his fucking tongue but he won't say anything. No, he'll wait until you bring it up. If you bring it up. His eyes drop from yours and down to your left hand.

"We don't have a date set."

He blinks back up at you.

"We... I didn't wanna rush it." He catches you looking down at the ring, admiring it with a smile, but it looks pained. "He wants to have a big wedding. Wants to go all out, invite like 500 people."

"Do you even know 500 people?" Nicholas finds himself saying and you laugh. He soon realizes just how much he's missed that sound.

"No. I think I barely know 100 people, let alone 500." Your laughter subsides and you catch Nicholas' eye again, smile faltering. "I keep telling him I want something small. Intimate. I don't like big things."

Nicholas knew that. He remembers how much you hated big crowds, your designated spot at shows typically being side stage or at the merch table with him or Steven.

"I told him I was willing to compromise, he can choose the venue but we gotta half that number..." You continue when Nicholas doesn't say anything, eyeing your ring again. "I haven't convinced him yet, but I will. Said we're not setting a date until we figure this out. We have time, though. There's no rush."

It almost sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than you were Nicholas and that has his stomach turning.

"How's your mom?"

He changes the subject because that sour taste is back, more prominent, and he realizes he doesn't want to talk about him. Would rather talk about anything else actually, especially when he noticed the second your smile fell and your eyes dimmed as you admired the ring on your finger. He won't think too much into it, he won't allow himself, but he thinks there’s more to that sad smile on your lips than you’re letting on.

The conversation after that slowly flows along. Nicholas was never good at small talk, and neither were you, but whenever you were around each other it seemed like the words would just easily come out. He always found it funny how he was just naturally introverted, quiet, kept to himself, but whenever he was around you or Noah he could never seem to get himself to shut up. He likes knowing that seems to haven't changed.

It was still awkward, sure, catching up with someone who's essentially a stranger when they used to not be, but towards the end he starts to feel lighter. Shoulders dropping, tension slipping from him when he finally gets you to laugh about the story of leaving Folio at the gas station, the sadness in your eyes slowly going away, and that sad smile on your lips growing into something happier. He feels pride well in his chest because he did that, even after all this time he was still able to make you smile, but that feeling dissolves at the first sound of your phone going off.

You stop abruptly mid-sentence, the both of you pausing to stare at the phone that's settled on the table. He sees his name flash across the screen, a picture of you two popping up, and that sour taste is back. He averts his gaze and clears his throat.

"Hey." Your voice shifts when you answer, much softer than it had been just moments. "Yeah, still here. Ran into an old friend." He glances at you. "Oh shit, yeah. Forgot that was today. No, no. It's fine, babe. I can leave now. Be there in 15? Alright. Got it." You pause on your next words, eyeing Nicholas across from you before your gaze moves to the side. "Yeah. Love you, too."

You're quiet after the phone call ends and Nicholas doesn't bother looking up from the table. He feels ridiculous for the way his chest aches, knowing his time with you has been cut and he doesn't know when he'll get to see you again. It's selfish, he fucking knows it is. He doesn't have a right to feel this way anymore. It's not like you're his. You haven't been for a long time.

"That was..." Your words trail off and he finally looks up for a moment, seeing the sad smile on your lips. "I should probably head out."

He nods, giving you a tight-lipped grin in return before his eyes cast down again. He misses the way your lips drop into a frown.

"Probably."

He doesn't look up when you rise from your seat, just stares at the now cold cup of coffee on the table he’s forgotten about again. He jumps when he feels something heavy on his shoulder, head tilting up to find you staring down at him, your hand gripping his shoulder. His eyes drop to your hand again, the diamond ring glaring back at him, before his eyes rise to meet yours.

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "It was really nice to see you again, Nick."

"Oh." He swallows. "It was nice seeing you, too."

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Something flashes in your eyes, something he’s seen before but can’t quite place it, and you squeeze his shoulder again. “And… maybe we could get dinner? Catch up? If you’re okay with that.”

Dinner.

Such a simple request yet it has Nicholas sitting up straighter, excitement filling his veins at the possibility of seeing you again. Your hand still feels heavy on his shoulder and that look in your eyes he still can't place seems to be pleading with him, and before he knows it he finds himself nodding.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Number is still the same, just uh. Reach out."

"Great." You smile again and this time it does reach your eyes. Nicholas finds himself smiling right back. "I'll see you around."

"See you." He mumbles and his eyes watch you as you leave, the ache in his chest ceasing to exist for just a moment.

[lilacmingi]

MY MUSE

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Word count: 840

Pairing: Hyunjin x fem reader (all my imagines are fem reader but there are no gendered terms in this one)

Note: I enjoy drawing and painting, so this might be a bit of a self-indulgent drabble haha

★ ────────────────── ★

Art supplies sat neatly on the table in front of you, each one ready to use. Pencils, sharpeners, erasers, and blending tools were laid out before you. Anything you could possibly need was within reach and at your disposal.

Hyunjin's sketchbook sat across from yours lying open on a blank page, his supplies lined up tidily beside the book. Your setup looked very similar; your pencil case was positioned beside your sketchbook, your own sharpener right beside it, as well as your eraser.

Hyunjin had some time off and so the two of you had planned to have a night of drawing together.

You watched as he grabbed his plastic headband and put it on, pulling his lengthy onyx hair away from his face, displaying his perfect features. He then grabbed his phone, humming to himself as he scrolled through his music library perusing the different genres and selecting a song to play before taking a seat across from you.

He gave you a gentle smile. "You ready to get started?"

"I am." You nodded.

You opened your sketchbook to an empty page, unzipping your pencil case and pulling one of them out. Unsure of what to draw, you sat idly for a few seconds, twiddling your pencil while waiting for inspiration to strike. That's when your eyes landed on the man sitting before you, already hard at work sketching across his page.

Your muse.

The tip of your freshly-sharpened pencil hit the page and you got to work, sketching out shapes and rough outlines, glancing up at Hyunjin every few seconds to make sure your draft matched the model.

The ball of your socked foot tapped against the carpet, matching the rhythm of the relaxing indie song that played from Hyunjin's Bluetooth speaker as you allowed yourself to get immersed in your work. All of your focus was zeroed in on the masterpiece in progress. The sketch was coming along well, though there was a couple times you had to keep erasing the lips and redrawing them because your sketch just wasn't doing justice to the real thing.

You loved this. Sitting peacefully while drawing with your loving boyfriend and listening to music was something you've been wanting to do with Hyunjin for a while. Even though there were no words being exchanged and you were both sitting in silence while concentrating on your own artworks, it was still absolutely perfect. One of the many things you loved about Hyunjin was being able to be in his presence and not having to say a word. Wether that be drawing, cuddling, or watching a movie. Just having him there was enough.

Your sketching ceased for a few seconds as you swapped out your pencil for one with darker lead so you could begin shading and darkening the lines of your drawing.

No more than thirty seconds later you were back to work, dragging the sharpened edge of the lead along the faded lines you'd roughly sketched out earlier.

"Relax, love." Hyunjin chuckled, pressing his thumb between your brows to smooth out the creases.

Your face relaxed under his touch as you let out a soft chuckle. "Sorry."

"You're really focused, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"That's cute." He murmured, his eyes lowering to your sketchbook which you were quick to cover with your hands.

"No peeking."

"Alright, alright." He chortled, picking up his pencil once again and proceeding with his sketch.

The supplies which had once been laid out neatly were now scattered across the table, each one being dropped without a care as to where it landed. Neither of you had time to gently place down each item once you were finished with it, you were far too focused on your sketches. An unknown amount of time had passed since you first sat down, both you and Hyunjin getting lost in your craft. You were so engrossed you didn't get a chance to see what he was drawing.

"Alright." You huffed out, pushing your hair away from your face. "I'm finished."

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment as he quick scribbled his signature at the corner of the page.

"Me too." He announced.

You held your masterpiece to your chest, not wanting him to see just yet.

"Are you ready?" You asked.

He nodded and you flipped the page around.

Hyunjin's brows raised as he took the paper from you so he could look at it closer.

"You drew me." He stated in awe.

"Of course I did. You're my muse."

He chuckled softly, handing you his drawing.

To your surprise, an image of you sitting and drawing was portrayed in shades of gray pencil lead.

The both of you were drawing each other without even knowing.

"You're my muse too." He mentioned.

Your eyes gazed over the sketch in awe, admiring his seamless shading and the way he captured your features so well. He truly was blessed with a talent for art.

"You made me look so beautiful." You murmured softly under your breath.

"Because you are beautiful, darling."

★ ────────────────── ★

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

★ ────────────────── ★

[000marie198]

Over the years, Nine had gotten used to the ambience of his underground lab. A calm silence on the best of days, ringing one on the worst but it was his nonetheless. His lab, his safe haven away from the tyrant ruled city above. Away from the monsters who'd brought him nothing but pain and misery.

Underground, it was safe.

The labyrinth of tunnels he knew like the back of his hand, skulking through them as sneakily as a spider in its own web. No citizens knew but the underground system was Nine's territory.

Still, an additional reassurance of security wouldn't hurt. Hence, the password-protected metal door so nobody can catch him off guard in his own home in case they ever stumbled across the lab. He had chosen the perfect spot for his lab, far away from any maintenance tunnels or security rooms, out of sight of any cameras and sentries, away from the patrol routes of the Resistance spies.

The calm isolation helped him work. He had gotten used to the mixture of silence and noise. The humming of lights and machinery, buzz of electricity running through concrete and metal walls, the rumbling vibrations of the train as it passed outside every half hour. It was routine, it was a semblance of a home.

His life was far from great, he didn't even know what a good life is supposed to be except for being left to his devices without getting beaten up. It was a far cry from the years of his childhood - he sometimes forgot he was a child still - when he would be jumped by one or another bully just for having an abnormality. The seven metal appendages he built to fight back covered his abnormality in an illusion of a single tail. Rarely ever he got disturbed about it afterwards, managing to blend in with the crowd whenever he had to venture out and then back in, ignored without a second thought. He preferred it over being the center of some horrid attention.

He preferred his hidden away lab in the bowels of the city over being someone's neighbor in the skyscrapers above. It was too dull and depressing, too noisy. He couldn't work in that environment, with the monotone buzz of sentries and Egg Forcers, the smog that made the air thick and hard to breathe in, the boom of speakers on those darn balloons saying "You're Welcome". Nine would scoff. Welcome, yeah right.

No way he would ever live up there. He wouldn't even be given enough peace to sketch a blueprint, let alone build something. He liked the combination of silence and routinely noise in his isolated lab thank you very much. The muffled screech of the vehicle arriving followed by the deep rumble in the walls before silence fell once more, back to the hum and buzz of his treasured creations and dim fluorescents.

No matter how repetitive, Nine liked the ambience of that place. It helped him think, kept him calm, helped him create to his heart's content. He would sometimes get so lost in his work that day and night blended into one -not that it made much of a difference either way - and he would lose track of the hours.

It was one of those days when someone swivelled him to face towards the person and away from his work desk. That moment, all of Nine's fears and fight or flight instincts had kicked into overdrive.

His home was discovered.

He tried to fight back, scare him away, the persistent and annoying intruder.

Nine believed himself a spider facing a fly that wandered into his web. He didn't expect to get stuck on one of his own threads.

Terror ran through him as the train almost crushed him, and then he was saved.

By the same stranger who had managed to find his place, managed to unlock his door without a single alarm going off in case someone entered an incorrect password.

That day, Nine learned about joy and companionship, felt safe around someone for the first time in his life, learned that there's a lot more to a good life than he could've ever known.

That day, Nine's life had taken a sudden unexpected swerve into the unknown.

The unknown led him to a place even better than the one he had lived in the past handful of years. Silent, isolated, empty, just what his heart had wished. A dream home he never knew he wanted.

The Grim.

What started out with hope and happiness, shoved him through pain and determination and betrayal and anger and heartache. His beacon of hope, his reason to feel joy for the first time in his life felt tainted. It hurt him and yet he couldn't bring himself to rebuild the walls that were taken down, couldn't bring himself to destroy the half-built bridge no matter how much his heart urged him to.

He has seen on the other side, a part of him didn't want to lose the pathway to the other side.

What he didn't look at was the flames of his rage burning all the other places hidden beyond the rest of his walls. His urge to snatch what he needed to fix his broken home and bring colors to it would destroy what lay beyond the bridge. The reason behind his hope and joy and anger and pain.

He would have to destroy that reason to bring back what everyone lost.

And then, Sonic was gone.

And Nine was alone, as was promised to him.

It was what he wanted, wasn't it? What he always wished for. His lab was here, brighter than it was back then, with a much cooler change in aesthetic. A touch of color, a touch of openness, a mark of Sonic still left in the existence of palm trees and a hammock.

He would've loved it if he were here.

The ambience of his lab in the Grim was different than New Yoke. There was the silence he had wanted, the isolation.

But he couldn't bring himself to build things anymore. The silence was too deafening, the echoes of his tool too loud. The lights didn't hum, the buzz of machinery carrying too many painful flashbacks.

He couldn't stop hearing the screams in his memory every time he heard the buzz. Grim was somehow more silent and still louder than New Yoke.

It felt less and less like something that should've been a home and more like a prison.

Why did it feel so much worse even though the situation was much better than New Yoke could ever hope to be, where he had to be constantly alert of everything around him anytime he headed out? Where the air was thick and unbreathable any time he headed outside his lab?

This place had colors but was too lifeless, calm and peaceful but dripping in sorrow.

Was it because his conception of a good life had changed? New Yoke's lab used to feel like an ideal home but that was then. Now thinking back on it, it was so much worse than what he had known.

Sound simulations did nothing to bring him back in the mood. He couldn't create anymore.

He liked the ambience here so much more but...

It was empty. Grim... Heh

The darkness of sleep consumed him and he welcomed it over his pained thoughts.

When he came to, he felt weak, too tired to move. His mind was empty and he felt whole and safe. Home... Nine felt he was seeing things, that he was in a dream when he saw the ones he thought he'd never see again.

Murmured conversations he felt too delirious too remember the words of but knew he had had. He no longer heard the eery silence, nor the loud buzz, just soothing murmur of familiar voices, familiar presence.

That moment, Nine hadn't realized his life would be taking another turn.

That day, Nine finally cried. And things spiraled and turned around for the better. Grim no longer held him contained, he was being taken to his real home, the one he never knew he deserved, the one he never realized he had needed.

Time passed, before he found himself in a lab, same bunk bed and desk and computer screen that he always had but not shrouded in shades of grey nor violet.

The machinery hummed and beeped, the air wasn't thick nor still and gently swooshed around like playful wisps. The light was a combination of white fluorescent and yellow gold, the natural rays holding warmth that tickled his fur. A soothing combination of peaceful silence and gentle noise, distant chirp of flickies, taps and pitter-patter of footsteps sounding through the walls, familiar voices muffled and clear; an ambience he could get used to.

Nine's fingers twitched towards the desk and after so long, he finally built