#Do you like this new brush I found? I think it's pretty nice for sketching | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rusmii · 3 months

Text

⌞ઇଓ⌝ ─── 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓮 .ᐟ

when an artist from russia is hired to paint the portrait of the first daughter of [Surname], how will their relationship pan out as they start to get to know each other?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. painter!fyodor x fem!reader, fluff, reader is a rich girl, fyodor is a foreigner, founding father language, fyodor character exploration, renaissance au.. I think

𝐩𝐬. haihai special early valentines gift for @aureatchi <3 luv ya revrev. NOT edited/proofread. was supposed to be longer, but I got tired and cut it💔

wc: 1.4k

“From where?” A question sprung from her chest.

“From Rus’, my lady,” the butler of [Surname] answers for him. Though her outward expression told him enough, Fyodor took this initiative to smile in respect.

“Yes, sir is correct — I am indeed from Rus’. Nice to meet the fair lady of [Surname].”

In quick addition, Fyodor bows slightly as he takes your hand into his. The gentle kiss placed on top of your white laced gloves still didn't seem to sway your opinion on him, however. How unfortunate.

After acknowledging his confirmation, Fyodor is swept away by the butler as you were with the maidens of the mansion.

Outside of the mansion was absolutely breathtaking. Circling around the fountain and to the main entrance of the tea house, Fyodor admires the new freshness of warm spring flowers.

Akin to that of his homeland, the flowers here in your country serve to be much more beautiful — as beautifully breathtaking as you are.

No third party opinion can convince him otherwise, that's for sure.

But for now, Fyodor must focus on his main job at hand; to draw a portrait of you.

It wasn't a hard job, per say. No, it was very much easy if he said so himself. But what really composed the challenge was the subject of fine details.

When an artist paints, you can easily follow along the very first few blobs of wet paint — the muse being satisfied from just a few pecks of fine strokes and a little bit of color here and there to liven up the look.

But those large specks of blobs soon turn into smaller little blotches of paint that are scattered everywhere on the canvas the higher the muse is willing to pay.

A very fine example of that would be you. A very demanding lady who expects the finest of quality works to be subjected to you when you're the main attraction.

While some had something to say about your ridiculous demands, Fyodor liked to say the opposite.

Because in his eyes, what other artists lacked was the fundamentals of the person doing the art.

It wasn't just confident brush strokes or the signature style of a person's canvas.

No, it was patience.

What others lacked was what he had acquired since birth.

And to him, that was exactly why many artists weren't able to meet your expectations. Why you were so disappointed when you first saw the finished product of your portrait.

Every single pretty piece of you just wasn't you. It was of another girl sitting in your place with the more descriptive details of your face.

In short, he thinks every self-proclaimed artist in your kingdom should rot for even daring to pick up the brush.

Ugly, so ugly that it had become ridiculous. Every pass by on the street, did Fyodor run into these cheap street artists that did nothing but sketch the outline of your body and called it a day.

Every corner turned was a portrait shop in the periphery of his vision. Even then, the finished product looked absolutely hideous.

He now saw why he was desperately called upon from your maidens despite his absent leave.

If he was judgested from the displays of art this kingdom had to offer, then he could guess how horrible you were feeling when you found out that the arts were just disrespected inside the premise of this land.

“We've arrived. Please do try not to fight with each other.” Announcing the arrival of his company, Fyodor bows, and thanks the butler for escorting him. “Thank you for going out of your way to escort me here, sir.”

A smile made its way on the butler's face. ‘Seems as if he's not used to these praisments,’ Fyodor thinks before waving the butler off from sight.

Now that he was alone, he set his eyes on the double wooden door. Its gorgeous carved craft made him question why the artists just weren't up to par as other vapa professions in the area.

“Lovely for you to join me today, Dostoevsky,” the clink of your teacup very well matched your outfit. Seemed as if you were the stylish type.

Not that he minded. In fact, he very much appreciated you being the second most beautifully fitted piece he's laid his eyes on since stepping foot into this kingdom.

“Not at all, my lady,” Fyodor sips his tea, the plaid smile resting comfortably on his face. “Hm.. If I had known how polite you'd be, I'd very much have approached you with a far pleasant attitude.” Ah. Apology accepted, Miss [Surname].

“No, no. I do not condemn you for your misuse of tone towards me. I, too, would have been irritated had I known that the artists of the kingdom I was residing in were.. erm..” How should he put it without offending your nationalism pride?

“Horrid?” You finished the word for him. “Yes, horrid,” his smile grows as a response to you. A mutual smile following the lines of your face as well. Fyodor sets his cup aside, walking over to the art set, sitting next to the beautifully lined vines.

He inspects the canvas and quality paints rowed out into columns. “Do you guys usually have sets out sitting like this?” He asks.

“Just for the occasion.”

“Ah.”

For a few more seconds, Fyodor takes his time to admire the smooth wooden palette. Its edges looked as if it fit a comfortable vice and didn't retain any splinters.

He notices your eyes on him. Indirectly, the light of the teahouse mirrors his reflection.

Turning his attention back to you, Fyodor decides to muse you on your questions. “Care to chat about your questions, my lady?”

His perception almost caught you off guard. Almost.

Coughing up the air from your throat, you sit upright to fix your posture and re-cross your legs to sit in a mannered form while Fyodor sits timely across from you.

“Well, to start off…” Pausing to take a sip of your tea for dramatic effects, Fyodor waits patiently for your first question. “Why did you accept the offer to paint my portrait when you were on absence?”

Without skipping a beat, Fyodor responds with a quick that's a bit personal.

Which led to you choking up on your strings and having him lead the conversation.

Fyodor stirs his spoon inside the teacup. The sugar cube melting away from the light waved of bitterness.

The silence that was started by him now was broken by him. “How did you arrive at the teahouse so early, before me?” A simple question, but still something nonetheless.

“I had taken the short route whilst as I had him give you the scenic view the kingdom could not offer you." A somewhat apology from you on the behalf of the people. An empathic gesture that was not needed from you.

“I see…” Fyodor let out a short witted answer. His interest in this conversation dwindled as fast as the kingdom's normal artisan.

His faded expressions sent bells to your head. The commoners bore all too familiar with you.

Trying to find another topic that'll get him to stay, Fyodor abruptly stands up from his seat and stalks over to the set.

His never ending fixation.

“Get up and sit here. Bring your chair too,” he suddenly orders you — his demeanor all too serious from who you were just talking to a second ago.

“Agh. Blasphemous,” he hears you mutter your breath, but chose not to confront you on anything as you were complying with his demands.

“Sit, sit.” He ushers you into a spot under the direct sunlight where it shines the brightest.

You cross your arms, “Don't tell me what to do in my own teahouse.”

Ignoring your words, he grabs a hold of the paint brush lying in the tray. “Chin up, head straight. Posture fixed and don't move.”

Distraught with complaints, your expression sours as you zip your lips to refrain from spouting any irrationally nonsense.

“Loosen up your face,” he says, dipping the brush into the water as he picks up a nearby pencil to measure your outline.

You huff, “Why?”

His soft smile still adorned his face, “To capture your beauty in my memory.”

Memory? Dostoevsky wants to remember your beauty forever?

While thoughts skyrocket out of your head, Fyodor takes this opportunity to start sketching your aloof expression.

The graphite from his pencil marks every curve, dent, mark, and bump of your face to a t. Every color that his brush paints over color matches you perfectly.

Even if he couldn't deny your beauty, you were still a snot nosed brat who longed for praise and compliments at the end of the day.

Still, despite your huffing and puffing — he found you the prettiest when he could stare at your relaxed face.

hi first fyodor fluff fic🫣

taglist (comment on this post to be tagged in future works!): @luvan1 @bfdazai @asqmi @squigglewigglewoo @liviash @doonifox @ishqani @xxcandlelightxx

belongs to @rusmii 2024, don't steal >:((

#[ৎ୭ 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠]#hi hello #im vv tired #and sleepy #and tired #fyodor x reader #fyodor dodostoevsky x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor x y/n #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungou stray dogs x you #bungou stray dogs x y/n

124 notes · View notes

olgiisworld · 8 months

Text

My Best Friend // Choi Beomgyu

summary; you're in love with your best friend, Choi Beomgyu, but you can't confess. You spend a nice evening with him skating, and as always, he makes your heart flutter.

Y/n x Beomgyu of Txt, genre: fluff, pure fluff

Word Count; 882.

Warnings; none

note; I hope you enjoy it :). This is an old draft. It's my first time posting on Tumblr, and English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if you spot any mistakes <3

..... .... .... .... .... ..... ..... ..... ..... .....

And the weather was soft, just like him.

His features were like a paint of a brush.. soft yet strongly noticeable. The details of his eyes captured my attention like a trap...

Wish I could take that smile off of my head but I've been thinking about it so much that my stomach automatically spins.

Sitting across the skating court, skateboarders flying around me while I lock my eyes with the sunset, drawing so very delicately the beautiful layers of the shades of it, feeling free of the things I have to do.

My best friend's skating right in front of me, dancing across the detailed scenery behind him. It made everything better. Prettier.

He was pretty.

I sneaked a glance every now and then, assured that he wouldn't see me staring at him, when he focused on his every action just to end up falling down.

But he always tried and it made me smile. I unintentionally smiled while staring, readjusting my position when his hand landed next to mine, his heavy breaths catching my attention.

"Can you give me a hair tie of yours?"

His skin is so light blended with the colors of the sunset, catching my stare 'til it moves to his eyes.

"You should buy your own, you've literally taken every hair tie I own."

He grabs my wrist and fights off my playful punches, managing to take one of my hair ties and tie his long hair into a low ponytail, taking some of it off his neck, feeling the sweet breeze brushing through his skin, smiling lightly at the sensation.

I felt myself blushing while staring at him, and I turned my attention back at my sketching.

"What's you making?"

I grabbed a few colors and proceeded to finish the small drawing before the sun sets completely. I felt his head leaning up on my shoulder, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I turned to look at him, realizing we're too close to each other, nonetheless, he did not flinch a bit.

I stayed looking into his eyes, and he did the exact same thing, unfazed. After a few seconds, he broke a smile and moved back a bit before he laughed it off, grabbing the bottle of his water, opening it while looking in front of him, all those skater girls.

My eyes fell ill in my drawing.

Does he find them beautiful? Am I boring?

Why am I not skating? Why am I sitting here, drawing this stupid picture?

He noticed the sadness in my posture, my back lowering a bit, and he immediately grabbed his camera, capturing the moment in front of him, the beautiful blend of the sunset's shades.

He loves taking pictures. He loves it so much that it's honestly the first thing I think when he comes to my mind. He's always walking around with that camera. It holds so many precious memories of him.

When I looked at him, he wrapped his arm around my neck, pulling me so close, our cheeks touching, when he turned the camera our way.

"What are you doing?!"

"Say cheese!"

The face he made, made me laugh and then, click, a new memory has been saved.

He turned to look at the picture, searching it through the box of his memories, so passionately that it made me smile.

He had so many photos of me, smiling, dancing, eating, crying, laughing. I always hated people taking pictures of me, but I never minded when he did it, 'cause in that case I found it heartwarming that I was in his memories.

He turned to show me the picture and it was so beautiful, I wanted to have it myself, something to stare at every night. Instead, I kept silent and let him have the memory we shared.

He turned it back to himself.

"You look so pretty. Have you noticed that when you smile, your eyes disappear?"

I felt my heart skipping a beat.

"What?"

"Yeah, it's like, you're so happy but you can't see. Look, here."

He moved closer to me, his one hand leaning back to support his body, landing upon mine and his other hand holding the camera full of my pictures, smiling.

I felt myself blushing so hard that he must have noticed.

I brought my hand up to fix my hair, feeling the awkwardness of my blushing spreading through the air.

Him, on the other hand, seemed clueless.

"Do you want to grab a bite?"

I felt the redness fade away when I heard his voice, so I turned back to look at him.

"Sure, I'm starving."

I stood up, grabbing my stuff and wearing my backpack, ready to leave while he was grabbing the skateboard and the camera, holding one of them under his arm and the other around his neck.

"Where are we going?" I asked, kinda confused.

"You'll see, I got something like a 'small date' planned out"

I felt the walls of my heart shattering down when he said 'small date' and I stopped to look at him.

"A what?"

"Be patient love."

He then grabbed my hand, held it tight, and led me to a small adventure, a small date.

That's when I thought..

I have the biggest crush on this man.

30 notes · View notes

turtlebros4u · 1 year

Text

❤️🐢💙🐢💜🐢🧡🐢

A collection of my most recent full drawings of the boys. These have their own accompanying fics here:

Raphael

Michaelangelo

Leonardo

Donatello

Art rant below.

Alright so art rant here. I've been pretty out of practice of digital art for a while and this whole fandom has deeply inspired me. I'm really appreciative.

Raph: This was my first one and I was not used to the brushes and some of the layer capabilities of my program but overall I like it. The pose is nice and I originally had a sketch of a blank OC template in his lap to customize if ever I wanted. The background ain't halfbad but I think Donnie's is my fav.

Mikey: Probably my favorite for color balance and lighting. The angle was very fun also. Also those ripped jeans were fun. Very little to complain about except that I wish I found the speckle brush for this one. Overall my favorite of the four.

Leo: Super lazy on the background, but the angle was fun to try and emphasize his muscles and waist. Absolutely vivid I love the colors. I'm awful at finishing flat colors before shading and keep mxing up the layers for them but you can't tell from the pic. Need to learn how to color reflective material better, the sword is very mediocre I know I can do better if I learn.

Donnie: Absolutely my favorite background even though it's simple. I may have set the foreground a bit too dark to see his features clearly but it's fine for now. I cannot refrain myself from drawing suspicious bulges in Donnie's pants even in otherwise SFW stuff.

All of them: I need to remember to color their nails properly lol otherwise extremely happy about these. Great warm up drawings to put oil in my gears. I have better understanding of colors and brushes.

Having them all done now has unblocked my mental obsession and now I can start drawing unrestrained smut more art for these wonderful men 😈

❤️🐢💙🐢💜🐢🧡🐢

Happy New Year to all!

#tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt #bayverse raph #my tmnt art #bayverse mikey #bayverse raphael #bayverse leo #bayverse michelangelo #my tmnt art rant #bayverse leonardo #bayverse donnie #bayverse Michaelangelo #bayverse donatello

125 notes · View notes

lokorum · 1 year

Note

Hi! I really love your art. There's a certain haunting beauty about it. I was wondering how you got started in art and maybe what inspired you. I can't stress enough the hauntingly beautiful aspect of your art. Some pieces terrify me but they're really just so beautiful to look at 😅

hey!!! ahhhh thank you so much for your kind words, anon!! its a relief to know that im not the only one who finds my silly draiwings scary phphp

i've started to draw just like most of the folk i think?? by filling my university notebooks with super funny-looking and super anatomically incorrect sketches of my beloved oc phph i tried to work with oil but zero waste movement quickly got me and since then im drawing digital stuff only.

missing the feeling of paint on your hands face clothes and sometimes eyes tbh but also wow oil is expensive!! Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

phphpt my memory is bad. like bad bad. i remember having that burning feeling when i looked at something beautiful and i wanted to like...eat it? make it myself and no one elses? not very practical reply phphp sorry! i also really loved to watch film that i've already mentioned before - macbeth (2015) - its a treat for your eyes and ears trust me!! trailer still giving me a goosebombs!

zdzislaw beksinski live in my head rent free since i was a pre-teen and im 1000% sure i'll die thinking about one of his paintings somewhere at the back of my mind. just look at this! man knew how to use a brush like no one else (´ ˘ `).｡oO ( ♡ )

sigur rós music and video clips are definetelly changed a lot in me. watching ekki múkk and all alright made me choke from tears and be speechless for days!

later in life i accidentaly went on the concert where at night - jambinai was part of the perfomance and their music hypnotized me just like all the moths around were hypnotized by the stage lights. i dont even remember what i was doing! just standing there absolutely still, looking at them playing phphp i probably looked like a creppy stalker (◞ꈍ∇ꈍ)◞⋆**✚⃞

but they make incredibly beautiful and sad music, and their connection song, if i get the meaning of it right, about people with disabilities and it always was important theme for me ♡

from lately discovered sources of inspiration can reccomend little games i found on itch!

2:22 AM, how we know we're alive and NORTH!

they're all pretty short from 20 minutes to 2 hours, but use every minute of their time!

ahhh hope it wasnt too much of an info dump and maybe someone find a familiar name here or discover something new for themselves! thank you again anon for your super cute and nice ask!! and thanks everyone to reading all this mess! have an awesome day!! |´･ｖ･)ﾉ♪

#ask

68 notes · View notes

howlhawk · 8 months

Text

hi i realize i don't talk as much here as much as i do on twitter which. maybe i SHOULD talk here more because there are no character limits. okay so.

first image (aug 2022) i think was like. one of the first times i actually tried to reference and i had to trace bits of it and i didn't know HOW to reference. and i barely understood charlie as a character. did not understand how he would dress had not even settled on his tattoos. could not get the colors to look right so i think i like. put him at 90% opacity to make it work.

between that and the second one (sept 2023) not only has there been SO much character development (future version with a beard now exists. he has been electrocuted. he is now jacked. he is transgender.) but i have done so many anatomy sketches that i didn't have to reference at all. yes i still should / do / will but i didn't feel like i needed to just to get it done.

and i picked all the colors by hand i didn't use any layer modes. the shadows here are actually the base / local colors and the lighting is added in on top and i used actual color knowledge to do that. like how i learned that if you use a desaturated warm tone against a more saturated warm color, it makes the desaturated one look blue and that's how you get 'blue' light on warm colors without it looking weird.

i found a message from last year when i sent the first image as an example of how i "have clothing folds figured out in my style, maybe not realistically but they look good" and looking at the folds on that versus the new one is like...no i did not. i don't know why i thought that.

this obviously isn't like a 100% fair comparison since i didn't bother to shade the first one and i'm pretty sure i was experimenting with a different lineart brush / style (which is why i'm not commenting on that here) and i did actually redraw the chair image one-to-one already but. i was looking through charlie's gallery and this just stuck out to me like WOW. holy shit dude. jesus christ.

i will never ever ever get over how much just becoming deeply obsessed with a character makes you improve. to give you an idea he hit 69 images on toyhouse (lol nice) in october 2022. it is SEPTEMBER just under a year later and he is now at THREE HUNDRED SIXTY (360). I AM NOT JOKING. not all of those are by me but a lot of them are! i did studies SPECIFICALLY so i could draw him better. please note i had literally never done studies before and like i said did not know how to reference. i have never been so obsessed with a character before charlie and it's the best thing that ever could've happened to my art. AND me.

#art improvement #long post #stanley says stuff #stanley does art #charlie grimms #NOT TO MENTION my friends for #1. fueling the insanity making me bonkers over silver city and all the characters there #2. giving me art inspo!!! making me jealous of your art enough that it makes me want to do better!!!#please for the love of god if you want to get better at art 1. become obsessed with one character 2. MAKE SOME ARTIST FRIENDS ON GOD #literally tysm yall know who you are

11 notes · View notes

lustbile · 3 years

Text

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

#nct smut #ten smut #chittaphon smut #nct imagine #nct series #nct fic #ten imagines #ten oneshot #nct oneshot #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv imagine #wayv oneshot

208 notes · View notes

escapetodreamworld · 3 years

Text

Paint me a picture

Cruella x fem reader

Part 2

requested by @alisoncdariel what if Cruella (Estella) met the reader because their dogs set them up, kind of like pongo did.

words 972

a/n while writing this I thought of 2 other parts for this story, larger parts. so be ready for those.

she didn’t ask to be tagged but I know she was excited to read it so I thought I’d tag my girl @satxnsupreme

The first day off in two weeks, it's warm and you're going to spend it at the park with your dog. You've packed a picnic basket, a blanket, your dog's water bowl, a ball, and your sketch pad and pencils.

You find a perfect spot, under a tree further away from the busier parts of the park. You spend a long while playing fetch with your dog, now your dog is panting happily on the blanket beside you, resting for a while, you start sketching some of the landscapes in front of you, adding in the couple sitting on a bench a little ways away into the sketch. You sketch a lot, especially when you're bored at work, and you're bored a lot.

While doodling away in your book, a terrier comes running up to you and your dog, the dog sits in front of you, staring at you. You see his collar but no leash or tags on the collar. He just sits there calmly, your dog gets up from where they were beside you and goes to sniff this dog.

After a few seconds of them sniffing each other, your dog decides they're best friends with this new dog and they start playing, running all around your blanket. Your dog shows this random dog their ball, which leads to a game of chasing each other to get the ball. While they play, you scan the area, looking to see if anyone is looking for their dog, not seeing anyone you, just watch the dogs play, hoping someone will show up sooner rather than later.

The dogs have moved on from playing with the ball and have found a large stick, which they proceed to play tug o war with. After a while of watching the dogs play you notice that something is blocking the sunlight, casting a shadow over you. You look up to see a woman with dark red hair looking at you with a glare.

She clears her throat. "What are you doing my dog?" She asks, you immediately stand up, brushing invisible dirt from your clothes, clothes this lady is clearly critiquing.

"I'm so sorry, he just ran up to me, I figured let him stay here while I waited for his owner to hopefully show up. And here you are." You ramble nervously, hoping she's not mad.

Her glare softens somewhat, but you can tell she's still trying to be intimidating. And it works, you feel like shrinking under the pretty ladies stare. You attempt to break the ice, like you always do in awkward conversations.

"Umm, my name's (y/n). Your dog is very well behaved... I like your outfit. your hair is pretty. Do you like coffee or maybe tea? I work at the cafe just two blocks from here, if you came in next time I worked I could get you a free drink, as sorry for the panic your dog being here with me must have caused-" you stop yourself, horrified with the word vomit that just came out of you.

The lady looks amused though. You're not sure if that's a good thing because you got her to loosen up or if she's making fun of you.

"I am so sorry, when I get nervous I ramble, I only meant to pick one of those many many things to say" you explain, so embarrassed. The dogs come to sit in between you too, distracting you for a moment, when you look back up there's a new look in the ladies eyes, and a smirk on her face.

"Nice to meet you, (y/n). I'm Estella. Thank you for not calling the shelter to come pick, buddy up. I loved tea by the way." Estella says, and you can't help but think she's flirting. So you blush.

"It's no problem, like I said, buddy, is a very lovely dog. I-ummm, I work tomorrow, if you wanted to sto-" you're cut off by the dogs, particularly buddy, who barks suddenly, then does something unexpected, he grabs your sketch pad from where it was on the blanket, and takes off running, your dog quick to follow after him.

"He ran off with my sketch book." You say, as Estella and you stare in disbelief. "And your dog ran away with him." You nod, then fully realize your dog just ran off. You look at Estella then take off running, trying to follow your dog.

Finally catching up to them at the pond, you grab your dog's leash, and make a grab for the sketch book in buddy's mouth but he runs off closer to the pond, and drops it in the water. Estella catches up right then, calling buddy to her. You walk to the edge of the pond, staring at the now drowning book. You pick it up but a few of the soaking wet pages fall out.

Estella bends down to pick up some of the ones she can reach. "I'm sorry, I don't know why buddy would do this." She says, apologetically. She starts looking through the pages she picked up, she stops on one in particular, a black white and red picture, it's something you did a month ago when it was slow at the cafe.

"You did this?" Estella asks, never taking her eyes off the picture. "Could you commission something like this for me?" She asks, this time she looks at you, a mysterious look on her face. You nod, too shocked to say anything.

This causes Estella to grin deviously. The look on her face makes you blush and look down. But she grabs your chin and makes you look at her, her tone of voice changing to something deeper, her accent thicker, when she says "Darling, I believe you and I will get along very well."

#cruella x reader #cruella 2021 #cruella de vil x reader

395 notes · View notes

gubler-me-up · 4 years

Text

Ace

Request: Can I get a one shot for the episode 52 pickup with Spencer x female reader? Like with the scene specifically where Spencer is trying to hand out the flyers but none of the woman take one, but reader approaches him to take one along with his number or something? Whatever else your mind can come up with please.

A/N: Thanks for the prompt, @just-call-me-non! Very specific episode request! I had to take an hour out of my day to rewatch this episode to accurately get the storyline across. Hopefully it does your idea justice! (Also, I know this was posted a day late, but I was relaxing all Friday i didn’t forget about your request i swear)

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: None

Word count: 1.3k

--------------

Another Saturday night out with your girls should have been a blast. Unfortunately, it was packed with embarrassingly entitled socialites and toxic masculinity. The music also wasn’t helping because the DJ couldn’t pick a good song if his life depended on it. If you wanted to listen to EDM house music, you would have just stayed home and played a YouTube playlist full of them.

Due to your boredom, your eyes started to wander around the club as you and your friends were huddled in a corner trying to make the best of the night. Your eyes had landed on something quite interesting though. Or you should say, someone.

A tall brunet with flyers in his hands was talking to a group of women who couldn’t care less about what he was telling them. They looked as if he was speaking a frightfully terrible language by the way their faces twisted. You, however, were intrigued by the sight you were watching and wanted to get a better view.

“I’ll be back,” you told your friends.

“Where are you going?” One asked.

“I think I’ve found something of interest,” you said.

They all followed your gaze to the lanky, awkward guy you were staring at. The women had walked away from him, so he was left with no choice but to desperately try to convince someone to hear him out. They all looked back at you with questionable stares.

“He looks cute, but he seems like one of those awkward, stiff types. How did he catch your attention again?” Another friend asked.

“Thought I should help him out. I wanna see what he’s handing out,” you explained.

You took the last sip of your cosmo before placing it down on the table. You fluffed up your hair a bit and brushed down any wrinkles in your dress. Your friends watched you in amusement as you prepped yourself to go over to him.

“Get him, tiger,” another said followed by a meow.

You laughed at their sarcasm before walking over to him. He had no idea you were walking towards him as he flailed around a single flyer in his hand trying to convince someone to take it. Since he had about 30 more of where that came from you decided to help him out. You grabbed the one he was flailing around from out of his hands to look at it. He turned around to look at you, surprised someone had actually taken it from him. You looked at him with a smile and held up the picture.

“Who’s this?” You asked him.

“Uh, it’s um, this guy we’re-and when I mean we’re I mean my team and I-uh,” he stuttered.

You giggled at him stumbling over his words as he struggled to comprehend why you were giving him the time of day. You looked at the picture as he finally told you about some sort of murderer on the loose. It was a very vague sketch, so you looked at him with a quizzical expression.

“How do you ever expect to find this guy with a picture like this?” You asked.

He awkwardly chuckled. He held up the stack of flyers in his hands so you could see them clearly. He put his hand in front of the scar which was sketched above the man’s left eyebrow. You raised your eyebrows curiosity.

“Well, the funny thing is some witnesses say he had a scar right here,” he lifted his hand up to reveal the scar.

You stared intently at the scar on the drawing. Then he lowered his hand down to cover it again. What happened next made you widen your eyes with amazement.

“And some say he doesn’t,” he said as he lowered his hand down to reveal an image with no scar.

You stupidly grinned at his trick. Your ear-to-ear grin made him smile as he lowered the flyers. You grabbed his hand with the flyers and placed it back up so you could see it again. There was really no scar there anymore.

“How did you even do that?” You asked.

“Pure magic,” he said.

“Okay, magician, what’s your name?” You asked.

“Spencer Reid. I-uh-work for the FBI, so that’s why I’m-”

“Yeah, I heard your reason why you were here the first time. Along with you saying some sort of statistic about men being more likely to kill targeted victims over women who are more likely to kill related victims.”

He looked at you stunned. It seemed as if he was shocked you were listening to him ramble. You may have been looking at the sketch of the person he was looking for, but you couldn’t help but to invest in what he was saying.

“You were actually listening?” He asked.

You nodded. “I’m a sucker for true crime. That’s not to say I want to be murdered in real life, but it’s cool that you do this for a living. You know, saving lives and catching the bad guy.”

A genuine, non-awkward smile appeared on his face. “Yeah, I do something like that.”

“And what do you do when you’re not kicking ass and taking names?” You asked.

He chuckled. “I think kicking ass is more up my colleague’s ally, but I personally don’t do anything interesting. Well, interesting to most people.”

“Surprise me.”

“I like to master different chess moves in my spare time and read. I like reading pretty much anything and everything. Twice.”

“That sounds interesting to me. Maybe one day you can teach me that trick and how to play a mean game of chess.”

Spencer looked at you astonished at the way you kept engaging with him. You were starting to think girls like you or even girls in general never took an interest in his quirky behaviour. To you it was enticing.

“Um, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t even get your name,” he said.

You smirked. “How about you give me your number and you can figure it out then. Maybe even discuss each other’s favourite books if you’d like.”

He nodded his head with a tiny smile that slowly appeared on his face. You couldn’t stop looking at him as he did the smallest gestures. He was more attractive than you initially thought from across the club. Every mannerism he did intrigued you more about his character.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Great. What’s your number?” You asked.

He smirked. “It’s near your heart.”

You looked at him funny as he gave you that riddle. You placed your hands in your dress near your left breast. You felt something at the side of your bra. You took it out to see the ace of hearts.

It was nice meeting you, Y/N.

His number followed right after. You were floored. Not only did he figure out your name, but he also gave you his number in the suavest way possible. He didn’t even have to touch your breasts to do it. That was some respectful magic.

“Now you’re telekinetic too?” You asked.

He shrugged. “Can’t say. Maybe if you call I’ll give you a hint.”

“Can you guess when I’m going to call too?”

“That wouldn’t be guessing, but profiling. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing from you in the next two hours.”

“I’ll make sure I don’t keep you waiting.”

He chuckled. “Bye, Y/N. It was really nice talking to you.”

With that he walked into the crowd where he was met by a tall, muscular black man. He put his arm around Spencer and gave him an impressed smile. You giggled as you watched the scene before they fully disappeared into the crowd. You looked back at the ace of hearts and couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe you were starting to have a new thing for quirky magicians.

—–

MASTERLIST

2K notes · View notes

thesmokingguns · 3 years

Text

Picnic in the Park

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Word Count: 2128

Fluff

Request Summary: “Axl rose meets a girl threw slash who is his childhood friend whos also an amazing painter and just is infatuated with how pretty she is and he just follows her around like a puppy.Tan skin brown hair that goes to lower back brown eyes, wears alot of cute sun dresses and is very kind”

A/N: I am catching up on requests. So if you have requested anything in the past week or so thag oiece should be coming out soon. Thanks everyone for reading

Tag list: @ayablackwood @agroupiewhore @thenobodies-inc @littlemisscare-all

Your mind was a mixture of light and dark, complimentary colors, and images burned into your mind that you wanted to paint later. If there wasn’t a brush in your hand you were taking notes with a pencil, sketching the world around it through eyes that only you saw it from. You captured everyday life like the older woman with the mesh bag she had filled with fruit or the man with his red beard, a few weeks unkept, napping in the alley to get a break from the heat. You took these people, characters of the world and had them live forever on the canvas you painted on.

Art was your passion. You loved walking around Hollywood with a set of watercolors or a notebook to sketch in and take in the lives of others. There was some sort of poetic feeling of taking a stranger from the street and importilizing them as a character in your art. You created a narrative for them that they may not be living. It was cathartic and you’d spend hours of your day people watching until you finally found the right subject.

Sketching out a bump on someone's nose that might have come from a childhood accident or from their Freshman year of college when they drunkenly fell down the front steps of the dorm, you created their unknown life story as you placed each line of their face into place. If you didn’t infuse their story into the piece it was just some colorful person without any meaning. But you wanted to give the viewer of your art a full piece. They should be able to look at your picture and understand the life that the subject lived; your art created that life.

It was crazy to think that a few years before you were in school thinking about becoming an English teacher.It was a chance meeting at a grocery store when you ran into your old friend Saul’s mother. When you had been kids the pair of you had been so close and secretly your mothers had both had fingers crossed for a wedding that never happened. The pair of you split apart the summer after senior year to set out of a life you each wanted. His mother had invited you over for dinner, which she also invited her son to, thrusting the pair of you back into each other's lives.

Oddly enough, it was like time hadn’t passed between you. The easiness of your friendship coming back without even trying and soon the pair of you were hanging out on almost a daily basis. With your schedule up helped manage his house, buying groceries, doing some cleaning, and running a few errands he never remembered. In return you had a few rooms to yourself. Slash had wanted to make sure you had time for your art as well as a space for it.

Dressing in a white floral pattern sundress you grabbed your bag that contained your art supplies. You wanted to get to the park early and set up a blanket you could spend the day sketching and painting on. You planned to soak up the sun in your skin and use the good lighting to get some new work to sell for the craft fair this weekend. As you turned to grab the picnic foods you had made the night before you saw Axl sitting at the counter. His green eyes looked up, smiling when he saw you.

“Hey, Y/N. Slash just left. I’m going to leave in a minute. I was just finishing up some lyrics.” he was always over and you thought that he was lonely in his role as lead singer. Even though Axl put on this tough guy imagine and had a reputation it was like he needed to work for that because he thought that was what rock stars were supposed to do. Whenever he was around you he seemed lost, always making extra conversation or taking the time to go walk to the coffee cafe with you and wait in line, even if he didn't want anything.

“I’m heading out for a day in the park.” you told him, moving the wax paper covered sandwiches into a small wicker basket, along with some fruit and cheese, some water, and a bottle of wine. You could feel his eyes on you, “I’m over packing and have more than enough if you want to come with me?” you let your eyes flutter up from packing the basket to look at him. “I’ll leave you alone to write because I’m just going to spend the time working on some new portraits.” It was important to you that you set up expectations. There was no need for him to feel like he was going there to entertain you or vice versa.

“I’d love to go. You don’t mind?” he asked as you finished packing up the wicker basket. You shook your head no, letting him pick up the food you had just packaged and leading you outside, “What park did you want to go to? I can drive us there.” you told him what you were thinking, getting comfortable in the convertible.

When you had moved in with Slash you had forged fast friendships with his bandmates. Even though you weren’t at every show and didn't always go backstage you had gotten close to them in different ways. On Wednesday nights you hosted a dinner party where you made them all come by so you had an excuse to cook for them. When someone had a ripped piece of clothing at a show you’d quietly take out your sewing kit, stitching patches in jeans and repairing favorite band shirts. You liked being around them all because of how animated everyone was; they were so easy to draw. You had a whole sketchbook of black and white images from the band. Your favorite subjects were Slash and Axl, mainly because they were the two you were around the most and had the most flexibility when it came to moods.

Axl had grown close to you, drawn into the caring nature you had. It was hard for him to understand that someone would do things for him without expecting anything in return. The first time that you had been out drinking with them and insisted Axl came home with you so you knew he was safe he had thought was a come on. When you helped him drink water and gave him aspirin before tucking him into bed he was shocked. Even more shocking was waking up to find his clothes washed and folded on the guest room chair and you carrying in a breakfast tray of freshly made foods. That’s just how you showed you cared about your friends. Being the mother of the group and taking care of them helped you feel like you were contributing as a friend.

Spreading out the blanket under the Weeping Willow tree. You motioned for Axl to sit as you toed off your sandals and moved to sit down. Digging through your bag you set out your sketch pad and pencils. You could see Axl out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to know what to do. You pulled him down to the blanket, settling him so he could rest his back against the tree. You pulled off his shoes and socks and handed him his notebook as you went about unpacking your picnic so he could pick at food if he wanted to.

With him settled in the shade you laid down, belly first in the sun. Picking up your pencil you scanned the park until you found an older man feeding the pigeons. Your eyes followed his movements for a few minutes before you started your sketch. The feeling of the warm sun on the back of your thighs as you twirled the pencil in your hand, capturing all the features of the man.

As you drew you could feel Axl’s eyes on you. At first it was just light glances every few minutes and then it turned to heavy long looks where his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the way his stares made you blush, chalking up the pinkness in your cheeks as just sun exposure.

A hand slid over your calf, over the back of your thighs before going over your dress and laying on the flat of your back. You turned your face upward looking at Axl watching you. His eyes flickering from your art up to your face. There was a pause, curiosity and interest in what he was going to do next. Your heart is beating in your chest even though your body is frozen, wondering what he was up to.

“Do you want to take a break and eat? You’ve been working for a couple hours.” Looking past him you saw the sun had changed position in the sky and time had gotten away from you. Sitting up you handed out sandwiches, positioning yourself comfortably besides him in the shade of the tree.

Axl had been following you for most of the spring and now into summer. He's around all the time and often comes along for days like this. But you liked having him around. You thought that he needed the quiet comfortable silence between the pair of you; so much of his life was filled with noise.

“Y/N, do you like this?” He asked, peeling off the crust to his sandwich. The action seemed to be more of a need to keep his hands busy instead of a dislike for the bed.

“Do I like this? Picnics in the park?” You didn’t know exactly what he meant. Axl sometimes seemed to talk in riddles not wanting to fully play all of his cards.

“Being with me.” He didn’t look up to meet your eyes at this, almost embarrassed to be talking about it. You weren’t like Axl. There was no need to talk in riddles or have him guessing how you felt.

“Of course I like having you around, Axl. It’s nice to be able to spend time with someone I like.” He looked up, almost surprised that someone would like to be around him. “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months and it’s nice to get to know you more and find more reasons to like you.” You didn’t feel nervous telling him this. It actually felt like a relief to get it off your chest.

He put down his sandwich, wiping crumbs off on his shirt and looking at his hands to make sure that they were clean. Before you could figure out what he was going to do he had a hand in your hair, tugging you closer to him in a soft kiss. For months you had been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him on one of your lazy afternoons together and now it was happening.

Instead of letting him pull away and think about what he had just done you slid onto his lap, letting your hands wrap around him. His free hand was on your back holding you close as the pair of you made out like teenagers under the shade of the willow tree.

Finally, the pair of you pulled away, swollen plush lips and wild curious eyes watching each other. This new change between the pair of you sparkling like wonder between the pair of you. Axl was playing with a piece of your hair, wrapping the brown lock around his finger like he had been wanting to do for months.

“Does this mean we can finally start dating?” You asked, watching the way he smirked at this question. “Because I don’t know how many more times you can just casually show up without Slash catching on. And I don’t know how many more picnics I can plan without touching you.” You admitted, his lips were on your chin and up your jaw.

“Mhhh, I’ve been waiting for this for so long and now I can have you all to myself.” His voice whispered huskily to you kissing your earlobe. He pulled away to look at you again. “You have to tell Slash.” He said, making you laugh as you rolled your eyes. If that’s what it would take to have Axl you didn’t mind telling your best friend about the relationship.

“You take care of me and I’ll take care of everything else, babe.” You promised, meaning it. This was everything that you had wanted for months and now you were getting it. The man that you had started falling for was yours. It had only taken months worth of picnics to get him.

#Axl gnr #axl rose #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose x ofc #axl rose fan fic #axl rose head canon #axl rose x reader #axl rose gnr #axl rose one shot #axl rose fanfic #axl rose imagine #Axl rose Guns N’ Roses #Axl roses headcanon #Axl oneshot #fluff #fluff writing #request #Axl rose x you

104 notes · View notes

the-a-word-2214 · 3 years

Text

You’re My Muse

summary: Calvin meets a girl who’s a perfect muse and a perfect match

note: I might write a second part to this

pairing: Calvin Weir-Fields x reader

word count: 1,007

warnings: fluff, Calvin being boyfriend material, the reader is slightly based on Ramona Flowers

The wind flowed through your hair as you found yourself at a local coffee shop that was a couple blocks down the street. Your hair was a bolder color after you redyed it a stark yellow color that accented your eyes.

You picked up your coffee after the barista called your name, sipping on the warm liquid. Your eye caught a glimpse of a man just as his name was called.

“Black coffee for Calvin!” The barista shouted over the loud sound of the foaming machine. The man who’s name was just revealed turned towards your direction after he picked up his own coffee. His turtle glasses and haphazardly styled hair couldn’t help but make you smirk.

You picked up the pencil from behind your ear and began to scribble something onto your sketch pad. “Nice glasses, nerd.”

The text read, a smile on his face after reading it. He took this playful gesture as an invitation to sit at the table with you.

“So I guess you’re Calvin then, or is that your real name?” You quipped with a slight chuckle.

His endearing yet solemn eyes found yours as you bit the inside of your lip.

“You must be (Y/N).” A smile toyed at the edges of his mouth as he sipped from his cup.

“Right you are, genius. I’m almost positive that I recognize you from somewhere.”

A realization hits you as you speak. “Wait a second, you’re that guy who’s on the side of Barnes and Noble! Are you a writer?”

He nods and sets the cup down. “Yeah I am, or at least I used to be. I can’t seem to find any inspiration these days.”

As he speaks, you had sketched out a simple portrait of him. His best features highlighted. Your eyes flicking up to him every other moment.

“Well, I liked what I read. Your book was pretty interesting but I know you’ll find someone or something to inspire you. Having a dry period is totally normal.” You felt the same way that he did. You hadn’t drawn or painted in what felt like ages, your inspiration was consumed by loneliness and depression that came with the colder months.

“Oh yeah? Do you find it hard to draw?”

You nod, “yeah actually I do. I haven’t picked up a pencil or a paintbrush in six months until today.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. How could some mystery girl be the answer to all of his prayers? Here she was, drawing away, while he felt like a fool who stumbled upon the love of his life.

You turn the sketch pad around to face him showing a fairly detailed sketch of his own eyes staring back at him. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

He stares at the drawing in disbelief as his fingers trace the pencil marks. Maybe he was wrong about her, maybe she felt the same way.

He moves to stand up, handing you back the book in the process. “Sorry to cut this conversation short, I should probably go, my dog definitely has to pee right about now.” He checks his watch before heading towards the door. You leave him with a kind smile and a wave, understanding his situation.

———————————————————

Calvin’s head thunks against his desk as he hits it a few times. He stares aimlessly at the blank page on his typewriter, his hand coming up to rest his chin in it. He begins to think about the girl that he met that day, her bright yellow hair.

Her mystifying eyes, her plush pink lips. He couldn’t be in love with a stranger, he just couldn’t. He did know that he had to see her again. He needed to touch her soft skin and kiss her lips. He sighed to himself, stretching his arms out before bringing them back to type out his feelings. He decided to turn the mystery girl into a character. Ivy. She would be called Ivy.

Her bright hair that she dyed a new color nearly every week. The way that she would have cereal for dinner on some nights. How she liked the chunky bits of powdered cheese that weren’t fully desolved in her Mac ‘N Cheese.

She’d wear too much perfume when she’d go out. The dark bags under her eyes were never fully covered by her makeup. Her warm smile hid the growing depression that she felt when she’d go home. Her smile hid the empty feeling inside...

It went on like this for a while, he didn’t even check the time once as he typed away into the early hours of the morning. He just couldn’t get her off his mind. His sweet (Y/N) who he barely knew.

———————————————————

To further his inspiration, he found himself at the local Barnes and Noble. The picture of his face in the window only made him roll his eyes. He couldn’t be a has-been writer, he wouldn’t allow it.

As he roamed the aisles, he stumbled upon a blue haired girl sitting on the floor, nose-deep in a novel.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?”

You popped your head up at his voice and stood up, slinging your art bag around your shoulder.

“Yeah, hey nerd boy. Good to see you again.”

He smiled at you, his teeth showing. He rubbed the back of his neck before running a hand through his hair, looking around.

“This is going to sound seriously stupid, but would you maybe want to go and have coffee together? Maybe a better version of last time with no interruptions.”

You nodded firmly as you looked over his stereotypical bookworm appearance.

“Yeah, I’d like that. You do owe me after ditching me when we’d just met.” He trails after you like a puppy down the street to the same coffee shop from before.

Your fingers brush against his as you race across the street like school children in love. You learned that he was the perfect nerd and that he felt like his life was just starting.

To his surprise, yours was as well.

#calvin weir fields #ruby sparks #paul dano #ruby sparks 2012 #writer x artist #paul dano x reader #calvin is such a cutie I swear

276 notes · View notes

miraculous-trinity-leo · 3 years

Text

Tᕼᗴ ᑕᕼᗩOTIᑕ ᗩᑎᘜᗴᒪ

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

Chapter 5: Don't Jinx It!

·•·—–·•†•·–—·•·

Chloé Bourgeois... A girl that can be described in many words

"She's absolutely ridiculous! I can't believe you have to do an art project with her of all people!" - Alix sprawled out on Marinette's balcony

"She can't be that bad, besides we might become friends." - Marinette sketching some designs

"Believe me, even I think she's a bit much... She's snobby, annoying, rude, immature, spoiled, she basically has the “I'm better than thow” attitude to a T."- Kagami sitting next to the flowerbed while reading a literature book

"See? Even Kagami agrees... Just don't talk to her, actually don't even move if you're in her sights. She's like a T-Rex, she can't see you if you don't move." - Alix

… … … … …

"Hello, I'm Marinette, it's nice to meet you." - Marinette reached out her hand as she smiled

*Que Alix facepalming herself while Kagami lets out a sigh*

"Whatever, I'm Chloé, but I'm sure you already knew that." - Chloé

They started their project and most interactions went the same way, Chloé would sit in a chair near the window and paint her nails while Marinette did all the work. The next day Marinette and Chloé were the only ones in the art room.

"Okay, let's get started." - Marinette skipping her way over to the art supplies

"You do that, I'll just sit over here." - Chloé walking to her chair

"... Say, is it fun painting your nails?" - Marinette looking over to Chloé

"Of course, what girl doesn't like nail art?" - Chloé

"Well, painting on a canvas is kind of like nail art, here try painting something." - Marinette handing Chloé a paint brush

"Please, I don't do art." - Chloé refusing the paint brush

"But you ‘Paint’ your nails." - Marinette

"It's different!" - Chloé

"Okay, how about this, if I can do a magic trick for you, will you try painting just a little bit?" - Marinette

"...Fine, impress me." - Chloé giving Marinette her full attention

Marinette pulled a seed she got earlier that day out of her pocket and showed it to Chloé

"A seed?" - Chloé giving an unimpressed look

"I'll turn it into a flower, as you can see I only have this seed, and there's nothing up my sleeves. When I turn back around this seed will be a flower, are you ready?" - Marinette still holding the seed for Chloé to see

"Just do it already." - Chloé

So, Marinette turned around putting her free hand over the seed, and imagined it growing. When Marinette turned back around, all Chloé saw was a fully bloomed Common Rockrose flower, leaving her stunned.

"How did you do that?!" - Chloé walking up to Marinette to get a better look at the flower

"Family secret." - Marinette with a small smirk - "So, you want to try painting now?"

"... Fine." - Chloé pouted her lips and sat down at an empty canvas while Marinette walked to the table beside it, and Marinette may or may not have seen a small smile on Chloé's face while she grabbed some more paint.

After about 30 minutes Alix and Kagami came in and found Chloé and Marinette flinging water paint at the canvas

"Ha!" - Marinette whiped her arm out, watching as the wet paint from the brush splattered onto the canvas

"Ha HA!" - Chloé doing the exact same motion, but with a little more flare

Kagami and Alix just stared in amazed silence... they had created a master piece... It was a magnificent painting showing a meadow with many flowers in an almost hazy dream kind of look, it had a blue sky and a faint rainbow in the background behind some clouds on the horizon

"It's *sniff* Ridiculously beautiful..." - Chloé

"And you thought painting was boring." - Marinette teasing Chloé

"... Isley-Quinzel, look me in the face and say that again." - Chloé

"And you- ("Boop" - Chloé) -Hey!" - Marinette got booped on her nose by Chloé's paint covered finger

"I admit it was fun... to some extent. Now lets act like this never happened." - Chloé getting ready to leave

"How the hell did you get Chloé to paint?!" - Alix snapping out of her surprise, which caused Chloé to get startled and trip, knocking the paint onto Marinette and herself in the process

"Well... that was a colorful entrance." - Marinette now covered in blue, pink, green and red paint

"Utterly Ridiculous!" - Chloé now covered in yellow, dark green, and blue paint

"Ooops?" - Alix shrugging her shoulders

*facepalms* - Kagami

… … …

Marinette and Chloé had to walk around school covered in paint, definitely getting a few awkward stares from the other kids. About an hour later, each pair of students presented their shared work of art. When Marinette and Chloé went up, both holding their masterpiece while still covered in paint, stunned the other students.(Not because Chloé was 1. covered in paint, 2. actually carrying the painting, and 3. had a smile on her face) Needless to say they got an A+, and for the rest of the day Marinette, Chloé, Alix and Kagami hung out laughing and having fun. Not long after that the other kids started making bets on who Marinette would befriend next, and how long it would take for that someone to be an instant friend.

Chloé ended up spending a lot more time with the GPS and eventually...

The girls sat around in a circle within Marinette's room with all the lights off, only having a single lamp in the center of the room to add an ominous glow

"Are you ready to take the oath?" - Alix

"Yes, but why do we have to make it look like some utterly ridiculous ritual summoning?" - Chloe

"I agree with Chloé, I'm not allowed to summon the unnatural or paranormal." - Kagami

"Well, let's forget the paranormal stuff for now, ehem. Chloé Bourgeois, do you promise to always have our backs..." - Marinette

"Through the good and the bad..." - Alix

"To say the truth and nothing but the truth." - Kagami

"Wrong oath Kagami." - Marinette whispering to Kagami

"...... To always stay on the path that is straight and true..." - Kagami

"To uphold the justice in this crazy world..." - Alix

"And to guide those who have abandoned the light... Are you ready to join the GPS?" - Marinette

"Yes." - Chloé

"Girls, time to eat- ... Marinette, please tell me you aren't summoning the unnatural like Harley did that one time." - Selina just opening the door and seeing basically a ritual gathering

"In mom's defense, she was trying to get rid of the spooky spirit." - Marinette

"That was from a story Ed made up that one time, you wouldn't stop seeing the shadows ‘moving’, and then Harley thought she saw them move, and she ended up doing a ritual to get rid of it, but we ended up with the cursed toaster ghost. And now all bread we toast is burnt back home." - Selina

"... But burnt toast is the best!" - Marinette

"Ivy told you that it would make you grow quicker, which then tricked you into liking burnt toast, which isn't tasty at all." - Selina

"*dramatic gasp* You Take That Back!" - Marinette

"Nope, now come down in 3 so we can eat." - Selina closed the door and walked away

"You girls agree with me right?" - Marinette turning to her friends

"... Marinette, how can you think burnt toast is good?!" - Alix

"It's... burnt." - Kagami

"Ehhh, it's okay." - Chloé

"Thank You!" - Marinette hugging Chloé

"... un-second thought, I retract my ‘yes’ to that oath." - Chloé

"Too late." - Kagami

"You're stuck with us..." - Alix then leaned over and whispered in Chloé's ear - "Foreverrrrr."

……… ……… ………

After they had their food they went back up to Marinette's (ritual free) room and started playing Ultimate Mecha Strike 2.

After a few rounds of Marinette dominating Ultimate Mecha Slaughter Strike 2, they moved on to watching some Jurassic Park

"So... your mom cursed your toaster?" - Chloé

"... maybe." - Marinette

"Honestly though, who in their right mind likes burnt toast?" - Alix

"Apparently Marinette." - Kagami

"It's kinda like thin burnt rice crispy treats, just minus the sugar." - Marinette

"*dramatic gasp* You Take That Back Right Now." - Alix

"You don't even know what rice crispy treats are, do you." - Marinette now looking away from the TV and directly at Alix

"Not a clue." - Alix

"It's an American treat, it's actually really good, not to sweet, and not to crunchy." - Chloé

"This is why you are part of the GPS." - Marinette hugging Chloé - "You understand most red blooded American treats, and for that I give you my thanks." - Marinette now starting to tear up

"What are we, chop liver?" - Kagami pointing to Alix and herself

"Well unlike you two, I have seen the other side... I swear, they're all hillbillies, and they live in the worst weather ever! Sunshine state my ass, more like out door saunas 24/7." - Chloé ended up mumbling her last few words

"... That's Florida, and it's not that bad, it never gets hotter than 115°F, and that's during summer." - Marinette

"... No wonder you like burnt toast... your brains were burnt with it." - Alix

"I didn't live in Florida, I lived in New Jersey, and the weather is better there." - Marinette

"That's what she said." - Kagami stuffing her face with popcorn

……… ……… ………

Over the course of the next few months Marinette taught the GPS all she knew about parkour and self-defense, at first they wondered why she knew so many different techniques of self-defense, until she explained where she grew up had a few unpleasant people. They still think she's meta.

When Winter rolled around she was to head back to Gotham for the next month and a half. She was packed and ready when the GPS burst into her room.

"Don't leave! I need an Ice skating buddie!" - Alix clinging to Marinette

"You have Chloé and Kagami, besides, I'm pretty sure Kagami is better on the ice than I am." - Marinette accepting the fact she won't be getting Alix off her anytime soon

"It's Not The Same!" - Alix becoming a human koala on Marinette's back

"She's going to see her family, show some restraint!" - Chloé detaching Alix from Marinette

"No!" - Alix getting out of Chloé's grip and reattaching herself to Marinette

"There's a new attraction with a big ramp jump for the ice skating rink." - Kagami on her phone

"Really?! Let me see!" - Alix detaching herself to look at Kagami's phone, only to see the normal boring ice skating rink - "You tricked me." - Alix gave Kagami the stink eye

"It got you off of Marinette at least." - Kagami putting her phone away

"I'm gonna miss you girls." - Marinette gave them a big hug

"You better not do anything stupid while you're back home." - Chloé

"I would never." - Marinette thinking of the time she ran from the Bat-Birds

"What city in New Jersey do you live in again?" - Alix

"That's-" - Marinette

"Kitten you all set for Gotham?" - Selina opened the door and saw Marinette in a big hug with the girls - "Oh, you girls are here, hope you said your goodbyes because we're leaving in 10 minutes." - She then closed the door to make sure everything was ready downstairs

"... ... ..." - Chloé/Alix/Kagami - "You live where?"

"Gotham...?" - Marinette slowly backing up to grab her luggage and make her way to the door

"Oh hell No!" - Kagami standing between Marinette and the door

"You're staying!" - Alix clinging to Marinette again

"Gotham's a death trap!!!" - Chloé joining Alix and clinging to Marinette

... ... ...

After some convincing the girls let Marinette go, and she was now on the plane that would take her back home.

"... They really think Gotham's a death trap?" - Selina relaxing in the first class seats she got them.

"It's not that bad is it? I had asked them what they thought could even go wrong." - Marinette

"... Well literally everything can go wrong in Gotham... It's not to late to get off actually." - Selina getting up

"Not you too!" - Marinette grabbing her Aunt's hand

"I'm joking Kitten... you are wearing the bullet proof vest under that coat right?" - Selina

"Of course." - Marinette

"Then we should be fine..." - Selina now sitting back down and looking 10 times more nervous than before

"..." - Marinette put her hands together and mumbled under her breath - "Please don't jinx it. Please don't jinx it. Please don't jinx it. Pleeeeease don't jinx it."

……………… They had an hour delay, had to switch flights and couldn't eat anything because it looked like it would give them food poisoning, and they didn't get a wink of sleep......... but they made it to Gotham in one piece... at 2 in the morning.

"You jinxed it." - Marinette dragging her luggage sleepily

"It can't get any worse now-" - Selina

"No!-" - As Marinette tried to stop her Aunt from finishing her sentence, a truck past by the curb and sent a blanket of powdered snow flying into them - "-say it..."

"...Okay, now it-" - Selina was cut off by Marinette stuffing her mouth with the last secret cookie she had

"Don't anger the jinx gods, please." - Marinette pleading to her Aunt

After Selina finished the secret cookie she called Ivy to pick them up. They waited about 15 minutes before Ivy, along with a sleeping Harley in the back seat, picked them up. As they got in the car Harley jolted awake

"Are we dere yet?" - Harley rubbing her eyes

"Yes, and in our snow covered glory we entered the car." - Marinette giving her mom a hug

"I missed yuh so much, it just hasn't been de same wit'outcha cupcake." - Harley returning the hug

"And what about me, did you miss me?" - Selina getting comfortable in the passenger seat

"Ehhh." - Harley tilted here hand from side to side as she continued to side hug Marinette

"... Have I ever told you how great you are at warm welcomes?" - Selina giving Harley the stink eye

"She didn't mean it, you know she has no filter at this hour." - Ivy pulling up to the stoplight

"In other words her honest opinion of me being back is ‘ehhh’, I'm glad she thinks so highly of me." - Selina resting her head on the window

The ride to their base was peaceful, they arrived and went to their rooms after Marinette gave her moms and aunt a goodnight hug. As Marinette went to sleep in her bed, Bud and Lou jumped onto the bed and curled up next to her, as she stroked their fur, she couldn't help but feel excited to spend time with her family and friends. She soon fell asleep in the calm silence of her room, the last thought she had before drifting off, was that she was happy to be back home.

·•·—–·•★•·–—·•·

Chapter 5 complete, hope you're all having a magnificent day, rockin' all the positive vibes and staying safe !BUG-OUT! 🐞💮🐞

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜Tag List〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

1st Place★: @jumpingjoy82

2nd Place★: @myazael

3rd Place★: @solangelo252

@fandom-trapped-03, @zorua-adorable, @blueblossombliss, @thefangirlwholiterallydies, @woe-is-me0, @lady-bee-fechin, @jayjayspixiepop, @kashlyn, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @buginetye, @our-preciousss, @vroomtaka, @alessialeone6997, @doll246 , @aestheticnpoetic, @moon5608, @moonlightstar64, @kking13

115 notes · View notes

pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

Pins and Needles: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

———- 🌷 🐺 🌷———-

The butter yellow of the awning of the new tattoo shop carried on inside. The color scheme was classy, though.

During Geralt’s mostly misspent youth, he’d been inside his fare share of tattoo and piercing parlors. He’d never gotten a tattoo, and his piercings had mostly been his own work, but still, the culture seeped in. He had learned to expect a lot of red and black and exposed brickwork. There was nothing wrong with that look, but he considered the interior of Pins and Needles to be much more friendly.

The walls were a deep blue, denim, if he had to name it, or perhaps Prussian Blue. It was on all the walls, and the ceiling, with the floor in a dark, smooth wood. He wasn’t sure if that was kept from the last shop or was newly installed. The counter was in the same polished, dark wood, so he supposed it was new. All the accents were dandelion yellow, or yellow brass if they were metal. His leg brushed up against a velveteen chair, something of a vintage style, and of course, in that same buttery yellow.

The waiting area had the chair, a matching loveseat, and a high-backed chaise lounge in a teal color. It had more green to it’s color than the walls, and was in a lighter shade, but it was adjacent to the color of the walls, and a pleasing focal point. Overall, Geralt was impressed. The blue and yellow color scheme could have easily been overdone, but it was masterful, and clearly completed by someone with an eye for color.

Ciri was delightedly pouring over a piercing display. Geralt was startled to realize he owned the exact display box. It was, in fact, a large glass terrarium, the metal that same shiny brass. The shelves of piercing were cleverly angled and set within the case so that they were all visible.

“Nice display case, isn’t it?”

Geralt turned, and there was Jaskier. He had a BB8 coffee mug in his hand, and a shimmery teal shirt unbuttoned low. It framed his sternum and the peaks of color visible through his chest hair and pointing down in a tempting arrow to--

“urk,” Geralt said, choking on his own tongue.

“Priscilla found it on the side of the road one day, the legs were scuffed to hell and one was missing, but the glass was intact, so she took it back to her house and fixed it up.”

“I have the same one,” Geralt managed, the tips of his ears reddening.

“Oh, as a display case?”

“Um, it’s a terrarium.”

“Is it really?” Jaskier beamed and Geralt felt like he was dying. “I always thought it was a funny shape. It makes such a lovely focal point along that wall though.”

Ciri was beaming as well. “Dad keeps succulents in his. Is Priscilla the lady that does piercings?”

“She is,” Jaskier said, tilting his head so that his hair flopped and Gerald got a better view of his undercut and dangling chain of a cuff piercing on his ear. “Are you in the market for a piercing, miss...”

“Ciri,” she said, sticking her hand out to shake. “And my dad might get a tattoo sometime, but he’s being a baby about it and doesn’t know what he wants.”

Jaskier shook her hand and levelled a devastating grin at Geralt. “Well, some things aren’t to be rushed, but if your dad ever want’s a tattoo, I’ll give him anything he wants.”

Geralt desperately tried to reel his thoughts in from the absolute trainwreck that that statement illicited. Obviously Jaskier was just trying to sell his craft not offer...anything else.

“Are you taking walk-ins for piercings?” Ciri asked.

“Absolutely,” Jaskier said, turning and shouting. “Priscilla?” Down the hall of the shop where, presumably, the actuall tattooing and piercing rooms were.

“YEah?” came the response.

“Got a consult for you!”

She poked her head out of a room, smiled quickly, popped back in for a second, then emerged. “Hiya, sorry, I was just doing a little sketching, how can I help?”

“I’d like an industrial piercing please,” Ciri said.

Priscilla tilted her head, eyes squinting slightly as she, apparently, assesed Ciri’s ears. “That’ll suit you well, left or right side?”

“Left.”

“Cool,” she looked to Geralt. “I’m assuming you’re the dad?”

“Uh, yes,” Geralt said, feeling wildly out of his depth.

“Great, and does she have your permission for the piercing?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, absolutely.”

“Cool,” Priscilla said, digging behind the counter. “I’ve got paper work for both of you, and then we can get this lovely lady poked full of holes.”

Geralt’s stomach flipped over. Despite how many times he had actually stuck a fucking sewing needle through his own ear as a teenager, he couldn’t stand the thought of normal piercing needles.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Ciri said as they were handed paperwork and pens. “You don’t have to hold my hand or anything, you can wait out here.”

“Great,” Geralt said, looking at the paperwork. Pretty standard stuff, parental release, aftercare papers, all that. He signed quickly and returned the relevant documents, keeping the aftercare instructions.

“Thanks very much,” Priscilla said, checking for signatures before smiling at Ciri again. “Got any jewelry picked out?” They walked over to the case as Ciri gestured to some.

Jaskier was looking at Geralt assessingly over the top of his coffee mug. “You know,” he said. “Most dads aren’t this cool about piercings.” He licked a bit of foam off of his lip and Geralt tried very hard to pretend that he hadn’t seen the flash of a tongue piercing.

“I, uh, I’ve got plenty of bad ones, I’d rather she got her’s done professionally.”

“Bad ones?” Priscilla’s head jerked up. “Can I see?”

Geralt nodded as she was already bustleing over. He brushed the strands of hair that escaped his ponytail back so she could see his ears.

“Amatur work for sure, although no lasting damage, where’d you get these done?”

Geralt flushed. “I did them, uhm, way back.”

“Oh god, you didn’t buy one of those cheep piercing guns, did you?” Priscilla asked, poking gently at Geralt’s ear so she could look at the back of the piercings. Jaskier smiled at Geralt’s probably confused expression.

“No, I used a needle.”

Priscilla pulled back, eyes wide. “A sewing needle?”

Geralt shrugged guiltily.

“Yeah, okay,” she said quickly, turning to Ciri. “Hold out your pinky, you have to make me a promise.”

Ciri’s brow furrowed, but she linked pinky fingers with the excitable piercer.

“I promise,” Priscilla said, gesturing with her other hand for Ciri to repeat after her.

“I promise,” Ciri said.

“Not to pierce myself.”

“Not to pierce myself,” Ciri said, smiling.

“No matter what my dad did.”

“No matter what my dad did,” Ciri finished. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Priscilla said, releasing Ciri’s pinky from it’s hold and sending a theatrical shiver of disgust toward Geralt. “A sewing needle, yikes. C’mon kiddo, we’re gonna stick a needle through your ear, and I’ll show you how a real piercer does it.”

She hurried Ciri into the back room, grabbing a couple sealed packages on the way, needle and jewelry, Geralt presumed.

“Don’t mind Prissy,” Jaskier said. “She’s just very big on piercing safety.”

“No, I agree,” Geralt said. “I was a really stupid kid back then.”

Jaskier smiled and came out from around the counter a bit, leaning against the side, hip jutting in those ungodly tight leather pants. “Ciri seems pretty smart though, does she get it from her mother?”

“Um,” Geralt said, the sight of those long, leather-wrapped legs making his mouth weirdly dry. “I suppose? Her dad was pretty smart, too.”

“Ah, so you’re not her biological dad?” Jaskier said, leaning forward. Geralt wondered for a second if he was fishing, but surely not, pretty tattoo artists didn’t flirt with frumpy guys like him.

“No, uh, but I’ve been her guardian since she was just a baby so...”Geralt trailed off, unsure how to finish.

“That’s very cute.” Jaskier’s eyes trailed down Geralt, then back up. To his shame, Geralt realized he hadn’t even removed his apron.

“You know,” Jaskier said, conversationally. “My dad would have never even thought about letting me get a piercing.”

Geralt looked over the form in front of him, piercings in each ear, more than one, even, a nose ring, and that ellusive tongue ring, as well as the colorful tattoos that swarmed over his skin. “That worked out well for him,” he said without thinking, then blushed.

Jaskier, though, laughed, head back, shoulders shaking. “Indeed,” he said at last. “I shrugged off my father’s wishes rather fully, I think.”

The bell rang as another person entered the shop and Geralt stepped aside as Jaskier went back behind the counter. He sat on the yellow chair and watched Jaskier’s lips--and that hint of silver on his tongue-- as he made the young woman a tattoo appointment.

Jaskier’s hands, full of rings and swirling ink, were so quick on the computer keys, and when he talked with them, they were so expressive.

Geralt wanted to hold one.

Unfortunately, by the time the young woman was gone and Geralt could have possibly had Jaskier’s full attention again, Ciri was all done. Geralt paid, thanked both Jaskier and Priscilla, and went over the care instructions, before he and Ciri crossed the road.

It felt very much like a retreat.

———- 🌷 🐺 🌷———-

Tag List!

@jaybeefoxy @sweetiepieplum @holymotherwolf

#geraskier #tattoo au #flower shop au #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geralt is a good dad #but a dating disaster #DO NOT do your own piercings kids

50 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Mad

[MASTER LIST] Beta: @fluffy-fluffu Rating: 18+ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader x V Genre: SMUT, mature, angst, fluff, mystery, thriller Words: 4.9k WARNINGS & TRIGGERS: psych ward in a mental asylum from back in the 1920’s, misguided medical practices; Electroshock therapy etc. Multiple personality disorder/alter ego’s/Dissociative Identity Disorder, Sex, Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Fingering, Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, blow jobs, Yandere V. If you squint for a split second there is like a slight hesitation in the reader but they consent. Nurse sleeps with the patient. Sad boy Tae, Tae vs. V, Talks about cum, Restraints, Sedation.

Summary: Taehyung from room 10 on the ward is being haunted by V a mischievous sexual deviant. Taehyung likes puzzles and his friends which includes you. But V likes you, your hair, your face and the warmth between your thighs. It’s a fight between Taehyung and V who will win?

Authors note: This is in no way shape of form a diagnosis of DID or multiple personalities nor is it an accurate depiction of said mental disorders or illnesses. This is purely fictional. If you are triggered by old medical horror please don’t read. If you identify anything you think should be added to the warnings and triggers let me know so I can warn others.

“The patients on this ward are docile, they won’t hurt you” the nurse explained, smiling softly. It was your first day, you were a fresh new nurse and it was safe to say you were a little scared of your new working environment. “The only one we want you to look out for is um, the patient in room number 10”

“Number 10?” you repeated.

“Let me introduce you to some of them.” You had already met some, there was a group who thought they were kittens and puppies and it was adorable. “Hyuka, don’t scratch the mattress” the head nurse chided before guiding him to the bathroom.

You heard a noise from room 10. It sounded a lot like something fell. You walked over and quickly scanned over his chart. “Patient is manipulative, he can do whatever is needed to get what he wants, compulsive sexual behaviour, the patient has two prominent altering personalities, Taehyung and V. When the patient addresses himself as V it is best to leave.”

You unlocked the door, peering inside you saw him cuddling his pillow in deep slumber. He seemed to have knocked something off from the bedside table in his sleep. You sighed softly before walking over, trying not to wake him while doing so.

He had a beautiful face. It was honestly making you feel self conscious to be around him, you fought the urge to brush your hand through his soft curls and crouched down to pick the book up off the floor.

You stayed crouched whilst examining the book. It seemed to be a comic book you concluded, a famous one that you knew of. You moved to put it back to its original place. As you were about to stand you turned to the patient to see his eyes open, staring directly at you.

“Hello?” He yawned rubbing his eyes “I am Taehyung”

“Hello Taehyung, I was just picking up your book, how are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m tired, who are you?”

“I am the new nurse” you smiled as he sat up rubbing his hand over his arm casually scratching an itch.

“You are new, that’s exciting” he smiled sitting up properly on his hospital bed showing his impeccable manners “What’s your name?”

“My name is Nurse Y/L/N,” you said with a soft smile trying to appear friendly. From the hall you heard the head nurse call out.

“Kim Namjoon, please don’t try to escape this morning. We are about to serve breakfast okay? You know breakfast is important to fuel that big brain of yours, so sit back down while I will get you a book. How does that sound?”

You turned to look at the door which was still a fraction open, when a hand touched your hair. Your body went stiff, heart racing in fear. You had turned your back on him. One of the most important things to remember on your first day and you had to let him get the upper hand.

“Your hair is really pretty, I like the colour” he smiled and you turned, giving him a polite and gentle smile.

“Thank you Taehyung, you are so sweet” you smiled. “Are you hungry? I can bring your breakfast in, if you would like?”

“I have to shower first, I have a schedule; shower, breakfast and then I get to do some activities” he said

“Nurse y/n?” The head nurse said “is everything okay?”

“Yes of course Taehyung and I are just talking, he is telling me about his schedule” you smiled

“Well aren’t you nice this morning Taehyung,”

“Hello Taehyung, are you ready for your shower?'' the male nurse appeared at the door smiling. Stepping past you he uncuffed the patient's ankle chain that restrained him to the bed, there was raw skin where the metal dug into his flesh and some blood stains on the corner of the sheet.

“You must be the new nurse. I am Jihoon, a resident nurse on the ward, if you need any help, or there is something you're not comfortable with you can call me,” he grinned, shaking your hand. You thought you heard Taehyung scoff which made you blink up at him curiously. You shrugged it off thinking maybe it was all in your head.

“My name is Y/n,” you prompted yourself to move on, “it’s nice to meet you”

“Nurse Y/n, could you get some spare clothes and bring them back?” Jihoon asked softly, “Tae’s clothes are in the green cube on the shelf.”

You went along the corridor and found the cubed shelves. Each cube seemed to have a coloured basket, the green one had Kim Taehyung written on it. “Hello?” A voice called behind you, you turned to see two young men sitting playing cards at a table.

“Hello, my name is nurse y/n, What are your names?”

“My name is Hoseok” the man laughed

“And I am Jungkook-ah” the other said sweetly “we are roommates, will you sit with us at lunch?”

“I will have to see if I am allowed. I don’t want to get in trouble,” you grinned before waving and heading back to Taehyung’s room where you heard the sound of banter coming from the bathroom.

“You don’t want to miss breakfast,” Jihoon said standing in the doorway, keeping a lookout for any sudden movements. “Oh Y/n! Thanks, you can leave the clothes anywhere”

You took it upon yourself to make the bed and tried to disregard the blood and other intimate stains on the white sheets. You looked up and caught sight of Taehyung in the reflection of the mirror, he was watching you. His eyes were not wide with curiosity as you thought it would be, no rather they were hooded with something darker.

“Nurse Jihoon, I am almost finished with my shower” he moaned, still staring at your reflection, you saw how his arm shook and how his lips fell open in ecstasy. “I just have to finish this, it would be quicker if it wasn’t my own hand for a change”

Once the bed was made you ran off into the hall trying to ignore the sounds and clear the images from your head.

You helped serve breakfast and smiled sitting with the two young men from earlier. The nurse who showed you around had approved of the two boys, saying they were harmless. She did however have a bit of a laugh, “this one is Hoseok and that one isn’t Jungkook, his name is Jimin, they are roommates one has narcolepsy and the other is a pathological liar”

You sat down, talking with them about their card game and laughed at some of their jokes. Jimin promised you the world and told you sweet nothings. He even proposed to you several times, you concluded he was a shameless flirt.

“Hey Jiminie?” Taehyung said walking over, and brushing his fingers along Jimin's neck, “you want to play a game of cards?”

“I can't, I have to go to a photoshoot today.” He said before standing up, “I should get ready.”

“What a shame, maybe next time?” He smirked. The boy across the table started to draw frantically. You looked over and saw it was a general shape and the clothes and hair were that of Taehyungs but the face was distorted. You hummed at the boy's work.

“Nurse, the young ones are going to play outside.” The head nurse in charge of this ward announced, eyeing Taehyung carefully. “Would you be so kind as to watch over them? Please make sure they don’t eat anything strange.”

“Of course. I will be back in a little while,” You told the boys, they were so cute, it was like playing make believe but there was no turning it off. They really thought they were cats and dogs and you loved them already despite it only being your first day. You wanted to protect them while they were in this headspace no matter what.

Looking up at the second floor of the hospital you saw Taehyung pressed against the glass looking down at you. He seemed to be angry at the fact that you were playing with the boys. You saw him get dragged away from the glass and you could not help but feel concerned, hoping he hadn’t gotten hurt.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day he had been confined to his room and when you walked past all you could hear was crying and begging. You went to open the door but Jungkook, the silent patient grabbed your wrist gently. He handed you two sketches one was labeled Taehyung and it was him smiling and looking happy and genuinely adorable. The other was labeled V and it was the distorted picture from the morning. You flicked through the rest of the book and saw the others drawn, they looked a little different from real life but you knew who was who. The five young boys were drawn as cats and dogs making you smile.

The next day started a little differently, your shift started at lunch and you saw Taehyung sitting at the table looking forlorn, he was bandaged and looked weak. “They sedated him yesterday”,one of the nurses gossiped, “apparently he was trying to come onto one of the nurses working yesterday”

“I wish it was me, I would let him do whatever he wants,” Another nurse whispered back, you ignored them as you walked over and smiled “Good afternoon, how are you all feeling today?”

“Nurse y/n! You are here” Namjoon said, “Tell me, do you have any books to read at home?”

“I have a small bookshelf, why?”

“Well, I am bored and I would like some more books to read” He said and you hummed, “How about instead I tell you a story little by little so you have things to think about throughout the day?”

He reluctantly accepted and you started the story. There was a small giggle at one of the jokes made by Taehyung and you smiled, he looked so tired and soft in his little blanket, his wrists and ankles bandaged.

You were there for a while and the group began playing different card games, you had to explain some of the games and they picked up the concept quickly.

Taehyung left after a while, yawning while stating he was too tired to continue playing and the boys waved goodbye to him.

Jimin who just yesterday was afraid of him, walked him to his room, practically carrying Taehyung on his back while singing that they were soulmates.

It was odd because Taehyung didn’t seem that strange and when he did it wasn’t as extreme as people made it out to be. You had noticed Taehyung was a sweet boy, whilst V was just a little more forward and flirty.

Sure he still had his tendencies to do inappropriate things but you tried to ignore those moments and be professional at all times.

The problem was they began haunting you at night and you were finding it hard to keep your fantasies at bay. He was charming, flirty, and pleasing to the eye, could you really be blamed for being attracted to him?

The first time you met V and you mean really met V was when you were greeting him one morning and he sat there smirking at you.

“Hey there bad kitty, you want some milk?” He had his hand wrapped around his hard shaft. It was thick and the tip was an angry red, oozing out precum. “I want to give you all my milk, but you're a bad kitty and won’t take it”

You tried repressing the images from your head, squeezing your thighs together for some sort of friction, nothing has ever aroused you and made you this wet so quickly. Ignoring him as he jerked off on the bed you continued your act of nonchalance at his actions. You picked up his clothes off the floor and placed them in the wash basket.

You dodged his hand reaching out to grab you and he frowned before going back to his previous task. You cleaned his bedside table, he was becoming very vocal and more profoundly dirty as time went on. He had resorted to explaining everything about what he wanted to do to you in great detail.

Your underwear was soaked at this point and you were finding it hard to breath. You had to leave right then, you didn't know how long you could remain professional. You moved to pick up the book that had fallen off the bed, losing focus of your distance from the bed. You were briskly reminded when he took a firm grip of your hair.

Fuck.

You cursed at yourself, you made a huge mistake letting your guard down. Stupid stupid stupid. He pulled you up by your hair. “Open your mouth.” He growled as he came on your face. You watched him as his face contorted he growled and came hard as you kept your mouth firmly shut. When he finally finished he let go of your hair.

“You wasted my milk bad kitty” he huffed watching you clean your face in the sink before you promptly rushed out of his room.

Taehyung sat confused after breakfast. He took a puzzle and started working, “You okay Tae?”

“Oh hey, yeah I am just working on this puzzle, I am just a little confused” he smiled as the two of you sat and started working on the puzzle. It was a basket of kittens.

“This one looks like you” he laughed “you are a kitty”

The words and context were so innocent but you couldn’t help but remember what happened that morning and you glanced at the young man from the corner of your eye.

“What did he do?” Taehyung asked

“It was nothing you should be worried about” you smiled patting his head. “We should only worry about finishing this puzzle”

The night shift was different, you ate dinner with the residence and you all sat and watched a movie afterwards. It was a general audience movie with nothing bad in it.

Taehyung leant his head on your shoulder as everyone else including the other nurses sat watching the movie as well. The male nurse was sitting with the five young boys. They laid their heads in his laps and he gave them pets on their backs, trying to give all of them equal attention, otherwise one would whine and rub their heads into his arms.

The female nurse sat with Namjoon painstakingly discussing the movie instead of actually watching it. You and Taehyung were wrapped up in his blanket and you felt his hand start slithering down towards one of your thighs rubbing it tenderly. You glanced at him to see him smirking at you, “You’re such a bad kitty aren’t you?”

His hand slipped under your dress and into your underwear. His finger grazed your clit gently making you shift in your seat. Taehyung snickered as you bit back a moan, he moved inconspicuously a little closer and whispered in your ear. His voice was deep and barely audible, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“You are a bad kitty aren’t you?” He pressed his nose against your neck and inhaled deeply, “Bad kitty smells nice”

Your mouth fell open, a silent gasp escaping as he pushed a single digit inside of you, “Taehyung, stop” You warned him and he chuckled darkly.

“I am not Taehyung, I am V” He took your free hand under the blanket and brushed it against his dick, letting out a small satisfied moan. He tried to pry your fingers open but you refused, he growled lowly and pushed another digit inside you. Whilst you were distracted he slid himself into your closed fist letting it mould around his shaft.

Unintentionally your fingers clenched around his boner as he gently guided your hand along his length back and forth. You kept your mouth firmly shut but it didn’t seem to stop the feelings from building, you were panting softly, the wet sounds coming from between your legs becoming more audible to you and you sighed in relief when you sawa loud action scene was underway in the movie.

He pumped his fingers and moved your hand faster as his breathing became sporadic. V turned to you, biting your shoulder hard and coming into your hand. Without hesitation V pressed his thumb against your clit as he pumped his finger into you harder and you came, your body almost doubling over in pleasure.

“You are a bad kitty” He grinned, pushing your hand to your mouth “Lick your milk.”

“No,” You muttered seemingly uninterested and his smile disappeared.

“Bad, bad kitty” He watched as you got up and left.

As the days passed you understood more and more the difference between Taehyung and his counterpart V. You loved Taehyung, he was such a sweet boy who could do no wrong, but, you longed for the thrill of V, it took everything in your power to refuse his advances.

An easy way to establish who you were talking to was their nicknames for you, Taehyung called you a Kitty after that fateful day of doing a puzzle together. Whereas V called you Bad Kitty for reasons unknown.

One day during the night shift you heard Taehyung crying. Stepping into the room you saw how he wiped his eyes quickly, feigning that he was okay. “Hey, Taehyung, tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing please, you can go?” He sniffled, choosing to ignore his request you got closer and sat on the edge of his bed concerned.

“I am here now, I want to know what has got you so upset?”

He looked up at you innocently. The bedside lamp was his only source of light and it was quite dull. It made the room feel small as the shadows waited on the edge.

“I remember less and less, V is taking over and I can’t remember things, the boys sometimes get really nervous with me, Jungkook’s pictures are horrific.” He sniffed, “I have never been with a lady, let alone kissed someone and he has done such vulgar things”

You leaned over and kissed him before leaning back and smiling softly, “You have kissed a girl now”

He was frozen, fingers slowly pressing to his lips in shock, “Wait, nurse can I um, can you kiss me again a real kiss, I want to know what it feels like”

You knew you shouldn’t have but you let him. Yet you kissed him and he kissed back, it was soft and timid. He pulled back, “That was amazing, if I was just a normal person. Would there be a chance that you would ever like me, Kitty?”

“I would.” You smiled brushing his hair back and smiling at the innocence in his eyes.

“Would you let me take you out to dinner?” He asked softly, you nodded “Would you let me kiss you and maybe even spend the night together?”

You nodded and he frowned, “I wish I was normal, I just want to be normal” He cried into your shoulder hugging you and as you held him he kissed you softly. You didn’t have the heart to stop him with how gentle and kind he was. He pleaded sadly, “Please, just once, just tonight”

You were helpless to the look in his eyes and you shut his door climbing onto his bed where you kissed him, touching his body as he did the same. The light tinkling of his ankle cuff was the only thing keeping you alert to any possible dangers. But he was gentle. Taehyung wasn’t V.

“Does this feel okay?” He whispered “I am not hurting you?”

Riding him was like a dream, he guided you with his hands on your hips and you felt his heart racing against your hands that were on his chest. Right before he was going to finish, you got off and took him in your mouth, you weren’t going to take any risks without any condoms.

“Yes kitty,” he whispered as he grabbed your head and came. You managed to pull away and he came all over the two of you causing him to frown, “bad kitty you got us all dirty”

Alarm bells rang but he still looked so innocent and carefully wiped your face with a tissue, apologizing the whole time. Taehyung helped you dress and even helped you tie up your hair. “I am really thankful that you helped me experience something, I won’t tell anyone, I don’t want you to lose your job or anything”

“It’s okay, Taehyung, I trust you.” He gave your hand an affectionate squeeze and you slipped out the room before people would start to suspect something.

You and Taehyung spend the next few days bonding, he warns you when he feels himself slipping away and you have enough time to prepare before V emerges. Whilst painting in the garden Taehyung is talking about all the things he loves, his favourite style of music and his favourite colour and the two of you talk about what you would do if you could do anything.

On your way back Taehyung is telling you about a new electrotherapy that has been said to remove alternate persona’s from one's mind. “It is worth a shot don’t you think?”

“It sounds a little scary, what if something goes wrong, what if you die?” you asked

“I would rather die than spend my whole life in this ward trapped in my own body because someone else is taking control of me, making me do things I don’t want to” He exclaimed, laughing almost bitterly.

“Sorry Taehyung, I didn’t know” You whispered “It’s not something I can truly comprehend.”

“That’s right because you are perfect and everything is normal,” He hissed getting aggravated, he was being restrained when he panicked and started apologizing. “Wait I am sorry, I am sorry, please let me go.”

He was taken to his room and your heart felt like it was breaking, he was afraid of himself and he wanted to get better. He was alone, longing for someone to love him for who he was. Could you be that for him perhaps?

After dinner you went to the room to see him, he was hunched over his shoulders shaking as he sniffled, “I’m sorry,” his voice was small. You stepped over and touched his shoulder, his hand came up and squeezed yours. “You should go, I am not the person you should be with”

“I want to stay, I want to be with you. If there was a way, I would love to get married, have a family and live happily ever after.”

His grip tightened and the sniffling turned to laughter, you were pulled on top of him, his grip was harsh, “You want to get married, my bad kitty, you want me to put some babies inside you?”

You were grabbed and one of the male nurses sedated him, you were crying and you left the room, “I just tried to comfort Taehyung, I am fine I was just startled and scared. I will go for a shower and I will head home for the night.”

You came back to work the next day but you didn’t step foot into Taehyung’s room. You spoke over meals with everyone and he was his usual nice and gentle self. He told everyone that he was getting electroshock therapy. He was saying if it all went successful he would be allowed out of the asylum and allowed to live like a normal human again.

It took three whole weeks before you had willingly stepped into Taehyung's room, it was his first interview about him and his illness they were recording data to compare with afterwards. You walked him to his interview and walked him back, opening his door and stepping inside.

The door shut behind you and you knew he was behind you. The number one rule is don't let the patient block your exit. And here you were stuck in the room blocked in by Taehyung.

“Hey Taehyung, you want to play another game of cards” you said, watching him look at the door shoulders hunched over. He slowly turned, looking up with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I’m not Taehyung.” he said,his face void of any expression.

“Who are you, then?”

“You know who I am!” He shouted before reigning himself back in, “I am V, I am the one that scares you bad kitty, that day when they sedated me, I almost had you”

“You liked what I said though didn’t you, you pressed your thighs together and the sweet scent of arousal filled the room. You want to get fucked and you want it hard” he said, gripping you by the hair and pushing you so your chest is flat against the bed.

You wanted it, god you wanted it and he knew it, but you would get fired. As if reading your thoughts V softly whispered into your ear, “you can blame me if they come in sweetheart, no one has to know you were willing, just tell me you want it”

“I can’t” you whined into the bed cursing that you couldn’t.

“You let Taehyung fuck you but not me?” He pressed himself against you letting you feel how hard you made him.

“Because Taehyung was sweet,” and upset. You were trying to comfort him and had forgotten you were at work, but you didn’t say the last bit out loud.

“Listen to me. Taehyung doesn’t control me but I can control him, that was all me, you know it because I called you by my nickname. Didn’t he call you bad kitty that day?”

You looked at him in shock as he continued, all the while lifting your dress and pulling down your soaked underwear, “That’s right it was me all along so what’s the harm if we try it again?”

“Fuck me, please” you moaned throwing caution to the wind, if you lost your job then so be it.

He pushed himself into you in a single, hard thrust and you felt your walls stretch around him. He felt bigger then Taehyung but that had to be impossible.

Where one was timid and soft, he was rough and ferocious, his hips pistoned in and out as he fucked you hard. He was vocal and unrefined, he didn’t have any other thought except the primal urge to fuck you. The lewd sounds bounced off of the walls as he pounded into you. He thrusted deep, you could feel him deep inside in your inner walls.

You were drooling, biting the blankets on his bed clutching them between your fists trying to muffle the sounds you were making.

Taehyung had thrust hard one last time before you felt heat spreading inside you and your eyes shot open, “Fuck, Tae what about a condom?”

“You are mine.” he growled, punctuating each of his words with a thrust as he went, leaving you a writhing mess.

You quickly got dressed and stormed into the staff bathroom and took a shower.

You changed your clothes and hurried home. You spent the night huddled in your blankets crying yourself to sleep.

You left for a while after that incident, you spent christmas and new years with your family and when you came back you went back to working right away. The shift was awkward as Taehyung kept staring at you, you didn’t know what it meant but you tried to pay it no mind. The end of your first week back was the day Taehyung would undergo Electroshock therapy.

When it came around you walked him to the theatre and stayed in the hall, you didn’t want to witness it but you wanted to be there by him as soon as it was over. What you didn’t expect was the screaming. What felt like after an eternity but was only half an hour later they stepped out wheeling Taehyung on a gurney, he didn’t look so good.

It took awhile but Taehyung was starting to grow stronger and he would chat and seemed to be getting healthier and there was no sign of V. You were extremely happy and a month later he was reviewed and approved for discharge from the asylum. He was finally moving in with you and you two were going to live together and start a family.

He waved to the boys but they hadn’t stopped crying all morning, they didn’t say a word, only sobbing more when Taehyung hugged them before leaving. “I wish I could take you all with me,” He said, wiping his eyes.

Taehyung moved in and you two started decorating the apartment to make it more homey. You were cooking dinner for him one night, everything was going well so far, it had been two months since his discharge and the two of you were happy.

“We could try for a baby, if you wanted?” Taehyung shuffled his feet looking at the ground. You giggled, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom, he undressed you and laid you on the bed before undressing and settling in between your legs. You hadn’t been intimate since Taehyung had been discharged from the asylum and it was just as amazing as you remembered, slow and sensual just like your first time with Taehyung.

Taehyung lifted your hands above your head, kissing and licking your breasts. Panting against you when his hands tightened his grip around your wrists. His hips drove deeper inside you, he was soon going faster and harder pounding into you with all his force and you whined in pleasure. “Yes please.”

“Do you like that bad kitty?”

If you enjoyed this story don’t forget to Like | Reblog so others can enjoy it too.

213 notes · View notes

13uswntimagines · 3 years

Text

Cliche (Tobin x Reader)

Request: Marriage Proposal

Author’s Note: Special Thanks to @literaryhedgehog

“I’m just saying, I opened my inbox. SOMEONE should have messaged me,” Tobin said, tugging on her hair frustratedly. You watched in amusement, loving the way the sunlight caught her hair, as you exited the movie theater. She was so focused on her tirade that she didn’t even look down as she stumbled over an uneven brick in the patio, just continued walking. “It’s been open for days and I reblogged several of those ‘send me a number and I’ll answer a question’ posts!”

“Babe, you run an anonymous fandom blog for a sci-fi television show that stopped running 15 years ago,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“19 years, ago,” Tobin corrected, “and it has a pretty strong fanbase! That fanart I made got at least 100 likes.”

“You’re just lucky they didn’t match the brush strokes or something and figure out it was you. Like they did with your other fake Tumblr. They’re like crazy detectives,” You said side eyeing your girlfriend.

“I mean, I was making fanart of us on that one, it was pretty obvious.”

“I love it when you paint me, but It’s really creepy that you put it on the internet,” You huffed, crossing your arms tightly across your chest.

“Oh come on, I only posted the ones I made from press photos. You have a problem with the high definition, you talk to Alyssa’s girlfriend. She’s the photographer.”

“As long as you keep your drawings just for us, yeah?” You asked. Tobin had quite the eye, and she often found her greatest inspiration when you were relaxed. When you let your guard down. That mess the that many of her sketches of you were most certainly not suitable for public consumption.

“Anything I draw from life instead of from a screen I keep.” Tobin winked at you and linked her arm through yours. “So, what did you think of the movie? Or was it too romantic for you, you action-thriller loving fiend?”

You shrugged. “I think it was a little too cliche. Like who the fuck brings a diamond ring to the airport and uses the intercom to propose to the girl who just dumped him for a job across the country? And then she chooses him?” Some plots just made zero sense. At least your action movies didn’t force a girl to choose a person who was completely wrong for her.

“Oh come on, everyone loves cliches. I’ve seen the number of ‘there were only one bed’ fics you’ve read.”

“Those aren’t forced heteronormative love stories that don’t actually care about the characters” You scoffed.

“I have seen your archive of our own bookmarks, do we want to continue this conversation?” Tobin said sweetly, looking at the windows of the shops you passed, though you could see her suppressing a smile. She loved winning, be it argument or soccer game.

“My archive history doesn’t count,” you grumbled, pouting. It wasn’t your fault you had been kinda into Bellatrix dating Hermione, especially when they were both the same age and you got to see some Hogwarts hijinks (it helped you weren’t a Ron fan either).

“Sure, sure. Tell you what. You don’t like my new favorite Rom-Com? Show me you can do better,” Tobin gestured to the outdoor coffee shop along the route ahead. “Real life coffee shop AU. Here’s your chance to defy heteronormative love stories and cliches in the most romantic way possible.”

“Just please don’t spill your drink on me ok? You already have my number,” You asked, raising your eyebrows. You happened to like this shirt and didn’t want it to get ruined.

“That would be a cliche, wouldn’t it? I thought you wanted to avoid those?” Tobin said, raising her eyebrows to mirror yours as she pulled out a chair from one the tables, “you’re chair, mon chere?”

“You can be quite the Gentlelandy miss Heath if I do say so myself,” You smirked, settling into the chair she had pulled out for you, kissing her cheek.

“Why thank you,” Tobin said, tossing her hair back playfully before settling into her own seat. She grabbed the menu and opened it up. “So, what are you thinking? Asking the barista to make heart-shaped foam? Splitting a pasta dish and reenacting lady and the tramp?”

“I was thinking a cafe mocha with no whip, and I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t sell spaghetti,” you said, setting your chin on your hands, leaning on the table.

“I think I’ll get a nice chai latte. And a muffin on the side.”

“Lame. How do you live in Portland and hate coffee?”

“I thought you were supposed to say nice things. We already know each other, this can’t be enemies to lovers AU!”

“You’re still stuck on that?” You asked, sighing when Tobin raised her eyebrow at you. “Fine. How nice of you to choose a predictably unusual drink, and healthy snack for our date. Better?”

Tobin snorted. “Undeniably.”

“Good,” you watched her as she placed your orders with the waitress, thinking over what to do. She managed to place the order with her usual level-headedness, but she had the slightest smirk as she turned back to you. It was both loving and a challenge.

“Babe,” you said, “I literally have no idea how to make this a living coffee shop AU. I can’t remember the last time I read one of those where neither of the characters was a barista.”

“First I think we talk about random things while sipping our drinks, wondering how we get each other so well,” Tobin started, setting your drink on the table in front of you.

“So basically do what we normally do, but with added pressure?”

“Yep! Wanna start? You can tell me about that new fanfic writer you’ve been reading? The one who writes the really cute Sonnett fics?”

“Oneanddone has a couple… it’s like they actually know about Snippets from her and Lindsey’s relationship,” You said, your lips ticking up.

“That sounds fun and not at all creepy,” Tobin said, leaning forward.

“The best one was where Lindsey flew all the way to Sweden to propose. It was cute, but entirely too cliche,” You winked at Tobin, so she knew you were continuing the joke. “She just showed up and proposed after Emily won the championship and Emily kissed her hard hat and all. Like they would give the fans that much PDA in one shot,”

“Hmmm, better check for cameras then,” Tobin said, ruffling in her pocket. You heard the sound of candy wrappers, as usual following a movie with her.

“What?”

Tobin got down from her chair and kneeled in front of you. “Y/M/N, I have liked you since the first day I met you. You were smart, beautiful, and had a hell of a right hook. Watching you on that punching bag was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen, up until the day you agreed to go out on a date with me. And the date after that, and the date after that. I fell in love with a woman who’s not afraid to have an opinion, who will ask to pet every dog she sees, and who loves listening to me rant about any subject over the moon. Now I know you don’t like cliches, so I didn’t get you a diamond,” She pulled her hand out of her pocket and held the ring pop up for you to see, “I got you a cherry. I also have a grape and orange in my purse. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” You breathed out, forgoing the ring pop in favor of kissing your girlfriend- fiancé.

“Such a cliche,” she murmured against your lips, threading her fingers through your hair.

“Shut up and kiss me,”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #tobin heath imagines #tobin heath x reader #literalhedgehog

275 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

the words you read (my heart’s been displayed)

how did you know 'cause I never told but you found out I've got a crush on you the words you read, my heart's been displayed you found out I've got a crush on you —“crush on you,” the jets

warnings: awkward clueless teenagers, crushes, slightly overbearing matchmaking uncles, mentions of government surveillance, mostly fluff, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairing: virgil/logan, secondary patton/roman and janus/remus

word count: 5,761

notes: this is for day 5 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “vocab card/skateboard” and i have decided to write about vocab card! please enjoy!

⁂

In Virgil’s opinion, Logan Sanders is the cutest boy in all of the sophomore grade.

He was the cutest boy in freshman year, too, and eighth grade, and seventh, and all the way back to kindergarten, but Logan’s changed over the summer.

He’s sprouted up a few inches, so now he’s a half-head taller than Virgil. He still looks a little gangly, like he’s going to grow more. He’d always been shorter than Virgil before. He’d gotten new glasses, too, black frames that suit him way better than the silver ovals he’d used when they were little. His voice has gotten a bit deeper, his jawline’s gotten stronger, and Virgil’s helpless crush on him has only grown with Logan.

Logan isn’t just cute, either, he’s smart. He carries around stacks of notecards, blank and filled in, and there’s all sorts of things written on it—interesting fun facts and the latest slang terms, in rubber-banded stacks next to rubber-banded stacks of notecards of terms that will be on their next exam. Logan has a way of explaining anything and everything in a way that is really understandable and never makes you feel dumb. Logan’s always top of the class.

And to make matters worse, they’re next-door-locker-neighbors this year, because Chloe-who-was-between-them-alphabetically moved away. Which means that Virgil cannot quite get away with admiring Logan from afar, the way he has since they were little. Which means that when school starts, on the first day when Logan asks him what homeroom he’s in this year, Virgil’s brain can only go ahhhhHHHHHH and the fact that oh my God Logan is tall now oh my GOD Logan has the locker next to mine now! makes him delay his answer because he’s just staring at Logan, and Logan looks at him a little oddly and then repeats his question as if he thinks Virgil didn’t hear him, and Virgil kind of wants to crawl into his locker to hide there forever thanks.

“Oh,” he manages. He closes his locker. “Um. I’m in Mr. Morales’ homeroom this year.”

Logan smiles at him. Logan SMILES AT HIM. And then he says, “I am, as well. Perhaps we’ll be seated next to each other in homeroom, in addition to being locker neighbors. I would enjoy that.”

He would ENJOY THAT!!!!!

Logan clears his throat and fiddles with his glasses, finally just pushing them a little further up his nose, even though they’re pretty high up on his nose already. “Would you like to walk together to Mr. Morales’ classroom? I was in his home economics class last year, I know where it is.”

“Um, sure,” Virgil says, voice cracking embarrassingly, and he considers opening his locker back up again so that he can hide there. He’s pretty skinny, he might be able to fit.

So they walk to Mr. Morales’ classroom. Logan’s the one talking, mostly; Virgil’s grateful for that, because he’d probably just be rambling nervously the whole time, and it’d be tempting fate to have his voice crack in front of Logan again. But now he can just listen to Logan’s various opinions about their summer reading for their English class, which is much safer. He sure has a lot of opinions about it, which makes Virgil sweat a little nervously—Logan sounds like he’s ready to sit down and write an essay about it, as if they’re going to have to, and Virgil’s pretty sure that if he sat down to take a multiple-choice quiz about that book right now he’d flunk it.

They end up not being assigned to sit next to each other. Mr. Morales says to just sit wherever, since they’re all going to go to an assembly once he takes attendance anyways, and that he probably won’t assign seats for the whole year.

And then Logan ends up sitting next to him anyways.

Like he really meant that he’d like to be next to Virgil in homeroom.

Mr. Morales smiles at them, and then, inexplicably, gives Logan a double thumbs up? And then Logan’s cheeks go kind of red? Logan turns his face away from Mr. Morales, turning to more fully face Virgil.

“You were in his class last year, right?” Virgil says.

“Erm, yeah. Yes. I was.” Logan clears his throat, turning away from him. “He supervises my study hall, too.” Then he mumbles, “also he’s my uncle.”

“He’s your uncle?” Virgil repeats. This is news to him.

“Through marriage,” Logan explains. “Mr. Regnant is my father’s brother.”

Mr. Regnant is the arts-and-music teacher, and, though they don’t talk about it very much (students do, but then, students always gossip), Mr. Morales’ husband.

Mr. Regnant is also, not that Virgil would ever tell him so, Virgil’s favorite teacher.

“Which dad?” Virgil says, because Logan’s two dads were basically his only version of real-life gay representation when they were really little. He knows Mr. Sanders better than Logan’s other dad.

Mr. Sanders always volunteered to be part of the PTA moms who supervised them during holiday parties and field trips, though, looking back, he doesn’t think the PTA moms liked him very much. The kids, on the other hand, loved Mr. Sanders, who would treat them like very short adults and once a year would bring in his mamba Eve for kids to pet and hold.

Logan’s other Dad had been the one who encouraged the kids to throw paints and roll around in the mud and tear things up. Logan’s other Dad had come to supervise one holiday party and was politely asked to never do so again.

“Not Pa—I mean, Janus,” Logan says, looking briefly embarrassed. “He’s Dad’s—Remus’—twin brother.”

Virgil makes an “ohhh” sound, because that makes sense. Now he’s thinking about it, Mr. Regnant and Logan’s dad really do look alike, if one looked past their contrasting senses of style.

“That’s cool, though,” Virgil says thoughtfully. “That you’re related, I mean. Mr. Morales is really nice.”

“Yes, he is,” Logan says. “It’s been a bit strange to adjust to calling him Mr. Morales instead of Uncle Patton, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it probably would be,” Virgil says.

The bell rings, and Mr. Morales ushers them off to the assembly.

Logan sits down next to him on the bleachers at the assembly, too. Their knees bump together as they listen to the principal welcome them back from summer vacation and give some announcements.

And Logan keeps sitting down next to him.

At lunch, in their two shared classes, in homeroom. He wishes Virgil a good morning and good afternoon every day at their locker. As the months of the school year slowly creep by, Virgil definitely does kind of feel like crawling into his locker, sometimes, but less and less so, because.

Because he and Logan are kind of friends now.

Logan asks him about his favorite hot beverage and then starts bringing him chai when he and his uncles stop by a café before school. Virgil sketches out drawings of astronauts and space when Logan goes on a loving tirade about it that lasts, on-and-off, for a week.

He still definitely has a crush on Logan. His increased presence near him is both a blessing and a curse.

They share earbuds and laugh at videos in homeroom, they sit quietly side-by-side and do their homework together in study hall. Virgil even tags along, sometimes, when Logan takes time out of his day to visit his uncles. His uncles always seem delighted whenever Virgil drops by, which Virgil guesses makes sense—Mr. Morales is just kind of Like That, and he��s been taking classes with Mr. Regnant since freshman year, and they’ve been sassing at each other for just about as long.

Logan makes those visits rare, though. He always seems a little self-conscious about how excited his uncles are during their visits, the way they elbow Logan and give him thumbs-ups and wiggle their eyebrows. Virgil doesn’t really get it—he thinks it’s nice that his uncles are so excited to see Logan with his friend.

But then his mom unexpectedly comes by and drops off his lunch and ruffles Virgil’s hair right in front of Logan, and Virgil spends the rest of the day going beet red even Logan assures him that it’s okay and he thinks it’s nice, something in his brain... clicks. A little bit. Even though it doesn’t make sense.

Does Logan...?

No, his brain tells him. There’s no way.

But Virgil keeps an eye out for the next week anyways.

On Monday, Logan’s uncles give him a ride to school and also drive him by the café, so Logan hands over a chai for Virgil. Virgil smiles and thanks him.

Have Logan’s ears always gone red whenever Virgil thanks him for bringing him tea?

On Tuesday, their fingers brush when Logan’s passing over a stack of notecards for Virgil to study for an upcoming exam during their study hall. Simultaneously, they look away from each other, redirecting their attention to their textbooks.

Have they always done that?

On Wednesday, Logan and Virgil swing by Mr. Morales’ classroom. After Virgil laughs at a somewhat sarcastic comment that Logan says, and redirects his attention to the sketch he’s been doing to turn in for approval for his end-of-semester art project, he peeks through his bangs to see Mr. Morales waving his hands eagerly, and Logan go red and gesture sharply for him to stop.

Has Mr. Morales always been so excited whenever he and Logan spend time in his classroom?

On Thursday, Logan seems chilled by the overenthusiastic air conditioning, so Virgil gives him a spare hoodie he had in his locker. Logan looks at him, looks away, and then proceeds to huddle in Virgil’s hoodie for the rest of the day, even after the school adjusts the temperature and it isn’t quite so cold.

By then, his brain saying no way! No way, you cannot afford to be wrong on this so you aren’t even going to try, there’s no way—

It’s after school on Thursday, and Virgil makes sure Logan has already gone home when he descends the stairs to Mr. Regnant’s art-and-music studio.

“Oh, Virgil, hey,” Mr. Regnant says, distracted, looking up from the sheet music he’s laying out across four desks. “Gimme a second, I’ve got the feedback for your sketch on my desk somewhere—”

Virgil looks to Mr. Regnant’s desk. He can’t even see the mug of pens on his desk that Virgil knows is there, it’s so buried in papers and models and paint palette piles. It’s like an avalanche waiting to happen.

“Uh, that’s not—you can give it to me tomorrow,” Virgil says awkwardly. “Um. That’s not why I’m here.”

Mr. Regnant blinks at him. “All right.”

“I,” he wipes his hands on his jeans and grimaces, not quite believing that he’s about to do this. “I need advice.”

Mr. Regnant pauses, before he manages to find an empty desk and sets down the sheet music. “Okay.”

“Before I say anything,” he says. “I need you to give me this advice as Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Regnant says. “Yeah, ‘course, Virgil. I’m always—”

“Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club, is a separate person from Mr. Regnant, Logan’s Uncle Roman,” Virgil interrupts, twisting his fingers together anxiously. “Right?”

Mr. Regnant opens his mouth. Closes it. He gestures for Virgil to sit on one of the choir risers, settling there himself, but Virgil sits on the floor. This is a time in which floor-sitting is necessary.

“He could be,” Mr. Regnant says eventually.

“Well I need him to be,” Virgil snaps. “Okay?”

Mr. Regnant presses his lips together and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little higher pitched. His lips twitch and he clears his throat. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Oh my God, you’re about to laugh at me,” Virgil says, horrified. “I knew this was a terrible idea, forget it—”

“No!” Mr. Regnant says hastily. “No I’m not, no I’m not. I swear I’m not. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is not about to laugh.”

“Is Mr. Regnant Logan’s uncle about to laugh?!”

“I thought they were different people,” Mr. Regnant sasses back, seemingly on instinct, and Virgil buries his face in his hands and screams a little bit. Just a little bit.

“Shi—shoot, I mean shoot!” He says, and tugs lightly at Virgil’s arm. Virgil peeks at Mr. Regnant from between his fingers.

Mr. Regnant’s face is very serious. There is no more sign of lip-twitching, throat-clearing, or mirth in his eyes.

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is here and listening,” he says. “Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any relatives to speak of. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any twin brothers or nephews. What on earth even are those? Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA would have no idea. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA doesn’t even have parents, or a husband, that’s how absolutely relative-less he is. Okay?”

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is an asshole,” Virgil mutters.

“Faculty supervisor of the GSA is starting to not sound like words anymore,” Mr. Regnant says, “also, you are so lucky school is technically over, otherwise I would have totally given you a detention for language.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, you literally just almost swore.”

“Almost,” Mr. Regnant says, “is not the same as did. Now. What can I do for you, Virgil?”

Virgil takes a deep breath in.

“What do you do if you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

Mr. Regnant’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but otherwise, he doesn’t react.

“You could talk to him?”

“Okay, maybe I should be more specific,” Virgil says, “What do you do if you have an anxiety disorder, and you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

“I know you’re not gonna like this,” Mr. Regnant says, “but my answer is still you could talk to him.”

He holds up a hand before Virgil can protest. “I know it can be scary, I know it can be anxiety-inducing. I know that can be a deterrent for a perfectly neurotypical person, let alone someone who’s got a diagnosed anxiety disorder. But, I mean. Your only options, as I see them, are, A, tell him, or B, sit quietly and wait for him to maybe make the first move.”

“But how can I be sure?” He says.

“Well, why do you think he likes you back?” Mr. Regnant says reasonably.

So Virgil tells him. Virgil tells him all about it—thinking he was cute since they were kids, then suddenly becoming friends this year: the chai, the sketches, the music listening, the blushing and the awkward chats, and how they’re friends now but Virgil still really likes him in a romantic way.

“Does that sound like he likes me back?” he asks anxiously.

Mr. Regnant bites his lip. “As the faculty supervisor of the GSA? I think it could definitely be likely.”

“Likely?” Virgil wails.

“Well, as the faculty supervisor of the GSA,” Mr. Regnant enunciates carefully, “I can’t be certain.”

“I can’t go and tell him based on if it’s just likely! I need to be sure he likes me back or else there’s a chance he says he doesn’t like me and then I’m going to have a heart attack and die!”

“Virgil! As the faculty supervisor of the GSA! I really think you should go for it!”

Mr. Regnant looks like he’s about to reach out and start shaking Virgil by the shoulders. His eyes are huge, the way he always looks at actors onstage who have forgotten their lines, like by just staring at them he’ll be able to psychically impart the script to them.

“Forget it,” Virgil groans and reaches for his backpack, swinging it over his shoulders and standing up. “I’m doomed to suffer in silence. Thanks, I guess, I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Please don’t tell anyone I told you all this.”

As Virgil is closing the classroom door behind him, he’s pretty sure he hears Mr. Regnant screeching.

Honestly, Virgil should be the one screeching. He can’t believe he just told him all that—who knows if Mr. Regnant will be able to keep the information of a crush concerning his nephew to himself?!

⁂

“Okay, here’s your mocha-with-extra-espresso, please don’t tell your Dads,” Uncle Patton says cheerfully, passing back a to-go cup to Logan. “And the chai! I think it’s very sweet that you keep getting this for him, kiddo.”

“Gestures are a good way to express affection,” Logan says anxiously, carefully setting the chai in a cupholder. “I’ve been trying to vary my approaches based off the five love languages. I’m not sure if it’s working.”

Uncle Roman in the passenger seat, his arm thrown over his eyes, makes a sound of great discontent, the way he’s been doing for the past week whenever Uncle Patton has tried to give him any advice concerning Virgil.

“Are you okay, Uncle Roman?” Logan asks again.

“Thinking about being the faculty supervisor to the GSA,” Uncle Roman moans, as if in pain.

“Is the club schedule about to be particularly busy?” Logan asks, frowning. “You typically enjoy your work with the GSA.”

“You could say that,” Uncle Roman says tightly, then groans again.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do personally, in order to relieve any undue stress,” Logan begins, but is cut off by Uncle Roman shrieking.

“Um,” Logan says, looking to Uncle Patton, who snorts, shaking his head.

“He just, um,” Uncle Patton says. “Well, I think something’s happened, except he told me he can’t tell me what it is without betraying someone’s trust, so.”

“I see,” Logan says, frowning, except for the part where he doesn’t see, really. But that happens fairly frequently with Papa and Dad. Honestly, it’s rather curious that Uncle Roman has not acted in a way that seems strange to outsiders. Dad does it all the time, and they’re twins.

Oh, well. He’s sure he’ll understand eventually.

“I’m fine,” Uncle Roman says, and he sniffs loudly. “I’m fine, it’s all—fine.”

Uncle Patton pats his hand sympathetically, before directing their car to school.

Logan sips his drink, before he says idly, “I think I’m going to tell him I’ve had a crush him today.”

Uncle Roman immediately spews coffee onto the windshield in an impressive spit-take. It is hilarious. Even though Uncle Roman is choking a little.

Uncle Patton meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, his eyes bright with excitement. “Really?!”

“Really,” Logan confirms. “I mean, it’s been—it’s been a couple months. We are friendly enough. I do not think that Virgil will discard our friendship if I confess that I have had a crush on him since last year.”

“Well!” Uncle Patton says, so flustered that he accidentally turns on the windshield wipers when he means to signal a turn, and then when he tries to fix that he turns on his hazard lights, before he manages to get the car under control again. “Well, that’s great, kiddo! I’m so excited for you!”

“You are the smartest kid I know,” Uncle Roman says, turning in his seat to face Logan, his expression near-worshipful. “I love you.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“I know you don’t believe in psychics, but are you—?”

“Why are you bringing up psychics?” Logan says, perplexed. “I figured—well, I’ll tell him. And it is time that the Halloween festival will begin this weekend. That seems like a date that Virgil would enjoy.”

“Right,” Uncle Roman says. “Okay. Well—go for it! Please go for it!”

“I have already told you I will,” he says.

“I think it’s gonna go great if you go for it!”

Strange. Uncle Roman is acting as if he has had too much caffeine. As far as Logan is aware, the beverage they have just stopped to get is his first coffee of the day, and he does not metabolize the effects of coffee that quickly.

“Right,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses and taking a sip of his coffee. Then, “Right.”

Then, “What if he says he doesn’t like me back?”

Uncle Roman throws his arm across his eyes and makes that same groaning sound again.

Uncle Patton absentmindedly reaches over and bracingly rubs Uncle Roman’s thigh, again meeting Logan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Well, kiddo, if he says he doesn’t like you back,” he says, then frowns. “It’s understandable to be disappointed, or a little bit upset, but it’s important to accept his answer graciously and kindly. No means no. No is a full sentence. But Virgil seems like a very nice boy, I can’t imagine he’ll be very mean about it at all, and you two have gotten close over the past few months. It might be kind of awkward for a bit, but with a little work, your friendship will be able to survive it.”

“I suppose,” Logan says quietly, looking down at his lap.

“But,” Uncle Patton adds hastily, “I think the chances are really good for him saying yes to the date! We both do, don’t we, Roman?”

Uncle Roman lets out a very strangled “mm-hmm.”

Logan chews his lip, before he says timidly, “Can I borrow one of your phones to call my Dads?”

“Cupholder, just a bit in front of ya,” Patton says cheerfully. “You already know the password.”

Logan does. He swipes it in—his uncles’ wedding date—and presses on Papa’s contact number. Dad’s phone is lost more often than not, and almost always turns up in strange places, like inside the gateau he’d tried to make, or inside the neighbor’s rain gutters.

His father picks it up almost immediately.

“Patton, if this is about the adopt-a-thon, if I have told you once I have told you a thousand times—”

“Um, hi, Papa,” Logan says awkwardly; he does not want to get into the family squabble about sharing a pet between their households again. Eve is a sufficient pet, even if she’s not as cuddly as Uncle Patton might like.

His father’s voice transforms from chiding to concerned in a second. “Logan, is everything all right?”

“Yes, everyone is operating under adequate parameters,” Logan says. “Is Dad there?”

There’s the sound of something crashing in the background, as if on cue. Knowing Dad, it might have been.

“I’ll get him,” Papa says wearily.

He hears his Papa say Remus, our son is on the phone, please put down the—Uh, Jan, sexy-pie! I thought you were! On the way to work!—what the—REMUS, we’ve TALKED about this, how did you lay hands on a HERON—and then the conversation gets a good deal more muffled. He is pretty sure that Papa is shouting at Dad about capturing local wildlife again.

He waits patiently, before he hears the clatter of the phone being passed into someone’s hands, and Dad asks, “Did someone die?! Do you need help covering up a murder?!”

“Remus, please,” Papa groans, “the boy is too smart to implicate himself by opening the opportunity to be recorded over the phone lines.”

“That’s right, Logie-bear, the government is always watching,” Dad says solemnly. “Big brother, all hail. Also lean over and give my little brother a wet-willie for me, it’d be so funny—”

Logan, accustomed to conversations of this tone since birth, continues stolidly onward. “I’m going to tell Virgil I like him today.”

“Finally!” Dad hoots.

“That’s excellent, Logan,” Papa says placidly. “Please know that I am fully aware of the misogynistic roots of the what are your intentions discussion, and I’ve been doing research in order to make our version as feminist as possible. Also, your father has been warned to discuss minimal amounts of gore when he comes to our home.”

“What is the point of a shovel talk then!”

“We already agreed no shovel talk,” Papa says irritably. “When we threaten the boy, we’ll do it subtly.”

“Please don’t threaten him,” Logan says anxiously. “I don’t even know if he likes me back yet.”

“Of course he likes you back!” Dad says, outraged on his behalf. “Why the hell wouldn’t he like you back?!”

“How did you two know that you loved each other?” Logan asks. The question feels slightly childish, and he feels even more so when he curls up in his car seat, but he cannot deny the posture brings a certain level of comfort.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Papa says.

“I’m sixteen in a matter of weeks!”

Dad makes an absurd gagging noise, because he is ridiculously averse to the concept of Logan (and therefore, himself and Papa) aging. Logan thinks that it might have to do with a latent existential crisis, but he has not asked, because knowing Dad, he will spin it out into thirteen separate absurd reasons, and ten of them will make Logan cringe away, repulsed.

“Trust my judgment on this,” Papa says. “You do not want to know the origins of how our romance developed. However, when we actually had the discussion concerning feelings, your father—”

“I wrote him a beautiful letter in my best calligraphy,” Dad says proudly, then, “You probably don’t want to hear about the ink, do you?”

“Is it disgusting?” Logan asks warily.

“Quite, but,” then, in a voice that literally every other person wouldn’t realize is Papa’s version of profound sappiness, “that’s your father.”

There is the sound of kissing. Logan resists the urge to make a gagging noise of his own, because somehow, he is the mature one in the entire family.

“As it is, just,” Papa says, then sighs. “I cannot believe I am about to give such... Pattonish advice. But. As it is, just be yourself. If this boy likes you back—”

“—as he should, and if he doesn’t he’s in desperate need of a lobotomy,” Dad mutters.

“—then he will like you for you, just the way you are,” Papa says, as if Dad had not said anything remotely worrying. “Tap into your strengths, Logan. You are intelligent, and observant, and thoughtful—”

“—and the best son there is—”

“Well, that goes without saying, clearly,” Papa says. “As long as your confession comes from you, then there is no way that it can go wrong. You are simply too excellent a person for it not to.”

“Even if it turns out he doesn’t like me?” Logan says timidly.

“If it does, then have your uncle forge an excuse note for you to get out of school early today and we’ll plot accordingly,” Papa says evasively. “But I do not think that outcome likely.”

Logan chews his lip. Papa is the best liar he knows, but—

But hearing his encouragement is too comforting to really analyze if he is lying.

“Thanks, Dads.”

“Knock him dead, kid!” Dad shouts. “And if he doesn’t then I will!”

“What did we just say about discussing potential evidence over the phone lines,” Papa scolds, and Logan hangs up, smiling.

Just be yourself.

Uncle Pattonish advice it may be, it has given him an idea.

⁂

Waiting over this past week to see if Mr. Regnant will crack and spill to Mr. Morales, or even worse, Logan himself, has been absolutely agonizing and Virgil’s kicking himself over going to Mr. Regnant for advice surrounding Logan at all.

That morning, though, Mr. Morales is at his desk, and a chai is waiting for Virgil at their usual spot, but Logan is nowhere to be seen. Virgil tries his hardest not to act too much like he’s keeping an eye out for Logan, but he is pretty sure he’s not succeeding, because Mr. Morales is smiling at him way too wide.

He actually seems really excited about something. Like, Mr. Morales usually gets excited when it’s fresh chocolate chip cookie day at lunch, but this is beyond the pale for fresh chocolate chip cookie day. Maybe the assembly they have today is something special? Except Virgil’s pretty sure it’s to pass out honors for the last quarter and talk about fall sports. That’s nothing particularly special.

Logan slides into his seat just before the bell rings, though, wrapping a rubber band around one of his notecard stacks. It’s a thin stack, it must be for something that’s just started; usually Logan compiles every unit of every class into thick stacks, able to be differentiated by the different colors of the notecards. These are just basic white ones.

He fiddles with it, darting looks to Virgil as Patton takes attendance, and, as they’re all filing out of the door, Logan holds out the stack of notecards.

“Here,” he blurts out.

Virgil blinks. “I don’t think we have a test soon?”

“They’re not for a test,” Logan says. “Just—take them. Read them during assembly. Please,” he adds belatedly.

“Uh,” Virgil says and takes them. “Okay?”

“Okay!” Logan says and nods. “Okay. Okay. Great! Um—please take your time to consider them carefully, and I await your response,” and then he practically runs off to fall into line near Mr. Regnant.

So that’s... weird.

But Virgil sticks the notecards into his hoodie pocket, anyways, ready to read them during assembly like Logan directed.

He waits until the principal is droning on about the importance of school spirit to take the notecards out of his pocket.

He spares a glance for Logan—who is several rows ahead, near the faculty, sitting next to Mr. Morales and Mr. Regnant, Mr. Morales occasionally reaching over to rub Logan’s shoulder bracingly—and then angles the notecards so that a teacher looking into the crowd wouldn’t really be able to see them.

He stares at the title on the top notecard. Blinks hard. Blinks again. Looks down at Logan’s back, then back to the notecard.

Reasons why I have a crush on Virgil.

He reaches over to pinch himself. Nope. Not dreaming, then.

And Logan really doesn’t seem like the type of person to make a joke like this.

He flips the cards and reads them slowly, savoring each and every word written in Logan’s blocky, neat script.

He is exceptionally witty.

He is knowledgeable about a great many things, such as music, art, spiders, novels, and mental health issues.

He is sarcastic.

He is thoughtful and deliberate in the formation of his opinions, even ones as small as the proper preparation of chai.

He is very handsome.

He is never rude without reason, and when he is rude, it is usually because the other person is “an asshole” and should be receiving backlash.

He is a remarkably talented artist.

Virgil keeps reading on, he is, he is, he is...

When he gets to the end—I would like to take you on a date. I would also like to be boyfriends, though I understand if you would like to table that conversation until we have established a rapport. Please let me know if you would be amenable to that suggestion.—he feels kind of dizzy. His throat is tight, his heart is pounding, and his hands are so sweaty he’s had to wipe them off on his jeans twice already.

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would think of him so highly?

It’s like he’s describing someone entirely different—awkward, anxious Virgil couldn’t possibly be the snarky, witty, caring, deep-thinking guy that Logan’s writing about. There’s just no way. But, Virgil thinks, heart twisting, but Logan doesn’t lie about things like this. Is this the way Logan sees him?

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would have a crush on him at all?

He likes Virgil. He wants to take Virgil on a date. He wants Virgil to be his boyfriend.

There’s the rumbling of everyone standing up from the bleachers, and Virgil jumps—has it really been the entire assembly?—and hastily gets to his feet, so he won’t get swept up in the crowd of students returning to their classrooms.

As he’s heading for the door, Logan practically materializes in front of him, hugging his books tightly to his chest.

“Did you read them?” He asks fretfully. Now that Virgil’s close to him, face-to-face, he isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Logan so nervous. He isn’t sure if he’s seen Logan nervous at all. Logan’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, drumming his fingers on his books, holding the books like they’re a teddy bear.

“Do you,” Virgil says, his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “You really like me?”

“Since last year,” Logan admits.

“I’ve liked you since kindergarten,” Virgil blurts out.

Logan blinks at him, jaw dropping. Then he says, “Really?!”

“Really,” Virgil promises. “My mom has this journal entry saved where I kept writing about how I was going to be Mr. Virgil Sanders, oh my God, she’s going to be so embarrassing about this—”

Logan snorts, ducking his head. “You’ve withstood my uncles handily.”

“Your uncles are cool, though,” Virgil says, confused.

“My uncles are embarrassing,” Logan says, “and my Dads are going to be so weird, I’m very sorry in advance, but—but if you can handle all of that, then I’d—I’d really like to take you out to the Halloween festival. I’d really really like that.”

Virgil’s smiling so wide that it hurts his face. “I’d really really like that too.”

And then the bell rings, and the pair of them jump at the sudden loud noise.

“I—we have to go to class,” Logan says, sounding very put out.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, then, “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Logan beams at him. “Lunch sounds wonderful.”

Virgil hesitates, before he reaches out and places a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He leans in and presses his lips to Logan’s cheek.

Logan’s bright red when he pulls away.

“Lunch?” Virgil confirms.

“Lunch,” Logan squeaks out, his voice cracking.

They emerge from under the bleachers, and have to split ways. Even when Mr. Regnant pulls him out into the hall under the guise of talking about his project and starts whisper-shouting about “do you know how HARD IT WAS to keep QUIET when i KNEW all along that you both LIKED each other bacK,” even when Mr. Morales ducks his head into his math class to pass over papers and gives Virgil some super-obvious thumbs up, even after he texts his Mom and his mom sends him screenfuls of exclamation points and immediately asks him to invite Logan over so that she can show Logan all of Virgil’s baby pictures—

Virgil cannot stop smiling.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders

125 notes · View notes