#like all the paintbrushes how do you know which one to use

[1-800-kami]

R U MINE? feat. gojo satoru

gojo satoru has got to be the picture definition of a stereotypical college frat boy. he’s cocky, loaded with his daddy’s money, and dangerously handsome. it seems like common sense to stay away from him since you’ll never get more than a one-night stand out of it. 

that’s why you choose to turn a blind eye once you’ve come to the horrific realization: you’re in love with him. and you’re just itching to ask…

“are you mine tomorrow? or just mine tonight?”

IMPORTANT: part two is out! read here :)

content: 8k words, afab!reader, angst! fluff! heartbreak! n everything in between! implied smut, rich college frat boy gojo and hellcat driver geto 🤑, emotional rollercoaster, reader has a toxic ex, trust issues (?) gojo is absolutely insufferable, misunderstandings, use of words hoe, slut, etc., mutual pining, some jjk character cameos (wink wink) me writing very unfunny dialogue, no bc wtf is this, cheating implications, emo gojo (the worst warning of them all)

author's note: hello hello! my name is kami, i've been reblogging fics on tumblr for a while now but i've recently figured out how to work this hellsite, so i'm going to start posting fics that i write! thank you to those who enjoyed my nanami drabble <3 kisses 4 u all.

this fic IS split into two parts (update: part two is now out!! linked here 2 read) and there is smut in the second part. so just. prepare yourselves for that ig.

reblog and interact for a kiss ;)

“so… let me get this straight.”

“go ahead.”

shoko takes a deep breath, and you just somehow know that she’s pinching her nose in exasperation right now. “utahime dragged you out to a party in hopes that you would hit it off with somebody. you wander off on your own and later, she sees you and gojo–THE gojo satoru–giving you his number?!”

“uh, yeah. that’s exactly what happened.”

“do you even understand what you’re getting yourself into?! that man bags hoes like they’re pokemon!” you readjust the phone against your ear and sigh at shoko’s comment. 

“okay, first of all, never say that again. second, i rejected all of his advances. i didn’t even save his number.” you stare at the crinkled-up note in your hands, which proudly displays his number and a slick call me if you change your mind ;). you wonder if you could sell this paper to his fangirls–you’d surely make a little bit of cash out of it. “i’ve seen gojo around. i know that i shouldn’t mess with him. plus, he was drunk as hell at the party; i doubt he even remembers my name. to him, i’m just some chick that he’s frustrated at because she didn’t want to fuck him the second she saw him.”

“do you… do you share any classes with him?”

“i don’t think i do.. just, don’t worry about it, okay? i’ll throw away his number and we can put all of this behind us. here, i’ll do it right now.” you rip up the paper into a few pieces before tossing it in the garbage can. hopefully, you did it loud enough that shoko heard it through the phone. “i get that you’re worried for me. and i appreciate that, but i can handle myself.”

“just… no more mention of gojo anymore, okay? you’re right, y/n. let’s just put this all behind us.” shoko sighs, and you smile at that. problem solved. you threw away his number, and he’s most likely moved on to the next girl by now, so that was that. now, you just have to forget about satoru gojo.

all to never let yourself get hurt ever again.

it’s hard to forget about gojo.

not because of those dangerous blue eyes of his–getting anyone lost in them if they stare for too long. not because of his stupid silvery white hair, which makes him look like a mop, and sometimes like a paintbrush. not that stupid cocky grin of his, either…

...but because you’ve recently found out that he sits next to you for physics.

the revelation was truly disheartening. you thought you could avoid him for the rest of the year because as far as you knew, you shared no classes with him. however, you completely forgot about the fact that gojo never attends class in the first place, and you don’t even know what classes he’s in… because he’s never there. so finding out that the seat next to you in physics wasn’t just an empty seat, and it was gojo’s assigned one, was truly an experience.

“gojo.” the name alone makes your heart stop, and you drop your pen to look at the man your teacher was addressing. “finally choosing to attend class for once?”

speak of the devil.

there he was, in all his glory–the man you’d never thought you had to deal with ever again. the man who tried to butter you up with his corny sweet talk so that you would go home with him for the night. the man who persisted with talking to you, even though you were barely interested. the man, who, at the end of the night, insisted on writing down his number for you in case you changed your mind about him and gave him a chance.

you wanted to shrink into your seat and never resurface. 

“good morning, yaga!” he says rather loudly, with no regard to honorifics at all. a few giggles could be heard across the classroom–though geto suguru’s voice was prominent–satoru’s equally as infamous bestfriend. “and yeah! it’s surprising, isn’t it?”

what’s also surprising is how gojo took a seat next to you. you thought that there was a mistake, that your teacher would scold him for sitting somewhere he isn’t supposed to sit and relocate him elsewhere. however, yaga just grumbles and begins the lesson, leaving you helpless and unable to look at the man next to you.

you swear he’s burning holes at the back of your head.

pleasdon’tremembermeisweartogodpleasedon’trememberme-

“you’re that girl from the party, right?” he whispers, and you’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your life. you slowly nod your head, turning to look at him, and he pouts. “y/n l/n. you never saved my number. hmph, i was looking forward to a text from you, too.”

“i’m surprised you even remember me, 'cause you were fucking wasted that night.” you twiddle your pencil, averting your gaze from the man. “and i never saved your number cause i threw the paper in the trash. it’s probably at a landfill somewhere, y’know.”

your words catch him off guard, and you laugh at how surprised satoru looks. it seems that’s definitely not an emotion he shows often. despite his initial reaction, satoru swears he could feel butterflies with the way your laugh sounds.

“not a common problem for a womanizer, huh?”

“what did you just call me?!-”

“y/n and gojo, do either of you have something to share with the class?” a dark blush of embarrassment covers your face, and somewhere in the back, you could hear geto snickering. gojo just smirks at yaga, seeming completely uanffected. “then i’d suggest you stay quiet the rest of this lesson. don’t make me separate you two.”

“i’d prefer that, actually…” gojo huffs at your comment, thinking of this as a lost opportunity if the two of you get separated. he does a once over at your appearance. you’re cute, but definitely not the party kind. you’re playing hard to get, and gojo finds it adorable–not a lot of girls go that way with him. however, gojo thinks you’re not just like any girl. there’s something different about you that intrigues him.

“did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?”

“how could i not? you’re so cute.” 

“i thought you already learned from the party, gojo. i’m not interested in you.” 

the light blush coating your cheeks says otherwise. he smiles cheekily at the way you tried to hide your reaction to his words. you’re an enigma to gojo… and he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. he thinks he’s made his decision.

he’s gonna do whatever’s possible to get your number.

when the bell rings 30 minutes later, you shove your notebook into your bag, eager to finally leave the class that you had with that stupid paintbrush. that is, until he stops you with a question. “what class do you have next?”

he’s relentless. “why do you care?”

“i want to walk you to your next class,” he says, and smirks before saying his next words. “it doesn’t really matter if you tell me or not. i’ll just follow you anyways.”

you sigh, absolutely exasperated with him. he’s like a fly who keeps invading your personal space—always coming back no matter how many times you swat it away. he’s right, though. damn him for being stubborn. “i actually have this period free.”

“oh, sweet!” he chirps, walking with you out the door, making sure to greet geto before he leaves the classroom. “let’s go to the courtyard. i’ll buy you a drink from the vending machine-“

“i was gonna do that regardless if you were here or not.” you give him a look, and you can’t help but tug on your sleeves when you see people whisper to each other as you walk the halls with gojo. of course you’ve heard the rumors. the man next to you is the most popular guy on campus. girls glare daggers at you and the guys call his name, although he barely even acknowledges them. 

some common things that you’ve heard about gojo around the school are: “i heard he only talks to girls for sex,” “apparently his best friend geto is just as much of a player!” “i mean, who wouldn’t fuck a guy like gojo, though? he’s hot and loaded.” “that’s how he reels you in, though. he gets his hand in your pants and never calls you back again.” you know you should stay away from him, it’s common sense, but it’s hard to stay away from him when he’s the one who glues himself to your side. 

“well, now you’ll get a free drink and we’ll get to know each other! isn’t that great?” he smiles and you just grimace at his words. 

“i don’t need your money…”

“don’t care! can’t hear you!” he says, and you’ve seriously considered just making a run for it. at least you’ll lose him, and you’d finally be able to find peace for a bit. although, it would cause a scene, and gojo would probably end up finding you again somehow. 

“what can i do to get you to leave me alone?”

that piques his interest, even though he looks slightly hurt by your question. he thinks for a bit, and smirks. “i really do want to buy you something from the vending machine.. and i want you to spend your free period with me. i’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day if you do.”

“do you promise? like, actually?”

“mhm! pinky promise!” you feel like you’re talking to a prepubescent boy.

“then sure-“ you’re about to agree, but he cuts you off with one more condition.

“i also want your number.”

you feel like you’ve been cursed by a god, because having the most popular guy on campus be interested in you has got to be the most chaotic thing to ever happen in your life.

“what do you have me saved as?” 

the question comes from out of the blue, and you look up from the book you were completely absorbed in. you and satoru were at the school library, on a “study date” as he calls it, although it was more so just gojo inviting himself to wherever place you go, as per usual. this time, you have an exam to study for, and you explicitly told him not to bother you unless absolutely necessary.

you do have to say, though, he’s not annoying as you thought he was. he just nagged you way more the first day he sat next to you in physics so he could get your number. it’s been a few days since then, but still, you’d definitely be more efficient in your studies if you didn’t have him attached to your hip all the time.

“satoru, i told you not to bother me-“

“unless absolutely necessary. yeah, i heard you, and this question needs an absolutely necessary answer! contact names really say a lot about our relationship, y’know.”

“relationship? nobody ever said we were even friends-“

“don’t break my heart like that, babe. plus, you don’t call me gojo anymore! it’s satoru to you now,” his heart warms at that realization, and you scoff, especially at the pet name. “we are friends, unless you’d like to be something more...”

“if you say anything else i’m calling you by your government name. gojo satoru.” he looks especially wounded by that.

“ah! don’t do that, please. it feels like we’re a married couple and you’re really mad at me.” he cries and you can’t help but giggle at his words. you decide to entertain him a little bit, fishing through your pocket to find your phone. 

he almost passes out at what he sees on your screen.

“it’s just my number? you didn’t even save my contact?!-“

the shushes from your fellow students and the librarians aren’t even enough to calm gojo’s agony and despair. it also does nothing to stop your laughter, either.

from that day on, gojo’s contact was forcefully changed from his number to “satoru” (he initially added a heart, but you deleted it, much to his disappointment) and one of his many selfies from his stupid instagram account. how the hell can a college student even have thousands of followers?! you think. 

gojo just says that nobody can resist his shirtless post-workout selfies. you’re surprised that you didn’t slap him at his words.

you push him away.

everytime gojo buys your favorite drink, (it’s always on him, despite your genuine insistence in saying that you could pay for your drink just fine.) everytime he walks you to all of your classes each day, (he memorized your schedule just so he could do this) everytime he buys you your favorite foods on the rare instances that you let him take you out for lunch, (usually, this requires a lot of begging, and you mostly relent during class when you’re just exasperated and wanted to get some notes down.), and everytime he calls you by those stupid pet names of his, you think back to what the entire student body says about him, and you think back to your phone call with shoko, where she warns you to not associate with him so you don’t get hurt by anyone ever again, and you push him away.

you push him away even when you realize that if he just wanted you for sex, he would’ve stopped chasing after you when you didn’t text him after that night at the party.

and that thought alone scares you.

still, you’re not heartless. satoru’s been asking to take you out for a while, and you finally agreed to go today. he’s especially chipper about your agreement right now, walking with a slight pep in his step as he bit around his ice cream cone. 

the park boasts some beautiful scenery today, and little children are out and about. still, you underestimated the weather, and the cold uncomfortably nipped your arms as you internally cursed yourself out for wearing just a shirt. you crossed your arms as a subtle way to shield yourself from the cold.

“don’t play coy with me, y/n. are you cold?” satoru says with a cocky grin, and you huff at his question. surprisingly, he drops the teasing act and unzips his sweater, handing it to you. “here, take it.”

“satoru-“

“i’m not doing this to flirt or whatever you’re thinking right now. you’re shivering, and i’m just concerned for you, so please wear it.” he deadpans, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him be so… upfront? you kind of like it. it’s not him teasing you or him being flirty. it’s just him showing that he genuinely cares for you as a friend. you take the sweater with a nod and put it on, ignoring how your heart is thumping as you take in his signature smell. cedarwood with a little bit of musk. it’s not an overpowering scent, but it still envelopes your senses.

“nevermind. you look so cute with my hoodie on. i feel like we’re in a j-drama right now, y/n!”

you take back everything you just said.

a few minutes later, you two are near the kids playground when you decide to take a break from walking, sitting on a nearby bench with gojo. the chirping of the birds and the wind passing through the trees is quickly overpowered by loud crying. crying from the child right in front of you, in fact.

you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but satoru beats you to it. he kneels in front of the kid, and coos, “hey, buddy. what’s your name, hm?”

he stops crying for a moment to look at gojo and shakily responds, “gumi-um, megumi fushiguro..” 

“megumi, huh.” he clicks his tongue for a moment. “why are you crying, megumi?”

“i-i don’t know where my dad is!” he cries, and satoru looks to you for help. you just shrug, unsure of what to do with the lost kid, until gojo’s face lights up, assumingly with a great idea.

“he’s most likely just around here somewhere. you can wait with us, and we’ll help you find him! say, do you want an ice cream to help you feel better, megumi?” the boy hesitantly nods, and satoru gives him a thumbs up as he takes him to the nearby ice cream stand. you’re watching this entire scene unfold, absolutely enamored with gojo for the first time. you didn’t think he had a natural talent with kids—but the way he’s making megumi laugh while he happily snacks on his ice cream says otherwise. an outsider could look at you three and assume that you’re just a happy family. 

you try to ignore how that makes you feel.

and as you wave goodbye to megumi once he eventually is reunited with his father again, (an intimidating man who gave you two an appreciative nod as he walked away with his son.) you realize something as you tug on the sleeves of your-satoru’s sweater. 

you’re in love with gojo satoru.

and fuck, that revelation scares you more than anything. the last time you had given your heart to a man, he had crushed it repeatedly until you decided that you would never let yourself be vulnerable like that ever again. 

and now, you're in love with your school’s notorious playboy—and it feels like you’re setting yourself up to be heartbroken again. you want disregard those rumors and shoko’s words so badly, but they still eat at the back of your mind even though the real gojo satoru is right in front of you, and he doesn’t match the characteristics of the gojo satoru in those rumors at all.

you also remember that he has one real best friend, geto suguru. you like to think that this is also what geto sees in gojo. the reason why he’s stuck around.

the reason why you want to stick around too.

you’re so busy in your head that you’ve just noticed gojo frantically waving his hand in your face. “earth to y/n? oh, good! i thought you had, like, a shock reaction from seeing megumi’s father. he looked a little scary, no?” 

“he looks like if a muscle came to life and started talking.” you whisper, and he laughs in agreement. burying your hands into the pockets of his hoodie, you smile. you don’t want to think about your current revelation with gojo right now. instead, you’ll stick with the present. and right now, you like the present.

you just don’t want to think about what this means for your future.

it’s the weekend, and you’re doing some work at the local cafe, gojo-free for once. only god knows what the man is doing at three pm in the afternoon on a saturday. not like you should be thinking about him right now, though. his presence alone has caused you to be behind on your studies, and you need to make sure you catch up.

you have to admit, you were a little unused to the silence. usually, the silence would be filled with gojo’s endless banter with you, as well as his terrible, corny jokes that are so stupid you can’t help but laugh. his seemingly never-ending presence was annoying at first, but now, you’re starting to yearn for his company.

it further fuels the pit of uncertainty in your stomach, and you hate it.

shaking your head with a sigh, you take another bite of your pastry and continue typing up the report on your laptop. the looming thought of this report’s impact on your grade and the need to pass this class helps you forget about satoru for a while. once again, you get lost in your academics.

the ring of the cafe bell breaks you from your trance. it was a natural impulse of yours to glance at everyone who entered the cafe, but once you did this time, you felt your heart drop down to your knees.

it was your ex. 

your ex boyfriend who destroyed the notion of love for you, because he made you feel it for a short time, only to throw it all into a pit of fire and leave you scrambling to find nothing but ashes. 

if you had to find the true roots as to why you’re so afraid to pursue a new relationship–you always find your ex in the center of it. and now, he’s right in front of you. you have to face him again when you refuse to shamefully admit that you’ve barely even healed from the emotional scars that he’d left behind. 

you feel as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around your throat, blocking your airways and your ability to speak.

out of all the days satoru wasn’t here with you, it had to be this one.

“y/n? is that you, sweetheart?” you wanted to vomit at the way he said your name. he had no right to say it so sweetly, when all he’s ever left behind is venom. 

“i don’t want to talk to you.” you cringe at the way your voice cracks, and you avert your gaze from him.

“please, just hear me out for a minute, baby..” he coos, and you hate the way he talks to you as if you were a child. “i know i fucked up, and i can’t change our past… but i can change our future together. if you take me back, i’ll show you how much i’ve changed-”

you don’t know how many times you’ve heard that stupid line before.

“god, you sound like a broken record with how many times you’ve pulled that bullshit on me.” you spat, loud enough to draw commotion in the cafe. your ex has surprise written all over his face–most likely due to your non-compliance to his words. “what, do you say that shit to all your hoes?”

your ex looks around, shrinking a little when he sees all eyes are on him. “now, now, y/n, no need to be like that-”

“be like that… be like that?! you’re telling me to be civil when you’re the one coming in here wanting me back, spouting some bullshit saying that you’ve changed, when i told you to leave me alone already!” you scream, and you could feel the tears bubble up in your eyes. you look down, so you aren’t able to see how everyone’s staring at you with pity. god, you hate pity. it makes you feel weak and vulnerable. the two emotions you absolutely loathe. “i just want you to leave me alone, god. i hate you, why won’t you just-”

“you fucking bitch-” he makes a move to lunge at you, and you instinctively take a step back, pure fear enveloping your senses.

you never feel the impact, though, as you see your ex being restrained by the cafe worker.

you remember him. the man who took your order earlier. he was an older man with a warm smile on his face, although you noticed how his cheekbones were slightly sunken, and he looked a little overworked. you jokingly quipped earlier that he should get some sleep before thanking him for making your order. he just replied, i get that quite a lot.

the size difference between your ex and the man is enough to discourage him from fighting back. he makes quick work your ex, dragging him out the door while he hysterically screams profanities to you on the way out. you assumed the worker threatened to call the police, because your ex scrambled up from the ground and ran away. you hoped this was the last time you would ever see him again.

“are you okay, ma’am? he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

you didn’t even realize that the worker was back inside the cafe. everyone was gradually returning to their own businesses, with the eerie silence being replaced by casual chatter once more. you also didn’t realize how much your hands were shaking, and you huff out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “y-yeah, i’m alright, and he didn’t hit me. i just… need a minute,”

you decide that you aren’t gonna get anymore work done like this, so you pack your laptop into your bag and slump onto the seat with a sigh. you bury your face into your hands. “is it a long story?”

“oh, don’t even get me started.”

he laughs at that, and you ease up a little. “i told him i’d call the police if i ever see him around here again.”

“that’s good to hear. though i’d prefer if i never see him in my life ever again.”

he hums at your words, and he turns to look out the window. “it’s getting dark out. do you want me to call you a cab?”

“no need, i’ll call my boyf–my friend. i’ll call my friend. he’ll uh, pick me up.” you’re still so shaken up you barely even register what you said to him. your eyes are frantic as you turn your phone on and look for gojo’s name in your contacts. you don’t know why you want him to pick you up out of everybody. you could ask utahime or shoko right now, but you just wanted nothing more but to see gojo.

the bell rings again, and you flinch at the sound. thankfully, it was just another customer. the worker sighs. “well, these orders aren’t going to be done themselves. just wave me over if there are any other problems, okay?” 

you nod absentmindedly, and he turns to leave, but you stop him. “wait, sir, what’s your name?”

“kento nanami.”

“thank you so much, nanami. i appreciate it.” 

“i’m just doing my job.”

“your job is restraining crazy exes of college girls and kicking them out?”

“‘it comes with the job description.” he teases, and you laugh lightheartedly. “and your name is?”

“y/n l/n.”

“anytime, miss l/n. again, just please… call me over if anything happens.”

“will do…” you say, pressing the “call” button on gojo’s contact. the anxiety is hitting you again, and you take a shaky inhale. you’re surprised at how he picks up almost instantly. “hey… satoru? yeah, can you come pick me up, please? i know i don’t normally ask you to do something like this but-”

“did something happen?”

“a lot happened, actually… i’ll text you the address. please, just come soon.”

“of course, y/n.” you could already hear him running out the door, hearing the roar of his car engine coming to life. “i’ll be there as soon as possible.”

he gets to the cafe in five.

you wave goodbye to nanami, thanking him once more as you get in the passenger seat of gojo’s car. 

it’s not your first time inside here, but you still can’t help but admire how… expensive everything looks. or maybe you’re just looking around because you’re stalling, and you have no idea where to begin with satoru. 

however, you notice that he’s not asking you what happened, and he’s not forcing you to explain anything to him. instead, he switches the gear shift out of parking and says, “do you want me to take you home?”

your eyes widen at his words, and you shake your head no profusely. the last thing you want to be is home alone right now, mainly because your ex knows where you live. you know he most likely won’t go that far with you, especially since nanami knocked some sense into him… but the possibilities still scare you. you take a deep breath before saying your next words.

“...can you take me to your house? i-i’m sorry for asking, i just don’t want to be alone right now cause i’m terrified and-” 

“y-yeah. i’ll take you to my house.” he says, and you’ve never seen him so nervous in your life. it almost makes you laugh.

“i’ll explain everything later. i just… wanna be somewhere safe first.” somewhere safe. you find his house as a safe place. gojo doesn’t know how to react. his heart is thumping wildly out of his chest, but he makes sure to put your own comfort before his feelings.

“you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” he says, maintaining his cool by keeping his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift.

“but i want to, satoru…” you say. you can’t believe you’re doing this again. you’re crossing so many territories that you were so afraid to cross because of your ex. now, you think you aren’t that afraid anymore. not if you have satoru by your side. 

you place one of your cold hands on the gear stick, interlocking it with his. is he… shaking? “thank you for this.”

still. there are so many things you can’t say to him yet. you don’t know when you’ll be able to… or if you’ll ever be able to.

i love you. i love you but i’m too afraid to say it. i just hope that you’ll be able to wait for me.

“god, you’re killin’ me here, y/n.” 

that pit of uncertainty in your stomach has grown so large you feel it's about to consume you whole. you don’t think you mind much, though.

the two of you are lounging at his couch after satoru insisted on telling you to make yourself at home. there’s a movie playing, with neither of you paying attention at all, takeout on the coffee table, two glasses and a bottle of wine after gojo didn’t know what drinks to serve, and freaked out by pulling the first expensive drink out from his parents’ alcohol closet. has he never properly invited someone to his home before?

“so in short, you had a crazy ex who saw you at the coffee shop… and he was begging for you to take him back, and when you went off on him he called you a bitch and tried to hit you…” he recalls, a huge grimace on his face. “tch. the cafe worker shouldn’t have let him go like that.”

“i’m sure he learned not to mess with me after getting humiliated in public.. and nanami did more than enough for me.” you retorted, and he gave you a sour look. 

“oh, so you know the worker’s name now?” he says, and you could feel the tension build up in the air. oh. so he wants to do this with you? “what, is he your knight in shining armor?”

“he looks like he’s in his late thirties, satoru. i’m not into older guys,” you roll your eyes at his absurd questions and add, “what’s it to you anyway?”

“what’s it to me, y/n?” he repeats your words, and you could feel an argument coming, like you already didn’t have an exhaustive one with your ex. “you know how i feel about you-“

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your voice is getting louder, all to hide your fear behind the implication of his words. you distance yourself from him on the couch.. much like how you distance yourself from letting satoru get too close to how you truly feel. “we’re not even together, satoru. you don’t get to control the guys that i talk to- hell, have you even seen yourself?”

you’re rambling, and all you want to do is shut up, but you can’t bring yourself to. “i’ve heard what our school says about you. y-you’re a playboy, right? and you only ever talk to girls because you wanna fuck them. i’m not stupid, satoru. i’m not different from any of them, right? you only chase after me because i’m playing hard to get and that pisses you off-“

“what… what are you even saying, y/n?” he asks, and it stops your rambling for a moment. you don’t know what you’re saying. you’re pouring out all the reasons why you’ve tried to push him away, the reasons why you were so afraid to give your heart to him. but now that you say them out loud, they sound outright stupid. 

“i started coming to class just to talk to you, i memorized your schedule just so i can walk you to class every morning. i buy you all your favorite food and drinks… i had to memorize your favorites too, by the way. and i have shit memory.” he’s screaming at this point, and you’ve never had satoru scream at you. there are unshed tears in his eyes, and it’s all overwhelming to watch this unfold. “and when you called me, i drove as fast as i could to you because you never call like that and i was fuckin’ worried!”

“so let me ask you a question, y/n… would i do all these things for you just because i want you in my bed?! i’d do anything for you, and you know that!” he’s crying. the gojo satoru is crying, and it’s all for a girl. if you told this to someone in your school, they’d call you a shit-faced liar. gojo satoru doesn’t cry for a girl. he makes them cry.

“i’m sorry for being skeptical, satoru! i just can’t help it when there’s so many rumors about you wanting to fuck girls just for the shit of it – and i’m conflicted on whether or not i should believe them because i want you so bad and i’m scared you’ll end up just breaking my heart and i don’t want that to happen again-”

he cuts you off. “you… what?”

you’re confused at why he looks so surprised, but then you backtrack on your words and you gasp. fuck. why did i say that? you cover your mouth and look away from him, refusing to meet his eyes.

those stupid blue eyes that you know you can’t get enough of.

“y/n… can you please say that again? i don’t want to do anything if i didn’t hear you right.” his voice is soft now, and you swear that you’re dreaming. this isn’t real. right? i’m gonna wake up soon. you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, leaving half-moon marks in their wake. it doesn’t work, and you don’t wake up, and you know you have to accept the fact that this is very real and it’s happening.

this is the worst leap of faith you think you’ve ever had to take in your life.

“i want you so fucking bad, satoru. and i’m realizing that you’re not just the stereotypical rich playboy that everyone talks about on campus—you’re a really great guy, and i guess i’m just scared to face that-” you don’t even realize that satoru’s got you cornered on the couch, and you can’t finish your words as he slots his lips against yours. hard. it’s the most passionate kiss you think you’ve ever had in your life, and it’s got your breath taken away in seconds. holy shit.

you quietly moan against his lips as you kiss back, cupping his face with your hands and wiping his tears away. you wish this moment would last forever, but you pull away so you can breathe. you meet gojo’s eyes, and they’re clouded with lust and desire, but you could tell he’s still a little uncertain. “we’ll talk later… just take me to the bedroom already,”

gojo doesn’t need another confirmation from you, and he lifts you up to carry you to his bedroom, practically tripping on his feet the way there.

a few hours later and a noise complaint from the neighbors, it’s safe to say that gojo satoru was the best one you’ve ever had.

“god, i’m never letting you go, baby.”

he’s tracing hearts onto your bare back. it’s littered with bruises and red scratch marks just from a few minutes ago, but you’ve never felt better in your life. you stare at the man who invited himself into your life just from an encounter at a party, and you thank your lucky stars that you agreed to go with utahime that night. “is something wrong? you’re starin’ again.”

“i’m sorry it took me so long to trust you. i’ve just been scared to open up my heart again, especially after him.” you don’t have to name “him” for satoru to understand. 

“i’m sorry too. i just got angry about the rumors and i also disregarded the fact that you’re scared to love again after your ex did all of that shit and-” he pauses, and sighs. “sorry. i’m rambling again.” 

he pulls you into another kiss, and this time, it’s sweeter, lighter, and full of love. “i’m going to show you what it looks like to really be loved, because it’s definitely not the shitty picture that your ex painted in your head. there’s way more to it than that.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“thank you, toru.” you whisper. maybe, one day, you’ll be able to find the courage to say it back. and it’s okay, because gojo is willing to wait an eternity for you. 

he’ll wait an eternity for you to teach you how to love again.

“look at how beautiful you are…” gojo says, appearing out of nowhere as he wraps an arm around your waist. you yelp, staring at your boyfriend through the mirror. he’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, with no doubt it being very expensive. it compliments the glimmering rolex on his wrist, and the thoughts running through your head about him and his outfit sets fire to your stomach.

“look at yourself first, toru… god, we should just stay home,” you tease, turning around to pull him into a deep kiss. it’s a friday, and gojo’s taking you out to attend geto’s party tonight. the two of you are going for several reasons. he wants to introduce you to his bestfriend, since you realized that you’ve never actually formally met geto before. it’ll also be your first formal “couple appearance”, as if gojo being attached to your side all the time doesn’t say enough about the two of you already. 

gojo pulls away, which surprises you. you pout at the expression on his face. “as much as i want to, suguru’s been bugging about you all week. i really do think it’s time for you to meet him,”

“hmph. alright.” 

“i’m tearing that dress off of you the second we get home, though.”

“satoru!”

“what?! not my fault my girl looks so damn hot all the time!”

this night is going amazing.

when satoru walks with you through the front doors, arm wrapped around your waist and the dress you picked out for tonight glimmering, you feel a little shy. the guys all whistle at the two of you, and the girls whisper amongst each other, but you and gojo don’t care. in his eyes, you’re the only girl he sees. the only girl worth being with here. 

“wanna go get drinks?” he asks you, cerulean eyes showing underneath his sunglasses. you nod, walking to the kitchen with him. you’re getting severe deja vu… you can’t believe you met gojo at the last party you were at. and now you’re at another party, with gojo as your date. you scan the crowd for utahime or shoko, wondering what you would say to them if they saw you with the man they specifically told you not to mess with.

it’s alright, though. shoko was wrong about those rumors, and gojo’s proving it to you.

“satoru!” the playful voice greets your boyfriend, and you turn to see geto suguru. you’ve seen him around campus, and he sits somewhere in the back of your chem class. you haven’t really had the opportunity to talk to him, though… and he looks a little intimidating.

“you must be y/n,” he says, offering you a freshly opened smirnoff from the drinks on the countertop. you thank him and grab the drink, taking a swig.

“yup! my lovely girlfriend,” gojo lets go of his arm around your waist to grab a drink. 

“you probably don’t know this, but i’ve been his wingman.” he smiles at gojo, who’s pouting, like he’s preparing himself for what suguru is about to say. “he’s batshit crazy for you, its insane.”

“oh? do tell.”

“when the two of you got together, he left me a voicemail at like… four in the morning? anyway, he was screaming about how he was the happiest guy in the world… or something.”

“that’s because i was!” you’re laughing at how unashamed satoru is about this.

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” geto clicks his tongue, pulling out his phone. “and he’s reposted you on insta to like, every drake song-”

“alright, me and y/n are gonna go dance.” he interrupts suguru, and drags you away from his best friend with a yelp. “nice talkin’ to you, suguru!”

“hey, i wanted to know more!-”

“shh, you don’t need to know about all of that.” the two of you are in the living room, in the midst of all the bodies dancing and grinding against each other. he pulls you close to him, and you feel his hot breath against your neck. “you look so beautiful tonight, y/n.”

“same for you, handsome. let’s dance, shall we?” you wrap your arms around him and just sway to the beat. you’ve never been much of a dancer, but everything feels natural as long as gojo’s with you. 

suddenly, the music changes, and one dance starts playing. you two look at each other, and you both burst out laughing at the same time. “have you reposted me to this song?”

“duh. it’s a classic.”

“can’t disagree with that.” you say, finding yourself grinding against satoru while wizkid’s part plays in the background. it feels like such a perfect night–you’re pulling satoru into a deep kiss, and he shoves his tongue down your throat while he’s leading you to a nearby couch. you’re seated on his lap, mimicking practically every couple in this party tonight. 

suddenly, you pull away, and you whisper, “i need to use the bathroom.” 

satoru smirks at your words, thinking that it’s a hint for something else, and you give him a sour face. “want me to join you-”

you hit his chest playfully. “that’s not code for anything, you perv. i actually need to piss.” 

he’s pouting at your words, but he lets you off his lap anyway, and holds your drink for the time being. “it’s at the second door in the hall to your right. be quick, please.”

“no duh. i’ve got a cute date to come back to,” you say, walking away and traversing all of the bodies that smell like sweat and alcohol. you’re a little unused to this environment, but it’s alright. you fix up your makeup in the bathroom and freshen up a little, walking back to the living room to find satoru again. 

you wish you never did.

you were gone for four minutes. five minutes max. you come back to satoru, and your breath hitches at the sight.

on his lap was a random chick that looked like every other girl at this party. she was practically naked, since her outfit didn’t do much to cover her skin at all.

fuck.

you remember the first time you saw gojo at the last party you went to. the sight wasn’t that different compared to the one now. there were girls all over him, all fighting for his attention. and yet, it seemed that night, his attention was focused solely on you.

what bullshit that was.

your eyes are blurry, and the music is muffled in your ears. white noise fills your senses, and all you want to do right now is run.

so you do.

you run, not caring if gojo saw you at all or not. you run out of the party, eternally grateful that you didn’t pick out heels for tonight and settled for much simpler shoes. you run, despite the fact that you drew geto’s attention. you were already out the door before he could ask what was wrong. you run, just wanting to get away from everyone and everything. you run with no particular destination in mind. you stop running when you almost get run over on a red light, the car honking at you–screaming profanities as it drives by. it breaks you from your trance, and you sit on the curb of the sidewalk, letting all of your tears out on what was supposed to be a perfect night.

of course gojo didn’t think that you were different. you were just like every other girl to him.

stupid. stupid. stupid. you’ve never felt so stupid in your life.

when geto sees you running out the door with unshed tears in your eyes, he immediately panics. what the hell happened?

he goes through every room of the house, trying to find gojo, when he hears a bunch of commotion in the living room. he runs there, pushing past everyone, only to find a total disaster inside.

he sees gojo screaming at a girl dressed like a stripper, who was on the ground with tears in her eyes. satoru looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel with how pissed he looks. there’s a crowd forming at this point, and geto knows he needs to intervene, so he drags his bestfriend away, who looks so distraught that geto could just wonder what the fuck happened.

they’re outside now, and its significantly a lot more quiet out here compared to all of the chaos inside. all the noise is coming from gojo—who won’t stop crying, and geto has no idea what to do or where to even begin. “fuck!”

“dude, what the fuck happened!?” satoru looks like he’s feeling every emotion at once. he looks pissed, pissed enough to punch a wall, and geto’s a little afraid that gojo might actually do that–or worst-case scenario, punch him. he’s crying, and geto hasn’t seen gojo cry ever since he fell off a swing in pre-k, so what happened must be really fucking serious.

“i don’t KNOW what happened, goddamnit! y/n went to use the bathroom and some slu- some girl came up to me and threw herself on my fucking lap! i was gonna tell her to fuck off but y/n saw before i was able to and now she’s gone and she probably thinks that i’m just some cheater when i’ve worked so hard to get her to trust me and-FUCK!”

he stops, trying to calm down a little, and gojo takes the shakiest breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life. the red in his vision starts to fade, but he still feels helpless. “i just don’t know what to fucking do, suguru.” 

“i just saw y/n run out of my house a few minutes ago.” he says with a grimace, and he’s trying to figure out what to tell his bestfriend. “i’ve never seen you like this over a girl before. holy shit, you really love her, do you?”

geto thinks that gojo’s bloodshot eyes, the brutal names that he called that girl at the party, and the tears he’s shed for you are already an answer.

“this is your last chance to prove it to her, satoru.” geto fumbles through his pockets and hands him the keys to his challenger. gojo snatches them, hearing the car engine rumbling itself to life. the white-haired man thanks his best friend as he steps into the drivers’ side, with geto reassuring him, ‘ill deal with the chaos inside, you go ahead and explain yourself to your girlfriend’.

gojo swears that he’s never driven so fast in his whole life.

part 2 ;)

#kami writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru comfort #gojo x reader angst #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x y/n

[scuderiahoney]

Color Theory

Oscar Piastri x artist!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s an old friend of yours. This time when he comes home to visit, things get messy. Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: alcohol, mild drug use, sexual content 18+ MDNI, overuse of color descriptions

It’s summer in Australia, your favorite time of year despite the overbearing sun and the overwhelming heat. Sweat spikes on your brow, but the sunlight that pours through the windows makes you happy. The door to the back garden is open, the smell of wildflowers blowing in with the breeze. You can hear your roommates chattering in the other room. You hold a paint palette in one hand, a brush in the other. There’s something just slightly off about this piece, some part of the light you’re not capturing quite right. You step back from the painting, trying to get a better view of the whole picture.

Someone calls your name from inside. You ignore them. By the third time you hear your name, you give in, setting the palette and brush down and heading inside. You’re still wearing your apron, covered in paint marks.

Lizzy, one of your roommates, smiles at you. “How’s it going?”

You sigh heavily. “Can’t get the light right.”

She nods in understanding. “We’re ordering pizza. Oscar’s on his way. Thought I’d give you a heads up in case you decide to try painting in your underwear again.”

You laugh. “It was one time,” you say defensively. “It was hot out and I was trying to become-“

“-one with the art, I know, I know,” she teases. “Just giving you a warning!”

You lean on the counter and let out a long breath. “It’s gonna be weird, isn’t it? Him being here?”

Oscar’s an old friend of yours, and your roommates, too. Old, like preteens old. He left for the UK so long ago that you’d probably barely remember what he looked like if it weren’t for video calls and social media and now, his face being plastered everywhere. You’ve kept up, have stayed friends through it all. But it’s the first time you’ll be seeing him in person in over a year, the first time he’s ever going to visit your shared house, the first time since… since he became Oscar Piastri and not just Oscar.

Lizzy shrugs. “Only weird if we make it weird, right?”

She’s right, to a certain extent. Your other roommate, Leo, shows up with Oscar in tow, and you do your best to not be weird about it, and you think it works. He greets you and Lizzy with long hugs. He smells like sea salt and something warm. His body’s much more firm and filled out than he was the last time you saw him, which makes sense, you suppose. He still smiles like golden yellow sunshine, though, crinkled eyes and round cheeks and that near permanent blush on his face.

The pizza arrives shortly after he does, and you all settle into the living room to catch up. Oscar tells stories about racing, about his first year in F1, about his teammate and his competitors. You’ve been keeping up with the races more than you ever did before- Leo always wanted to watch but you hadn’t cared that much before it was Oscar, before the guy in the orange car was the same kid who used to finger paint with you in the backyard, your mother worried about the mess. Now you sit glued to the TV most Sundays.

In turn, you, Lizzy, and Leo update Oscar on what he’s missed. All about your family lives, your jobs, your other friends he’s lost touch with. He listens intently to each story, the way he always has.

“What are you doing for work?” He asks, nudging your knee.

You sigh dejectedly. “Nothing fun.”

He pouts. Leo elbows you and speaks up, though.

“She’s still painting, though,” he says brightly. “You should see the sunroom.”

Oscar’s face lights up. “Is that your studio? You always said you wanted a sunroom.”

He’s always been one of your biggest supporters when it comes to your art. He’s the one who’d join you in the art room at lunchtime in school, eating his lunch at one of the counters while you worked on your latest piece, unable to put the paintbrush down. He’d attended all your art shows, had bought you paints and brushes and sketchbooks for birthdays and Christmases, and had even posed for a portrait you’d been required to paint for class. He’d had a hard time sitting still for that long without falling asleep.

You nod with a smile growing on your face. “Living the dream with that one.”

The night slips away from all of you, caught up in conversations about everything under the sun. You find yourself feeling sad when Oscar goes to leave. He does it with hugs and a promise to be back in a few days. When he leaves through the front door, you feel that emptiness again, that hole that’s never healed quite right after he left.

Lizzy sees it on your face and squeezes your shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

Two days later, you’re deep in painting mode, eyes beginning to ache as you stare at the canvas in front of you, when there’s a noise from the sunroom doorway. You turn and find Oscar standing there, eyes wide, brows raised. He chews on his lip sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. You hold back a laugh. “Leo said to come over and just let myself in, and I heard a noise, and- sorry-“

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, tilting your head and smiling. “Leo should’ve told you, he ran to the store for drinks.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, and his shoulders drop. “Right.”

“You’re welcome to hang out, though,” you say, nodding at the chair off to the side in the sunroom. “Don’t want you getting bored all by yourself.”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

He never would have questioned it before. He would’ve already been sitting, would’ve already known what you were painting, would’ve helped you get your palette set up. It’s different now. He’s been gone a while.

You jut your chin towards the chair again and wave a paintbrush in that direction. “Please. You’ve never been a bother.”

He was always the only one of your friends that you allowed to watch you paint. He knew when to stay quiet, and when you needed the background noise of his voice, without ever having to ask. He shuffles over to the chair and sits down. Oscar’s gaze dances through the room with wide eyes, and when you turn back to the canvas, you can feel him watching intently.

“What do you think?” You ask, just to break the silence. You gesture at the paintings lined up around the room. “Have my skills improved?”

He lets out a slow breath. “They’re amazing,” he says, and your heart twists in your chest. “I’m so glad you kept up on it. That you didn’t lose your… you know. Passion. Sounds cheesy, but I mean it.”

You nod. Most of your friends and family had spent your teenage years trying to convince you to learn any skill other than art. You’d continued pouring yourself into the paintings. Oscar had been one of your only cheerleaders through it all.

“It’s not easy,” you admit. “Bills and shit, you know? Real adult stuff. But I’ve been trying to get into some galleries recently. I don’t know if it’ll ever be something I can make a living off of, but I’ve gotta try.”

Oscar nods in understanding. “How about when I win my first championship, I’ll make good on my promise?”

You laugh. There’d been a night just before he’d left for the UK where the two of you had stayed up late, out far past curfew at the local park. You’d laid under a tree next to him, giddy on the high of breaking the rules and the late hour. He’d told you all about his big dreams. About F1 and championships and how he was going to make it big. And when you’d asked if he’d remember you, he’d smiled and turned his head towards you, eyes wide in the pale moonlight, nose nearly touching yours.

“I’ll use my money and open a gallery,” he’d promised. “And I’ll fill it with all of your paintings.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Even the bad ones?”

He’d nodded, so seriously. “Especially the bad ones.”

Now he sits next to you in your makeshift studio, so close to reaching his dreams. You can only hope you’ll get there, too, someday.

There’s a party at your house that night. There’ll be more people there than usual, wanting to talk with Oscar and taking up his time. But for now there’s just you and him in the studio you’ve always wanted, the one you talked about under the tree in the park. You’ll take what you can get.

Oscar finds you later at the party, in the back corner of the backyard. The sun is nearly gone, the last bits of daylight slipping away. When he walks up, you’re leaning back in an outdoor armchair, and you smile hazily up at him and hold out the joint you’d been smoking.

He shakes his head. You pout.

“I get drug tested,” he says, and you suppose that’s understandable. “And I think my trainer would kill me over the lung damage.”

“It’s just once,” you friend says next to you, “can’t do that much damage.”

“Oscar’s a high performance athlete,” you tease.

Someone finishes the infamous Daniel Ricciardo quote for you, complete with the sound effects. You’re not really listening, more focused on how Oscar rolls his eyes as he sits down on the arm of the chair. You tilt your head to look up at him.

The late sun is hitting the bridge of his nose, a bright orange band against his freckled skin. He blinks at you with thick lashes, and you wonder how you’d capture the look on his face with paint- the softness of his cheeks, the care that sits heavy on his browbone, the restlessness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t like to do portraits- Oscar’s one of few people you’ve painted, but it was years ago. He was a skinny kid with a bad haircut. Now his jawline is chiseled and sharp, and his hair falls over his forehead in a soft swoop. He's pretty.

He cocks his head at you. You’ve been staring too long. You force a giggle and nudge his knee. He laughs right back.

You’re not sure how he ends up squished into the chair with you, his arm over your shoulder, his bare thigh pressed to yours. You think maybe it was your doing- you grabbed his arm, pulled him until he sunk in next to you. The sun is gone, now, the evening chill taking over, and it’s nice to have him next to you, keeping you warm. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head.

“You can go, you know,” you say quietly. Most of your friends have abandoned the corner you’re in, moving to the lit back deck, or the firepit area. You and Oscar have stayed put, though.

“D’you want me to go?” He asks.

You shake your head. He laughs. “I just don’t wanna take up all your time,” you say with a shrug.

His fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I’m right where I want to be.”

You curl in closer to him. You’re right where you want to be, too.

Eventually, the two of you rejoin the group. He stays glued to your side most of the night, though. His shoulder presses against yours, and in turn, you lean against him. He grows quieter as the night goes on. That’s when you remember that his time spent with you while you were painting wasn’t just for your benefit. He’d been a quiet kid- popular, but easily exhausted by socializing. He’d liked the solitude and comfort of the art room nearly as much as you had.

In the backyard full of your old friends, he seems content to stay stuck on you. When he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, you wiggle one of yours in alongside his, hoping you’re not crossing a line. Or maybe, really, you’re hoping it’s a line he wants you to cross. When he knits your fingers together, you sigh happily.

People leave one by one, with hugs for Oscar and promises to watch the next season. He says goodbye to them and then returns quickly to your side. Soon enough, Lizzy shuffles off to bed, and then Leo stretches and does the same, and it’s just you and Oscar. You hide a yawn. You don’t want to go to bed, not yet.

He squeezes your shoulder, his arm around your back, now. He has his cheek pressed against your temple. For a moment, you wonder if you could stay stuck to him long enough to keep him here. If eventually, the two of you would fuse together. That’s probably just your wavering high speaking. He mumbles something into the side of your head. You break from your staring at the coals and make a noise of confusion.

“Missed you,” he says. “Sorry I haven’t…”

This feels like too heavy a conversation to have now, when things have felt so good and warm all night. You know it’s coming at some point, but you’ll avoid it all costs. You turn further into him and wrap an arm around his middle, and let your eyes fall closed.

“I missed you too,” you say, rubbing your thumb against his rib cage through his sweatshirt.

The two of you sit quietly for a few moments. Then, you say, “you know, I still have that portrait I did of you. How many races d’you think you need to win before I can make some money off that?”

He laughs into your hair. His hand has fallen to your side now, and he squeezes- you nearly gasp at the feeling. “I was a scrawny baby in that painting. Nobody wants to buy that.”

You giggle against him. “You were a cute scrawny baby, though.”

It’s not something you would have said all those years ago. You’d have never been caught dead admitting that you thought he was cute. But now… in the safety of the backyard, in the darkness, pressed against his side…

“You’re cuter now, though,” you say.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You nod confidently. He slips his other hand from his pocket. It comes up to hold your jaw, gently. You hold your breath. He tilts your face up towards his.

“You’re prettier than ever,” he says, softly. “And I thought you reached the limit a long time ago.”

His lips are on yours within seconds, then. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you. By now, you know it probably won’t be the last. You let it happen, opening up for him. You slip your tongue past the warmth of his lips. His hand cups the side of your face as that warm feeling melts across your skin, the one that only he brings. You’ve been searching for a replacement since the last time this happened. Nothing comes close.

He uses the arm around you to pull you into his lap. You reach up and thread your fingers into his shirt, something to anchor you in the swirling feeling of him on and around and against you again. His hands fall to your hips, trying to do the same. He kisses like Australian summers, hot and long and sunny and bright orange. His touch leaves sparks behind everywhere he goes.

When you finally break away for air, his hair is a mess, and your lips feel puffy. He grins sheepishly at you. You chew on your lower lip as he brushes a finger over the arch of your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says. Always apologizing. You know he’s not sorry for kissing you. He’s sorry for how this will eventually end.

“Don’t be,” you say, quietly. “Please. Let’s just…”

He nods, then swallows before he says, “okay.”

Then he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple. You giggle at the feeling and let your fingertips dance against his face and neck. He muffles another laugh into your skin.

“Missed you,” you say again.

“I missed you too,” he says.

He walks you inside. You think about inviting him to stay the night, but you think that might be a bad idea. Instead, you give him a hug and watch him walk out the front door, into the only black and blue night.

…..

You meet up with him and a few other friends at a bar a couple nights later. You walk over from your house with Lizzy, who either doesn’t notice your nervous energy, or is nice enough to just not mention it. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s the people you’ve known for years, and it’s just Oscar. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Except for the still fading hickey he left on your neck, covered by strategically placed hair, and the way you feel his lips on your every time you close your eyes. Yeah. There’s that, sure.

The bar is crowded even before all of your friends arrive. Oscar comes in with Leo, having been out all day while you and Lizzy had to work. There are at least five people there who are acting like they haven’t seen Oscar in years, even though they were all at the party a few nights ago. You try your best to hide your jealousy. He has other friends. He probably likes them way more than he likes you, anyways.

He finds you later, standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, warm shoulder pressed to yours, elbows on the countertop. He smiles softly at you when you turn to him, and he leans into you.

“Hi,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

You want to laugh, because surely he wasn’t, but- there’s something so serious in his eyes. You lean into him in response, just to watch him raise his brows and smile wider. There’s a little mole on the swell of his cheek. You want to reach out and touch it. You refrain.

“I’m here,” you finally say, nodding towards your crowd of friends in the corner. “You’ve been a busy man tonight.”

He sighs, heavily, like it’s been difficult for him. It probably has been. He’s a quiet person in general. Not one to really like being the center of attention. You wonder if he’s exhausted as easily by it now as he was before, or if his years of podium celebrations have dulled the sensation a bit. Wonder how much of your Oscar is still left, under the facade.

He chews on his lower lip lightly, and you smile softly. That’s an old habit. That’s one you recognize. You also think of the night by the firepit, how you’d pulled that same lip between your own teeth, and the noise he’d made in response. Your face grows warm.

The bartender finally turns to you. Oscar orders for both of you, because of course he knows what you’re drinking. Then you follow him back to the crowd of your friends. When he grabs your hand to pull you along, you don’t complain. You just squeeze his fingers in response.

You stumble out of the bar with him, hand in hand, hours later. He’s insistent on walking you and Lizzy home, claiming that Leo won’t be enough to keep an eye on the both of you. You’re just happy to have his fingers locked with yours, to have his shoulder brushing against you as you both sway down the sidewalk. It’s comfortably warm outside, and you hum to yourself as you walk, listening to Lizzy and Leo arguing about nothing important.

Your journey home is stopped by Oscar, who stops in his tracks suddenly. You turn back to look at him. He’s staring across the street, where there’s a neon sign lit up in the window, the word Pizza flashing like a beacon. You laugh as he tugs on your hand.

“No, come on, we’re going home,” Lizzy calls out.

“I want pizza,” Oscar says in response, deadpan.

You turn to your roommates and shrug. “He wants pizza.”

Lizzy sighs. “I want to go home.”

“You guys go,” Oscar says with a dismissive wave. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Less than ten minutes later, your legs are stuck to the vinyl of the pizza parlor booth, knee bumping Oscar’s underneath the table. There’s a pepperoni pizza between the two of you, far too much for you to actually finish.

“Yknow,” he says, waving a piece of pizza around in the air. “Logan dips his pizza in ranch.”

You laugh at the disgusted look on Oscar’s face, at the way he says ranch. You take a sip of the soda he insisted on buying for you, along with the food.

“Bet it’s good,” you admit, shrugging.

Oscar wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a picky eater, but… isn’t pizza good enough on its own?”

You shrug, pretending to think deeply about it. Except that Oscar knows you well enough to know you’re pretending, so he starts laughing. And then you follow suit, doubled over in the booth, grease from the pizza on your fingertips.

As his laughter fades, he presses his knee against yours. It feels deliberate.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says.

Something twists in your chest. “Missed you, too, Osc.”

Your friendship goes through cycles. When he’s here, it’s almost like nothing has changed. But when he’s gone… the two of you aren’t good at long distance friendship. Or maybe, really, you’re better at it than most. You can go months without talking and pick up like nothing has changed. The tough part comes when he’s here, within reach, and then he leaves. That’s the moment you dread, the part you don’t handle well. It would probably be easier if you stopped kissing him every time he came home. But you look across the table, and his lips are soft and cherry pink and slightly shiny from the pizza, and you know that would be impossible.

“I’ve missed you too,” you say, because you know he needs to hear it even if he already knows it. “I was worried that maybe now that you’re in F1, you’d gotten too important for… us.”

You really mean me, but it feels a bit too much to say out loud. You think he knows, anyways. He reaches a hand across the table, lays it over top of yours. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“I could never,” he says, eyes drilling right into yours. “Promise.”

He walks you home, hand in hand. The front porch light is on, probably Lizzie’s doing. He insists on coming all the way up to the front door, which is sweet and does absolutely awful things to your brain. Because he’s right there, his hand in yours, and you’re fumbling for your house key in your purse, but really you’re thinking about kissing him. When his fingers squeeze yours, you give up on the key and turn to him.

He knows it’s coming, you think. When you cup his face in your hand, he’s already leaning in.

The kiss is softer, messier, than the other night. You’re both still a little tipsy. But it’s less frantic, more comfortable. His other hand falls to your hip, and you lean back against the front door to your house and melt into him. He presses against you, warm, firm muscle against every curve of your body. You don’t want this to end. You want to wrap your arms around his neck and beg him to stay right here, to never leave, to come back to you.

He pulls away first. You try to kiss him again, hands tugging at his hips as he pants through reddened lips.

“You’re drunk,” he mumbles.

You shake your head no. “Not that drunk.”

He leans in close and kisses your cheek. “This is a bad idea.”

That makes your gut twist, makes your chest hurt. You roll your eyes and turn away so he won’t see the way your tears well up. He’s right, you know, but it hurts to hear it.

“I care about you. A lot,” he says, quietly. “And I… if things were different…”

“I know,” you say, because you do know. “Yeah. Bad idea. You should go.”

You leave him standing on the porch and disappear inside the house. When you lay down in bed, you lay awake for hours, swirls of color dancing behind your eyelids.

…..

The next night, you find yourself in your studio, alone. There’s paint on the canvas in front of you- not the good stuff you’d normally use, but the cheap kind you keep on hand for moments like these. Children’s finger paint, runny and thin and non-toxic. It’s running down the palette and dripping down your wrist. You’re in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and frankly, you’d probably be wearing less if you didn’t know your roommates were due home eventually.

Oscar’s leaving tomorrow morning. At this point, the last you’ll see of him for a while will be when you left him on the porch. You swipe a bit of blue on the canvas. You’re not really painting anything, just trying to put color to the feelings. He’s leaving and he’ll be gone for a while again, and things are weird again, because he kissed you and then you kissed him and now he has to leave. You add a swipe of orange. Papaya, you think, gritting your teeth.

You wonder if things really would’ve been different. If he’d stayed, would you be together? Would he love you the way you want him to? Maybe. Or maybe, no matter the universe, this is how it ends. Maybe there’s always a bigger dream waiting. Maybe you’re not enough for him.

There’s a knock on the door. There’s red paint on your fingertips.

“Busy,” you call out.

Someone sighs. You freeze, hand halfway to the canvas. It doesn’t sound like Lizzy or Leo.

“It’s me,” Oscar says. “Can I come in?”

You huff. “Sure.”

He opens the door and blinks owlishly at the sight of you. You know you probably look crazy. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. The silence is deafening. Paint runs off the palette and onto your leg.

“Rough day?” He asks, because he knows.

You laugh bitterly. “You could say that, yeah.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize,” you say with a sigh. “I’m not sorry.”

“No?”

“No,” you say. “I’m just… frustrated.”

Frustrated that he gets to live out his dream while you wither away in the hot Australian sun, waiting for your chance. Frustrated that every time he comes back it sends you into a tailspin. Frustrated that he’s leaving again. Frustrated with yourself for kissing him, frustrated that you want to do it again.

He crosses the room and stands next to you. You watch his shaky fingers drag through the mess on the palette. Then he reaches out and drags them through the mess on the canvas. He’s the only one you’d let do that, the only one who’d be brave enough to even try.

You follow suit, dip a finger in the yellow and smear it in a line over the canvas. Oscar’s finger falls to your wrist, scoops the bright blue from your skin and draws a squiggle with it. Cadmium Yellow and Phthalo Blue mix on the canvas and turn into envy green. Oscar dips his hand into the Cobalt Violet and draws a line of it up your arm like a bruise. You laugh and pick up the Ultramarine Blue to match the empty feeling in your chest. It leaves behind rivers on his cheeks when you hold his face in your hand and kiss him. Gently, first, and then with all the color you can muster up. You drop the palette on the floor. It splatters everywhere.

You wonder how you’d go about painting this. Red for the brush of his tongue, the bite of his teeth against your neck. Blue for the way his fingers dig into your hips. Bright pink for the way he moans into your mouth, breathy and broken and oh-so-lovely. The way you drop to your knees is lavender purple. The feeling of him heavy on your tongue, the way he sighs over it, is sunflower yellow.

He gets paint in your hair when he pulls you off of him, and then he sinks to his knees with you. You think about suggesting the couch, but then he’s pulling you all the way down onto the floor and you can’t bring yourself to protest. He cleans the paint from his hands first, always a gentleman. Then his fingers slip into you in a rush of an orangey-yellow feeling, one that turns more and more pink with each press of his hand, each swipe of his thumb against your clit. And when he finally presses his cock into you, it’s the brightest burst of sky blue behind your eyelids.

The colors melt together in your mind. You’d never be able to put this onto a canvas- not the way he breathes so heavy in your ear, the way his fingers drag against your skin, the way you shake as you clench around him and he spills himself inside of you. There’s no way you’d get the color right.

You drag him upstairs afterwards, both of you giggling, and you gasp when you hear the front door open just as you pull him into your bedroom. You head for the attached bathroom first, drag him under the hot spray of water and watch the rainbow mix into brown and wash away down the drain. There’s paint crusted in his hair and yours- you do your best to scrub it out as he leans heavily against you.

You don’t even bother asking if he wants to stay. You just drag him to the bed and toss him a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you think are Leo’s. He doesn’t question it. You can hear your roommates downstairs talking. You wonder if they know.

Oscar flops onto the bed and reaches for you, tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. You go easily, willingly, eagerly. He wraps you up in his arms and presses his face into your neck.

“I…” he starts, then cuts himself off.

“I know,” you murmur, because you do. “Me too.”

I love you. I wish it was different. I would stay if I could. I’ll miss you.

You wake up in the morning to his lips against your cheek. You drag yourself out of bed to walk him to the door. Your chest aches, and the feeling is a color that you can’t quite put your finger on. Someone’s there to pick him up and take him to the airport, take him far away for a long time.

He kisses you on the forehead and squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises.

You nod and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Yeah. See you soon.”

The ache he leaves behind is a muddy mix of all your favorite colors.

…..

Six months later, you stand in an art gallery full of people. Your paintings hang on the wall nearby. You sip your drink and try to pretend like you’re not waiting and watching their every little reaction. Like you’re not searching for validation in the faces of strangers.

It’s strange to have these paintings hung up for everyone to see. When others look at them, they see pretty landscapes or flowers or a simple still life. They don’t know the meaning of it all.

You step away to grab another drink, something to quell the anxiety rising in your chest. When you come back, the one person who might just see through the facade is standing there, staring, wide eyed.

You swallow tightly and walk up next to him, and let your shoulder bump into his. “You made it.”

Oscar’s eyes stay trained on the paintings, but he leans into you. “Of course I made it.”

You want to tell him that there’s no of course here, that you’d invited him without really expecting him to show up. You keep your mouth shut though. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he is here.

“What do you think?” You ask, quietly.

The truth is, of all the people in the gallery, his opinion is the one that matters most. You wonder what he sees when he looks at the canvases. Does he see the rays of sunlight on a table for what they truly are- a poor recreation of the sun on his skin? Does he realize that the deep purple of the plums in the still life matches the bruise on your knee that lasted for weeks after that night in the studio, the one you’d press your thumb into when your heart ached? There’s the painting of the orange lilies, color matched to the papaya of his car and race suit. There’s a painting of an empty table setting, a painting of a wide open blue sky over the backyard, and most telling of all, there’s the fabric study of his t-shirt, left behind, draped over the chair in the studio.

The collection is the closest thing to a portrait that you’ve done in years, even though there are no people in it. It’s the closest thing to a self portrait that you’ve ever done. Does he know?

His hand brushes against your elbow. He points at the empty plate on the empty table. “That’s how leaving felt for me, too, you know.”

You could cry, just knowing he understands. Instead, you nod and lean into him. You have people to talk to, art critics to impress and studio owners to try to convince, but the truth is that Oscar will always be the only one who truly understands. You stay with him for just a moment longer.

He stays the whole time, even as people begin to leave and the catering staff starts clearing the tables of food and drinks. You find him after you’ve had the last of your conversations with the important people. He’s standing near the door, looking only slightly out of place, scrolling on his phone.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” you say.

He shrugs and smiles. “I know. I wanted to. There’s a pub down the street, it’s one of my favorites. D’you have time for a drink?”

You nod and pout. “Maybe some food too? M’starving.”

He nods eagerly in agreement. He leads you out of the gallery, holds the door for you and everything. The cool London night air hits you like a blast as you step outside.

Right. You’re not in Australia.

It’s a strange feeling, being here with Oscar- his chosen home for all these years, and yet it’s the first time you’re seeing it with him. He reaches for your hand on the sidewalk and tucks it into his jacket pocket, right alongside his. The pub isn’t far- when you get there, it’s crowded and warm, and he helps you slip your jacket off your shoulders. You smile at him in thanks. When he smiles back, your heart skips a beat.

Ten minutes later, you’re at the bar, beers in front of each of you and a pile of chips between the two of you. Your knee is pressed against his under the countertop. He’s smiling at you, his face lit up golden yellow in the inky gray light of the bar.

“So. What did you really think?” You ask, leaning towards him.

He shakes his head, almost disbelievingly. “The same thing I always think. Your paintings are amazing. It was like I could feel it, you know? Like I’m staring at, I dunno, fucking plums, but feeling something completely different.”

You nod, chest feeling tight. You’re unsure of what to even say. How to explain to him that maybe he’s the only one who feels that, because all the paintings are about him. You think of the portrait you did all those years ago, sitting in your storage, and how it doesn’t even begin to do him justice.

“How much?” He asks, and you blink widely. “I wanna buy them. I want- yeah.” He has this dreamy, hazy look on his face. “Can I buy them? Or even just one-“

“Osc,” you murmur. You reach out and press your hand over his on the countertop. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tilts his head at you, and when he speaks, his voice is almost raw. “I meant what I said, you know. The plate. That’s how I’ve felt. All of the art, it’s… you know.”

“I know,” you say. “But they’re not for sale.”

He deflates. You squeeze his hand and try not to grin too widely. “Right,” he says. “No, of course, sorry. Just thought it might be cool to have some of them in my apartment. We could get prints made, right?”

“Sure. “ you pause and take a deep breath. “The gallery wants to extend them,” you say, and his face lights up again. “The curator spoke to me after the show. She wants to keep them up for a few months.”

“That’s amazing,” he gushes, leaning over and pulling you into a hug so tight it almost topples you off the barstool. “Oh, wow, baby, that’s- and I could go see them, then, even when you’re gone?”

You laugh against his chest. “Yeah. Sure. Or, um…”

He freezes, the hand that had been sweeping up your back stuck in place. He’s holding his breath. You might be too.

“They offered me an artist’s residency,” you blurt out. “They want me to come stay for six months, maybe longer if it goes well. Work out of their studio, show art, teach some classes.”

Oscar’s voice is breathy and high pitched when he says, “here?”

You nod against his chest. “I mean. I’d have to find an apartment. And move all my stuff. And probably break Leo and Lizzy’s hearts.”

“But you’d be here,” he says. “Here, like… it took me twenty minutes to get here tonight. And you’d- this is what you’ve dreamed of, isn’t it?”

You nod, eyes burning with tears. “Would that be okay?”

Oscar laughs- you feel it more than hear it, in the shake of his shoulders and the rumble in his chest. “Yeah. I could live with that, I think.”

He kisses you in the bar, nearly pulls you off the stool with the force of it. You kiss him right back, bracing your hand on the countertop, not a care in the world who sees it. Fireworks light up behind your eyes like splashes of paint.

…..

There’s not a sunroom you can turn into a studio in your new apartment in London. It’s a smaller space, and you end up doing most of your painting at the main studio anyways. But Oscar is there, perched on the edge of a table watching you paint whenever he can. And in the entryway of your new place, you hang up the old portrait of him, right next to a photo of the two of you taken just after you moved to London.

In the photo, his arm is around your shoulders, his lips against your temple. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend officially seconds after it was taken, but there’s a light in both of your eyes that tells you it was inevitable, really. It’s something in the way he’s smiling, in the way his cheeks burn red and his lips are pink and the way you smile at him, too. Like you’ve both known it all along. That the two of you have always been complementary colors, just waiting for the right moment.

a/n: been working on this one for a while finally got it! hope you enjoyed thanks for reading!

Taglist: @4-mula1 @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1

#oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri friends to lovers #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri oneshot #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fic #formula 1 oneshot #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #formula one fic #formula one x reader #formula one fanfic #formula one oneshot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #x reader #honeywrites #op81

[lividstar]

𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ PALETTE OF DESTINY.

୨ genre ୧ fluff, highschool au

: you’re an aspiring artist who’d very much rather trip over a paintbrush than have people find out about your passion. but when rafayel, the school’s golden boy and president of the art club, stumbles upon your sketchbook on a fateful day by chance, things are destined to take a huge turn – and suddenly, your well-kept talent was no longer much of a secret.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ note ! my break is finally over !! so glad i managed to pull through (also they only allow 10 image insertions so i apologize for the lack of dividers haha)

in the chambers of linkon high, where bonds formed like constellations in the night sky, you and rafayel orbited in separate galaxies. rafayel, with his magnetic charm and sarcastic wit, loved to stand in the center of the spotlight. you, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. you found solace in the shadows, often keeping to yourself as you went through the days in silence. it was as if your paths were not destined to cross, given how your worlds were practically parallel to each other.

yet beneath rafayel’s facade, a longing for at least a few seconds to himself laid beneath the surface. as much as he pretended to like being the center of attention, even though he would never admit it – not even to himself, he wanted nothing but for those eyes to keep their gazes off of him. after all, having a lot of people like you despite not being remotely close to you only meant one thing – they either have the intention to use you for their own good, or are just keeping an eye on you with the eagerness to watch you trip on your tracks.

you’ve always been thankful for rafayel over hogging the spotlight all the time, which never failed to ensure your chances to be one step away from the crowd everyday.

yet unbeknownst to both you and the crowd that adored rafayel, he has had his eyes on you for a fairly long time now, although it’s not in the usual way you’d expect.

rafayel had always been jealous of how the only attention focusing on you was your own. he was curious about your whole being, because people at school either love him or loathe him, yet you stood on neither sides – which made him both intrigued and grateful. intrigued because he always wonders what you are up to because of how mysterious you were in his eyes, and grateful because at least there’s one person in linkon high who doesn’t really care about his presence.

it only made him want to know more about you, though.

as everyone formed their own groups inside the classroom to chatter and spend their free time to its fullest, thomas leaned over to rafayel, tilting his head at him. “you really have a knack for making every little thing in your life complicated, don’t you? why don't you just go talk to her?” he suggested, nodding towards you who sat at the back, lost in thought by the window.

rafayel shook his head in disagreement, his brows furrowing as he did so. “that’s way too typical- you know i refuse to do things the easy way. also, i don’t want to invade her space or make her uncomfortable.” he replied, glancing over you with a hint of curiosity.

thomas shrugged, understanding rafayel’s reasons. “well, you’re right.” rafayel crossed his arms as he leaned back, looking down on thomas as he sat on the boy’s table. “aren’t i always?” thomas only shook his head, already used to rafayel’s cocky behavior. “no, not really.”

he teased in a flat tone.

“so then, what’s your plan? don’t tell me you intend on following her on her way home after school later just so you could have a one on one moment with each other.” thomas crooked his eyebrow, seemingly skeptical of rafayel’s plans.

rafayel scoffed, rolling his eyes. “please, like i’d ever do something so cliché- and why are you looking at me as if it’s an idea i’d actually consider?”

“because it is.”

“you-” the sudden ringing of the school bells echoing through the halls cut rafayel off, as students left the classroom one by one with their lunchboxes at hand, headed for the cafeteria. thomas stood up from his seat, patting rafayel’s shoulder as he walked right past the boy sitting on his table. “good luck on your journey of befriending the person who’s very likely to actually be the one who hates you the most.”

“that’s not even-”

this was the second time rafayel had been cut off now. thomas had simply closed the door on him. groaning in annoyance, rafayel hopped off from thomas’s table as he walked towards the front door – the one thomas had just shut to cut him off. but just as he was about leave, rafayel heard a loud thud behind him, making him turn his head quickly.

whatever he was expecting to see, it certainly wasn’t your sketchbook lying on the floor while you were in a deep slumber with your head down on your table.

walking closer towards you with cautious steps, he crouched down, picking up your sketchbook with curiosity. he took his time to examine each and every sticker and doodle on the front cover, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he found it cute.

as he flipped through every page, he found himself becoming more impressed with each sketch he laid his eyes on. he could tell you made sure each and every stroke of your artworks were given enough detail – they didn’t seem like something you made for fun to distract yourself from boring classes, no, rather, they seemed like something you actually put dedication to. you were undoubtedly a skilled artist who has had this hobby for a fairly long time. after all, it takes an expert to know one.

he eventually starts to wonder why you never publicly expressed this talent of yours. as far as his knowledge as the art club’s president led him, you’ve never joined any events related to art – you weren’t even part of the club, to begin with. but why?

something so beautiful should never have been hidden in the first place – at least that’s what he believes.

as he closed your sketchbook and carefully placed it back inside your bag, he found himself in a trance as he glanced at your sleeping expression. based on his observation, it didn’t seem far too different from how you looked when you were awake. you’ve always appeared to be calm, no matter what.

that was one of your traits he was unsure whether he admired or wanted to have as his own.

he decided to leave you to yourself shortly after, but it wasn’t until an idea suddenly came up in his mind. rafayel hurried over to his seat at the center front, rummaging through his bag as he ripped a page off his notebook, taking a pen out of his pocket. the sound of his pen scribbling on the paper softly echoed around the empty classroom as he wrote a note on it.

after carefully putting it inside your bag, he quickly left the room – not after taking a quick glance at you once more. as he searched through the halls to look for thomas, rafayel couldn’t help but wonder how you’d react after reading his little note.

—

“-which reminds me, i went to look for you at the cafeteria earlier, but i didn’t see you anywhere. were you at the rooftop again?” tara asked in curiosity.

“huh? oh... i think i fell asleep.” you pondered as you tried to recall the events before waking up to the sound of your classmates walking back inside the classroom one by one as they chatted loudly. “everyone was already going back to their assigned seats the moment i woke up, so i think that’s the case...”

“i’m not even surprised at this point... but, you know, i do wonder how you manage to fall asleep in your classroom- especially since rafayel’s one of your classmates. i bet it’s really loud there, huh?” she tilted her head.

“i’ve gotten used to it already at this point, i’m afraid...” you rubbed your nape as you chuckled sheepishly. “well, whatever helps you sleep at night. at least now i know where to look for you whenever i don’t see you around during break time- you’re either enjoying your own company at the rooftop, or sleeping in your classroom.” she smiled as she nodded while pointing a finger at you.

you chuckled softly, yet gave her a nod in return as well. “okay, then... take care, tara,” you smiled at her, waving farewell as you parted ways.

“bye-bye!”

you were already far deep into the night. your surroundings engulfed you with a deafening silence, as the dim glow of the moonlight passed through your bedroom window. you’ve been on a staring contest with your ceiling for approximately 10 minutes now, uncomfortably laying down on your back. this was exactly why you tried to avoid sleeping during the day as much as possible – you’d always end up having way too much energy to fall asleep.

groaning softly as you sat up, you reached for your bedside lamp as you switched it open, the empty space of the bed in front of you deflating as you placed your bag on it. rummaging through your items, you searched for your sketchbook, wanting to have something to do to distract yourself from the long night.

it was then that your hands stumbled upon a small crumpled piece of paper.

at first, you were confused – the paper was unfamiliar to you, so there was no way it was ripped off of something of your property. you unfolded it carefully, curious about what was written on it.

“the world deserves to witness how talented u are :)”

your eyes widened slightly in disbelief as you read the words written on the paper – this could only mean one thing.

someone had seen your artworks.

but how? and when? you tried to backtrack, and that was when you remembered that the last thing you saw before you fell asleep was your sketchbook. so then, now you were stuck wondering whether the note’s intention was to give a compliment or to make fun of you in a passive aggressive way.

opening your phone as you lightly squinted after being practically blinded with its blindness, you searched for tara’s number in your contacts, immediately dialing her number the moment you found it.

the soft glow of your bedside lamp illuminated the room as you sat up, your heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

after a few rings, tara’s energetic voice filled the line. “hey, you! what’s up?” she greeted cheerfully. “how do you manage to remain enthusiastic even in the middle of the night...?” you pondered, a confused expression on your face.

“drinking iced coffee four times in a row in one sitting, maybe?” and with the tone she used, you weren’t even sure whether it was a lighthearted joke to uplift the atmosphere or if she actually meant it. nevertheless, you just let out a sigh.

“why the sudden late night call, though? can’t sleep?” tara asked from the other line. “well, if i called a few minutes earlier, i guess that would’ve been the case...” you trailed off, looking down at the note you held in your hand. “huh? what do you mean?”

“i was rummaging through my bag to look for my sketchbook earlier, and i stumbled upon something strange...” tara didn’t even let you finish, already exclaiming eagerly the moment you said the word “strange.”

“mysterious findings, you say? i’m all ears!”

you looked at the note once again, reading it aloud to tara. “i found this note. it says... ‘the world deserves to witness how talented u are :)’. i don’t know how, when, and where it got here, though.”

there was a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by tara’s gasp of realization. “oh my, that sounds like something straight out of a shoujo manga! wait- maybe it’s a secret admirer!”

you awkwardly chuckled, quickly dismissing it as unlikely. “what? no, i doubt it, tara.. i don’t believe it’s possible.” you replied, your voice tinged with self-doubt.

“what? hey, don’t sell yourself short!” tara chided gently. “you’re amazing, and it’s very likely someone out there clearly sees it- as they should! i mean, does the note not say it enough?”

you couldn’t help but smile at tara’s unwavering optimism, her words offering a glimmer of hope in the darkness of uncertainty. “my point still stands, but i appreciate it, really. but then again, you never know whether someone’s messing around with you or not in our school..”

tara remained silent for about a couple seconds. “now that you mentioned it... wait, what if the person who saw it was one of your gossip-obsessed classmates? what if they spill the beans until it reaches the art club?”

a pang of worry shot through you at tara’s theories, the thought of your private hobby becoming public knowledge leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. “i hadn't thought of that," you admitted worriedly. “i’d really hate for that to happen..."

tara’s tone softened, her concern evident in her voice. “let’s hope that’s not the case- i’d prefer for the mysterious person to be a secret admirer of yours and not the latter. and hey, even if it does get out, your talent deserves to be recognized, y’know?” she reassured you.

feeling a sense of relief wash over you, you thanked tara for her understanding before bidding her goodnight. as you settled back into bed, the warmth of tara’s friendship enveloped you, easing the uncertainty that had plagued your thoughts.

you felt the corners of your lips tilt upwards as you stifled a chuckle. you’ve always been grateful to have tara as your best friend, because her outgoing personality fits just right with your likeliness to remain self-reserved all the time. her loud presence had a perfect contrast to your quiet aura – which made everything between your friendship just go so well.

if you had a dollar for each time people would wonder how you two manage to tolerate each other’s presence, you’d be on a yacht right now – they’d always ask comments such as, “don’t you feel overwhelmed by tara’s enthusiasm?” or if not, they’d go like, “how does tara manage not to get bored by your consistent silence?” yet you two would only brush it off every single time.

you two were glad to have each other in your lives, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

glancing at the small piece of paper on your hand once more, you let out a sigh as you put it back inside your bag, finally feeling exhaustion spread all over your body. you figured there was no longer a need for sketching the night away at this point, so you placed your bag away as you switched your bedside lamp off, wrapping yourself around your blanket as your eyes fluttered shut.

as much as you tried to deny it to yourself, you couldn’t help but feel curious as to who the mysterious person who put the note inside your bag was.

and you had a bad, bad feeling that it’ll turn out to be someone you’ll least expect.

“first of all, you’re really, really stupid. second of all, you’re very stupid. lastly- holy hell, you’re actually so stupid!” thomas’s frustration echoed through the empty classroom as he frantically searched through his bag, his fingers desperately seeking the familiar touch of his phone screen.

rafayel’s incredulous expression mirrored his disbelief. “wha- now it’s on me?!” he retorted, his hands instinctively moving to his chest in a defensive gesture. “i hate to be the bearer of bad news, mr. thomas, but when you indulge in utterly foolish activities, you’ll have to shoulder the consequences afterward. it’s very immature of you to pass it on to other people simply because admitting that you're dumb puts your ego in pain,” rafayel asserted, crossing his arms in a display of dominance.

thomas’s sarcastic tone cut through the air like a knife. “are you done talking now, shakespeare? do you finally have the time to lend me a hand?” he quipped, his eyes practically rolling in their sockets.

“why should i?” rafayel shot back, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment.

“because you were the one who left my bag open before we headed here! if it weren’t for you, my phone wouldn’t have—" thomas’s words were abruptly cut off by rafayel’s hand covering his mouth, muffling his protests.

“yeah, yeah, i’ll go look for it, or whatever. can you shut your mouth now?” rafayel rolled his eyes, wiping his hand on his uniform as he released thomas.

just as thomas was about to retaliate with a snarky remark, rafayel sauntered past him with a smug expression, heading toward the stairs. “that’s what you call payback, thomas," he called over his shoulder, winking as he waved him farewell.

“rafayel, you-!”

rafayel relished the cool morning breeze as it caressed his skin, the tranquil atmosphere of the rooftop offering a brief respite from his hectic schedule. “guess this wasn’t a bad idea after all, huh?” he mused to himself, settling onto the floor and allowing himself a moment of quiet reflection.

closing his eyes, he momentarily forgot his purpose for coming to the rooftop. however, his peaceful reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name – soft chuckles he had heard every once in a blue moon during class.

“rafayel...?”

opening his eyes, he was taken aback to see you standing before him. “oh- hey,” he greeted casually, attempting to maintain his usual air of confidence. which was strange – being laid-back usually came naturally to him.

yet, in your presence, it felt different, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“um... what brings you up here?” you asked, your tone curious yet cautious at the same time. rafayel chuckled softly before replying, “well, i could say the same for you. what’s your story?”

you hesitated for a moment, not used to being the center of attention- and neither were you expecting him to pass the question back to you. “well, i usually come up here during free time,” you explained, feeling a bit vulnerable sharing this with someone.

“oh? why’s that?” rafayel inquired, patting the floor beside him, inviting you to join him. you were a little hesitant at first, but rafayel’s easygoing demeanor put you at ease. “it’s nothing special... i just find it peaceful, away from the chaos of the school,” you explained, finally taking a seat beside him.

rafayel nodded, understanding. “i get that. sometimes you just need a quiet place to escape to.” you nodded in agreement to his words. “what about you...?” you asked, shooting the question back to him.

“well, you see,” rafayel launched into the backstory of his rooftop adventure, recounting the events that had transpired earlier. “ thomas and i had a little spat over his missing phone, and things got a tad heated,” rafayel explained, a hint of amusement in his voice. “he’s convinced i had a hand in its disappearance, but i swear i’m completely innocent.” he said in defense, holding his hands up.

“he didn’t seem like he was going to stop putting up a fight anytime sooner, though, so i just went along with his orders and told him i’ll go look for it- and you’re probably wondering what that has got to do with me going up here, but i figured it’d be easier to search for it from above, because, well, maybe he dropped it on the ground or something.” he shrugged.

listening to his animated storytelling, you found yourself drawn in by the humor of the situation. unable to contain it, a stifled laugh escaped your lips at a particularly amusing part of his story.

surprised by the genuine warmth of your laughter, rafayel couldn’t help but smile, his own laughter mingling with yours. realizing the significance of the moment, you quickly composed yourself, returning to your usual calm demeanor as if nothing had happened. “well...”

with the school bells signaling the start of the first period, your conversation with rafayel was cut short. as he stood up, he fixed his uniform, running his hands through his hair. “wanna walk to our class together? it’s not like we go to separate rooms, anyway.”

you were hesitant to accept his offer at first, but you figured there’d be no harm in agreeing anyway. you then found yourselves walking side by side down the hallway, headed to your shared classroom. the atmosphere was laced with a subtle awkwardness, and rafayel, always the entertainer, couldn’t resist breaking the silence.

“so, do you have any exciting plans for today?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone. you glanced at him, “me? well... not really, just the usual routine,” you replied softly, appreciating the effort he made to fill the silence.

he chuckled. “routine, huh? well, maybe today will be different. who knows, maybe we’ll discover a hidden talent or stumble upon a secret club meeting.” rafayel gestured dramatically, creating an imaginary scenario with a playful smirk.

you couldn’t help but smile at his antics, the shared moment of lightheartedness making the walk to class a little more enjoyable.

just as the silence was starting to settle yet again, rafayel came up with yet another topic to discuss. “so, what do you think the chances are of mr. nero bringing up quadratic equations again today?”

you couldn’t help but become amused at his attempt to lighten the mood. “knowing mr. nero... i’d say the chances are pretty high, maybe? but, i don’t know... maybe he’ll surprise us and throw in some trigonometry instead.”

rafayel grinned, pleased with your response. “ah, the joys of high school math. it’s like a rollercoaster ride, isn’t it?” you nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction from the usual quietness of your interactions with rafayel. as you reached the classroom door, rafayel gestured for you to enter first.

“after you,” he said with a smile. “i’ll catch up in a minute.” confused by his sudden change in routine, you hesitated for a moment before stepping into the classroom. once inside, you found your seat at the back of the room and settled in, glancing over your to the front door to see rafayel entering a few minutes later.

as he entered the classroom, all eyes naturally turned towards him, the usual attention that followed the school’s golden boy. however, what surprised you was the way his gaze briefly connected with yours, despite having everyone’s gaze focused on him. in that fleeting moment, there was a hint of something different in his smile, something that caught you off guard.

confusion clouded your thoughts as you watched him take his seat. was it just a simple gesture, or did it hold a deeper meaning? you couldn’t help but return his smile with a small one of your own, though uncertainty lingered in the air.

mr. nero began the lesson, and you pushed aside the thoughts about what just happened, focusing instead on the task at hand. but the memory of that moment stayed with you, a puzzle waiting to be solved in the back of your mind.

as rafayel settled into his seat, thomas leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “so, did you find it?” rafayel glanced at thomas with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “find what?” thomas rolled his eyes. “my phone, genius. the one you conveniently lost.”

rafayel feigned innocence, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “oh, that. well, let’s just say it’s still out there, waiting to be discovered.” thomas groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re impossible, you know that?” rafayel simply shrugged, his attention now focused on the front of the classroom.

meanwhile, thomas seized the opportunity to get his revenge, crumpling a piece of paper and taking aim at rafayel’s head. with a flick of his wrist, he let it fly, but to his dismay, it veered off course, heading straight for mr. nero instead.

as mr. nero’s stern voice filled the classroom, rafayel’s grin faltered, replaced by a mask of feigned innocence as he faced his wrath as the whole class erupted into a fit of laughter.

“rafayel, care to explain why there’s a projectile flying through my classroom?” mr. nero’s tone was sharp, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

rafayel glanced sheepishly at thomas, who was struggling to contain his laughter. “wha- me? sir, i swear it wasn’t-”

“quit beating around the bush! is it really that difficult to act in an orderly manner?” mr. nero crossed his arms, a frustrated expression on his face.

“well, i just- it was an accident, sir. i assure you, i had no intention of disrupting the class.”

thomas couldn’t resist chiming in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “yeah, right. because accidentally throwing things seems to be a common occurrence for mr. perfect over here.”

the class erupted into laughter once more, and rafayel felt a pang of irritation at thomas’s teasing. he was supposed to be annoyed, but as he glanced towards the back of the room and saw you stifling a laugh, he couldn’t help but soften. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to take the blame just this once after all.

caught in the moment, rafayel played along with the situation, flashing a glare at thomas before turning back to face mr. nero. “sorry, sir. it won’t happen again.”

thomas leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his face. “nice aim, raf. maybe next time you’ll hit your target.”

“shut up.”

you and tara were supposed to go home together, but her girlfriend, jenna, the student council president, had a date planned for both of them after school, leaving you to head home alone. just as you were heading towards the gate, you noticed a phone lying on the floor. curiosity piqued, you picked it up and unlocked it, revealing a childhood photo of rafayel and thomas as the wallpaper. this must be the missing phone rafayel was referring to.

wondering where they might be, you remembered rafayel’s role as the president of the art club and headed towards the art room. pushing open the door, you found the room empty except for rafayel, his back turned to you as he focused on his painting.

“rafayel?” you called out suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise, accidentally smudging a stroke of red on his canvas.

as soon as he heard your voice, he didn’t need to see you to know it was you. still, he turned to face you, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“what brings you here?” he asked, genuine curiosity coloring his tone. you hesitated for a moment, feeling a bit nervous under his gaze. “um, i found this phone outside, and i thought it might belong to thomas. i was going to return it to him, but i couldn’t find him.”

rafayel nodded, understanding. “i see. well, i owe you my entire life- now i no longer have to worry about him nagging into my ear about his missing phone.”

before you could respond, your eyes fell on the smudged red stroke on rafayel’s painting, and you couldn’t help but point it out, apologizing profusely for potentially ruining his masterpiece.

“oh no- i’m so sorry, rafayel...! i didn’t mean to mess up your painting...” you apologized, feeling genuinely remorseful for your unintentional mistake.

rafayel examined the mark for a moment before dismissing your apology with a casual wave of his hand. “don’t worry about it,” he reassured you. “in fact, i think it adds something to the painting.”

perplexed, you questioned his reasoning, prompting rafayel to introduce you to the red string theory. as he explained the concept, you listened intently, captivated by the depth of his perspective on art.

“so, you see, the red string represents the invisible connections between people,” rafayel elaborated. “it’s said that those connected by the red string are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. even though it’s invisible, it binds us all together in unexpected ways.”

his explanation resonated with you, and you nodded in understanding, impressed by the philosophical depth of his interpretation. “that’s why i believe the stroke of red on my canvas adds more meaning to it,” rafayel concluded, his eyes gleaming with passion.

you were awestruck by his insight, realizing that his role as the club president was well-deserved. though you considered yourself an artist, rafayel’s level of understanding elevated your appreciation for the craft.

“actually,” rafayel began, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “why don’t we add both our names to the painting?” your eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “both our names? but it’s your artwork. i don’t want to impose or take credit for something i didn’t create.”

rafayel chuckled softly, shaking his head. “it’s not about credit, it’s about meaning. your accidental contribution gave this painting a story- a connection. it wouldn’t be the same without it.” you considered his words, realizing the depth of his sentiment. “oh... alright, then.”

with a warm smile, rafayel handed you the marker, gesturing towards the bottom of the canvas. “go ahead, write your name next to mine. together, we’ll leave our mark on this piece.”

grateful for the opportunity to be a part of something meaningful, you carefully inscribed your name alongside his, feeling a sense of pride and camaraderie in the shared moment.

as mr. nero’s voice filled the classroom, announcing the upcoming event proposed by the art club, the room buzzed with excitement.

“attention, students! i’m pleased to announce that the art club has proposed an extraordinary event. it is a school-wide art exhibition centered around the theme of ‘strings of affection: capturing love’s melodies,’” mr. nero declared, his tone brimming with enthusiasm.

“this exhibition aims to delve into the complexities of love and its complex manifestations.” whispers and murmurs erupted among the students, excitement evident in the air.

“during the exhibition, each participating student will have the opportunity to display their artwork in the school gallery,” mr. nero continued, gesturing to a large poster board adorned with colorful flyers. “artworks can include paintings, drawings, sculptures, photography- anything that captures the essence of love.”

sitting at the back of the class, you found yourself lost in thought, your fingers fidgeting anxiously under the table. “the theme encourages exploration of various aspects of love, including romantic love, familial bonds, friendships, and self-love,” mr. nero elaborated, his voice carrying a note of significance. “we encourage each of you to delve deep into your hearts and minds to convey your unique interpretations of love through your artwork.”

the idea of participating in the art exhibition sparked a mix of excitement and apprehension within you. could you summon the courage to explore such a profound theme and share your interpretation of love with the entire school?

glancing around the room, you noticed people exchanging excited whispers with their friends, their eyes alight with anticipation, whereas the others were nodding to each other in silent agreement, perhaps contemplating their own interpretations of love for their submissions.

despite the lively chatter filling the room, you felt a sense of isolation, the weight of your decision resting solely on your shoulders. as mr. nero concluded his announcement and the chatter in the classroom continued, you found yourself lost in thought, pondering the depth of love and whether you were ready to explore it through your art.

as you sat there, wrestling with your decision about whether to join the art exhibition, the note you found in your bag earlier suddenly came to mind. pulling it out, you studied the words written on it, feeling a pang of uncertainty.

lost in your contemplation, you were startled when a paper plane soared through the air, landing neatly on your desk. with curious fingers, you unfolded it, revealing a short message scrawled across the paper.

“gonna join? - R”

your gaze darted around the classroom, searching for the sender, until you locked eyes with rafayel, who was seated at the center front. heat rose to your cheeks as you quickly stuffed the crumpled note back into your pocket, pursing your lips. you redirected your attention to the unfolded paper plane, hoping to conceal your flustered reaction.

for a brief moment, rafayel’s eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. it dawned on him that the note you hastily concealed was the same one he had written and placed in your bag the day he stumbled upon your sketchbook.

as you exchanged a smile with rafayel, a wave of warmth washed over you, mingled with a tinge of uncertainty about the mysterious note and the unexpected connection it represented.

rafayel couldn’t shake the desire to speak with you directly, to bridge the gap between them rather than relying on secretive notes. but with gour classmates constantly surrounding him, initiating a conversation without drawing attention to you was a challenge.

turning to his friend thomas, rafayel leaned in close, whispering urgently, “hey, can you do me a favor? tell her to meet me at the rooftop during breaktime.”

thomas raised an eyebrow, shooting rafayel a curious look. “what am i, your loyal butler or something? why don’t you just talk to her yourself?”

rafayel sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i don’t want to make it seem like a big deal, you know? plus, it might be less suspicious if it’s coming from you.”

thomas groaned, shaking his head. “you’re hopeless- really hopeless. but since it appears i have no other choice, i’ll pass on the message. just don’t screw it up, yeah?”

as thomas approached you, confusion was etched on your face as you greeted him awkwardly. “oh- hey... what is it?”

he cracked a small grin, noticing your confusion. “hey there. that insufferable purple-haired guy at the front wanted me to let you know to meet him at the rooftop later during break time," he explained while gesturing towards rafayel, his tone friendly.

your eyes widened slightly at the unexpected message, and you stammered out a reply, “huh? oh, uh, okay. thanks for telling me.”

with a casual wave, thomas returned to rafayel, leaving you in contemplative silence. as your gaze lingered on their interaction, rafayel’s eyes remained fixed on you, adding a layer of intrigue to the message delivered through thomas.

perched on the rooftop, you found solace in the quiet surroundings, immersed in the act of sketching. the image of a sleeping cat with a delicate flower petal atop its head unfolded gracefully on the pages of your sketchbook, each stroke carefully crafted.

lost in your artistic reverie, you failed to sense rafayel's stealthy approach from behind. just as he was poised to startle you with a playful “boo,” your world shattered into chaos as you swung around in alarm, inadvertently smacking him in the face with your sketchbook.

the moment hung in the air, frozen in time, as rafayel recoiled in surprise, his hand instinctively rising to cradle his nose. wide-eyed and mortified, you stammered out an apology, “oh my gosh, rafayel! i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to-”

caught off guard, rafayel playfully teased, “well, that's one way to say hello, isn’t it? didn’t know my face doubled as a notebook magnet.”

you blushed, flustered by the unexpected collision, “i really didn’t mean to hit you, rafayel. sorry...!”

his laughter echoed, resonating with an easygoing charm, “no harm done. i’ve endured worse for a good laugh. besides, it’s about time someone hit me with a notebook- adds a bit of excitement to my day.”

rafayel’s curiosity piqued as he pointed to your sketchbook, asking, “what’s that you’re writing?” you hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to reveal your secret passion, but his playful curiosity was too infectious to resist. “oh, it’s just some sketches,” you replied softly, flipping through the pages to reveal the drawing of the cat you saw earlier.

rafayel leaned in, genuine curiosity evident in his eyes as he examined the drawing. “whoa... you drew this? that’s really good!”

you felt a rush of relief at his positive reaction, showing him the reference photo you took earlier. “yeah, i saw this cat on my way to school this morning and couldn’t resist sketching it."

his grin widened as he glanced between the drawing and the photo, barely even noticing any differences. “you’ve got some serious talent, you know that?”

feeling awkward at the unexpected compliment, you muttered a shy thank you, feeling a sense of warmth spreading in the midst of your quiet rooftop rendezvous.

“makes me wonder... why aren’t you part of the art club?” not expecting rafayel’s sudden question, you chuckled nervously. “well, you know, i’m just really busy with school and stuff.”

rafayel didn’t seem convinced. “is that really the reason?” he inquired softly, his tone genuine and caring. you hesitated, feeling reluctant. “actually, i’m just... i’m a bit self-conscious about my skills. i don’t really want anyone to find out about it.”

rafayel’s expression softened, understanding evident in his eyes. “may i?” he asked, reaching for your sketchbook. nodding silently, you watched as he flipped through every page, his eyes widening in genuine surprise and admiration. he lingered over each artwork, appreciating the detail and emotion captured in your sketches.

as he closed the sketchbook and placed it back on the ground, he uttered words that struck a sense of familiarity within you.

“the world deserves to witness how talented you are, you know?”

your heart skipped a beat at his words, a memory surfacing of the note you had found in your bag after that day you fell asleep in school. it said the exact same thing. before you could inquire further, rafayel stood up and reached out to you. confused yet intrigued, you took his hand, and without hesitation, he led you on a journey through the school, eventually arriving at the art room.

as you stood there, taking in the familiar sights of the art supplies and canvases, rafayel turned to you with a warm smile. “i thought maybe you could use a little encouragement to share your talent with the world,” he explained softly. you blinked in confusion. “what are we doing here?”

rafayel’s smile was gentle as he took your hand, placing a paintbrush in one and a palette in the other. he led you towards the largest canvas in the room. “what am i supposed to do...?” you inquired, tilting your head in puzzlement.

rafayel’s smile widened as he picked up a paintbrush and palette for himself. “do what you do best,” he replied. “huh?”

with a sense of determination, rafayel painted a bold black line down the center of the canvas, separating it into two distinct halves. “every five minutes, we’ll switch and continue each other’s paintings,” he explained, his voice calm yet full of purpose.

you nodded, intrigued by the challenge, and began your half of the canvas with soft, lighthearted portraits and delicate strokes. your colors were gentle and inviting, focusing on capturing the essence and aura of the subjects with a sense of warmth and innocence.

as the minutes passed, you and rafayel seamlessly switched, each adding your own touches to the other’s work. rafayel’s side of the canvas was a masterpiece of emotion and complexity, with mesmerizing details and layers of meaning poured into every stroke.

“you’re quite the artist, you know,” rafayel remarked as he added a flourish to your portrait, his tone praising. you blushed at the compliment, unsure how to respond.

somewhere in the middle of the exchange, rafayel not-so-accidentally brushed a small portion of paint onto your cheek. “oops, my hand slipped-”

and so did yours, it appears, as you left a mark of paint on his nose. you stifled a chuckle as you feigned innocence, “um, sorry,” you murmured, your voice soft yet sarcastic.

rafayel laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “congrats- you’ve officially caught me off guard!” he teased, his tone lighthearted.

as the playful exchange continued, each stroke of paint serving as a reminder of your shared connection, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading in your chest. it was as if, in this moment, you were shedding your inhibitions and embracing the joy of simply being yourself around rafayel.

and as the final touches were added and you both stepped back to admire the masterpiece you had created together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. little did you know, as you looked at the painting, rafayel was looking at you with admiration in his eyes, captivated by the quiet strength and beauty he saw reflected in you.

"so, about that note...” you began tentatively, but rafayel cut you off with a nonchalant, “yeah, that was me,” accompanied by a shrug and a playful grin.

“you...?” surprise tinged your voice as you glanced at him, and rafayel nodded with a hint of mischief, pointing to himself.

“i mean, seriously though, you’re really talented. if you joined the club, you could totally be running the show instead of me,” rafayel suggested, his tone a blend of sincerity and teasing.

“i can’t tell if you’re trying to flatter me or if you’re trying to recruit a new member for your club...” you replied with a small chuckle, earning a grin from rafayel.

“oh, come on, i’ve already got a bunch of members, most of whom couldn’t care less about art. it’s a bit frustrating, to be honest- it’s like they’re not even there to appreciate the beauty of art in the first place,” rafayel lamented, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

“maybe they’re just there for you,” you offered, watching as rafayel nodded in acknowledgment, his expression thoughtful. “it’s not as glamorous as it seems, you know? being popular means you’re always in the spotlight, whether you like it or not. it’s exhausting,” rafayel admitted with a sigh, his frustration evident.

“so, that’s the price of popularity...” you mused, feeling a pang of sympathy for rafayel’s predicament.

“that’s why you caught my eye. you never seemed to crave that attention, and i found that refreshing.” rafayel confessed, his tone softening as he opened up to you. “i wanted to get to know someone who saw me for me, not just as who i’m made out to be.”

“huh?” you murmured, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity at his words.

“i’ve always admired how you kept to yourself, not letting the whole popularity thing affect you. it made me want to know more about you,” rafayel explained, his gaze holding a hint of something deeper that intrigued you.

“so... what do you mean?” you asked, your curiosity piqued by rafayel’s candid confession. he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered his words. “y’know, it’s just... these days, it feels like everyone is so caught up in their social status, popularity, reputation, you name it. and despite never wanting to be, i’ve been pushed into the center of all that because of the way people are way too interested in my life,” he explained, his voice tinged with frustration.

“people like you, who are genuine and don’t use others as stepping stones to become popular, are rare.” rafayel continued, his gaze meeting yours with sincerity. “your presence feels like a breath of fresh air in a world where everyone is so focused on climbing the social ladder.”

oh. “i never expected someone to see me that way...” you admitted, your eyes meeting rafayel’s with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. his expression softened as he listened, his gaze filled with understanding. “i guess we both had our assumptions about each other,” he mused.

you nodded in agreement, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “the reason why i least expected you to be the one who put that note in my bag was because i always felt like we orbited in separate galaxies," you admitted, and rafayel listened carefully.

“it was as if you stood under the sun, whereas i found solace in the dark. i’ve always admired the way you easily socialized and blended in with the crowd, wishing it was something i could do, too.”

rafayel’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at your words, and you felt a rush of nerves at having laid bare your innermost thoughts to him. but as you saw the understanding and empathy in his gaze, you knew you had made the right decision in sharing your feelings with him.

“but now, knowing your perspective regarding your popularity, i feel like my perspective has just changed as a whole,” you added, your voice soft but earnest.

“maybe we’re not as different as we thought, huh?” he said, an amused expression on his face as he suddenly took your hand and held it within his gentle grasp.

“huh...? i...” to say you were at a loss for words and had no idea what to feel over the sudden gesture would be a huge understatement. it didn’t help that holding your hand seemed to be something casual to rafayel, either. “i guess...” you trailed off, looking down on the ground to avoid his gaze.

the familiar ringing of the school bells echoed across the walls of the empty art room yet again, cutting your conversation short – like it always did. yet this time, you were grateful for it. had it not interrupted both of you, you’d be a stammering mess by now.

rafayel let go of your hand, putting one of his hands in his pocket. “i’ll see your name somewhere at the art exhibit, then?” he tilted his head, sending you a wink before heading out, leaving you all by yourself as you looked at the large canvas in front of you once more.

perhaps grabbing an opportunity standing right in front of you wouldn’t be so bad, just this once.

—

it had been three nights. three nights of you frustratingly ripping pages off of your sketchbook simply because your ideas kept clashing with each other everytime you laid it out on the pieces of paper sprawled out in front of you. your artworks were merely a product of your own will – none of which were required for a specific occasion, at least not until now.

love.

how were you supposed to convey the meaning of a feeling you weren’t sure you have ever felt in your entire life? not even the romance books stacked up in your shelves could make up for an inspiration. within each tick of the clock, the day of the art exhibit kept inching closer, making you dread every passing second.

letting out a frustrated sigh as you laid your head down on your study table, you were no longer sure if you still wanted to participate in the event anymore. maybe you should’ve just shut down rafayel’s expectations of you partaking in the art exhibit while it was still early – hold on.

that was it. that was exactly it. if you needed to seek guidance from someone whose field of expertise is art, there was no longer a necessity for searching all over your surroundings – the answer was already right in front of you.

you weren’t sure when his contact number got on your phone, but you were grateful for it nonetheless – maybe he added it during your collaboration in the art room while your attention was focused on something else. dialing the number, you waited patiently for him to pick up as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“what up, buttercup?”

the unexpected lowering of the pitch of his voice, void of its usual sarcasm and sass, caught you off guard. it carried a hint of raspiness, a sign he might have been roused from sleep. and suddenly, regaining composure became a priority for you.

“oh- did i interrupt your sleep? i’m sorry, i’ll-” he was quick to cut you off from the other line, immediately brushing off your concern. “nah, don’t worry about it. what’s gotten you all up late in the night, though?” he asked curiously.

“um, well, you see,” you stammered, struggling to articulate your frustration. “regarding the art exhibit event you and your club launched... i just can’t seem to find the right way to express... love,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafayel’s curiosity piqued. “why’s that?” he inquired gently, sensing the weight behind your words. “i don’t know,” you admitted, feeling a pang of embarrassment. “it’s just... how do you convey a feeling you’ve never experienced?”

there was a brief silence on the other end of the line before rafayel spoke again, his voice softer than before. “you mean... you’ve never fallen in love before?” he asked, a hint of surprise evident in his tone.

reluctantly, you confirmed his assumption with a quiet nod, even though he couldn’t see you. rafayel let out a soft sigh, the sound conveying both understanding and reassurance.

truth be told, that was the last thing he had expected to hear from you – but then again, the world’s always full of surprises, isn’t it?

“hey, no shame in that, yeah? we’ll find a way for you,” he said gently. “meet me tomorrow morning at linkon tower?”

your heart fluttered at the prospect of his help, and you agreed eagerly, grateful for his support. “okay,” you replied, a sense of relief washing over you. “thank you, rafayel...”

“anything for you.”

—

as you stood waiting in front of linkon tower, the morning breeze tousling your hair, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. the anticipation of meeting rafayel was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking, and you found yourself fidgeting with the strap of your bag as you scanned the area.

suddenly, you spotted rafayel running towards you,an apologetic expression on his face and two cups of coffee in his hands. “fashionably late, as always,” he quipped, his tone light as he caught his breath.

you couldn’t help but smile at his teasing remark, a mixture of relief and amusement washing over you. “i was starting to think you’d gotten lost in the crowd...”

rafayel chuckled, a twinkle in his eyes as he approached you. “nah, just had to battle my way through the caffeine-deprived masses,” he replied, holding out one of the cups of coffee to you. “one caramel latte, just how you like it- hopefully.”

you accepted the coffee with a grateful smile, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his thoughtfulness. “oh- for me? thank you...!” you said softly, taking a sip of the steaming beverage.

he flashed you a charming grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “no need to thank me at all. like i said last night- anything for you, right?”

blushing at his words, you couldn’t help but feel a need to change the topic. “so... what's the plan for today?” you asked, eager to find out what creative ideas Rafayel had in mind.

he shrugged casually, taking a sip of his own coffee. “well, i thought we could take a stroll around the park, soak in some inspiration from nature,” he suggested, his tone relaxed. “unless you have any other brilliant ideas up your sleeve?”

you shook your head with a shy smile, feeling grateful for the way he took the lead. “no, that sounds perfect,” you replied, falling into step beside him as you set off towards the nearby park. as you walked, the gentle chatter between you and rafayel filled the air, the warmth of the morning sun casting a golden glow over your skin.

while taking your time to admire your surroundings, your eyes then caught sight of a cat sitting on a bench. gasping in awe, you couldn’t help but to tug on the sleeve of his cardigan, immediately pointing to it- and the next thing you knew was he was practically holding onto you for dear life, looking at the creature with a horrified expression on his face.

you stifled a chuckle, not expecting the sudden action from rafayel out of all people. “rafayel, are you, perhaps... scared of cats?” you tilted your head, waiting for an answer. “scared? hah, please, like i’d ever- get it away from me!”

you held up the cat in front of him, laughing as you watched him hurriedly take a few steps back. he was about to completely turn his back to you in fear of getting scratched by the feline’s claws, but it wasn’t until he came to realization that this was the first time he has ever heard you laugh – all he’s ever heard from you were short giggles and stifled chuckles.

he admired you in awe without even realization dawning upon him that he was, staring at you as you kept inching the cat closer to him. “you do know it’s more afraid of us than we are of it, right?”

your voice pulled him out of the bottom of his thoughts, making him flinch slightly as he tried to play off the fact he just called you beautiful in his head.

he feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “oh, please, don’t underestimate the cunning behavior of these creatures,” he replied with a smirk. “they may look innocent, but behind those whiskers lie a mastermind plotting world domination.”

you couldn’t help but find his dramatic antis childish, yet couldn’t suppress your laughter. “alright, fine, i’ll handle this dangerous mission myself," you joked, putting the cat back down on the ground.

as you practically dragged Rafayel towards the ice cream parlor, his laughter echoed through the air. “woah, slow down! i didn’t know it was possible to love ice cream this much.” he remarked, amusement all over his eyes.

you flashed him a bright smile in return. “don’t we all?” you replied, unable to contain your excitement as you joined the line behind a group of eager kids. while waiting for your turn, the sweet aroma of freshly made ice cream filled the air, making your mouth almost water in anticipation. rafayel observed your enthusiasm with a fond smile, clearly amused by your excitement.

finally, it was your turn to order, and you wasted no time selecting a combination of three of your favorite flavors. as the server handed you your towering cone, you struggled to balance it in your hands, wanting not to let a single scoop go to waste.

rafayel chuckled at your efforts. “looks like you’ve got your hands full there,” he teased, buying the same flavors you had chosen. “i’ll have the same, just in case yours decides to take a tumble.”

—

while you and rafayel were strolling along, you stumbled upon an old vendor selling flowers. the vendor greeted both of you warmly, a twinkle of nostalgia in his eyes. “one for your lovely lady, sir?” he asked, gesturing towards you with a knowing smile. yet before you could interject and clarify that you weren't a couple, rafayel was quick to respond, his voice charming. “i’ll have a bouquet, if you may,” he said with a playful wink, catching you off guard.

“huh? rafayel, you-” his actions caught you by surprise, making you stumble over your words. yet even if you wanted to clarify your relationship with rafayel to the old man, you found yourself not doing so, having a feeling that no matter how you tried to deny it, rafayel would eventually find a way to brush your reasonings off. and you weren’t even sure why he’d do such a thing- you just knew he would.

as the vendor handed rafayel a beautiful bouquet, he offered a nostalgic reflection. “ah young love. you two remind me of me and my wife during the days we were still young... I hope the best for both of you,” he said with heartfelt sincerity.

rafayel played along effortlessly, nodding in agreement. “i hope so too, sir.” he replied with a grin, accepting the bouquet with a flourish.

as you both walked away from the vendor, you couldn't help but be confused at the unexpected exchange. before you could question rafayel about his actions, he leaned into the playful act even further, bowing theatrically in front of you.

“for you, my lady.” he said with mock formality, offering you the bouquet with a mischievous hint in his eyes. you couldn’t suppress a laugh as you accepted the flowers. “well... while, thank you, kind sir,” you tried to reply with equal playfulness, making rafayel laugh in response.

—

inside the arcade, the bright lights and buzzing sounds of the games immediately filled the air, igniting a sense of excitement within you both. making your way to the claw machine, rafayel insisted on taking the first turn, his determination evident in the way he eagerly inserted coins and maneuvered the claw.

you watched with amusement while he focused intently on the task at hand, heavily concentrated as he attempted to win you a plushie. but despite his persistence, the claw came up empty-handed each time, much to his dismay.

as the claw machine swallowed another round of coins, rafayel’s competitive spirit seemed undeterred. “alright, watch closely,” he declared while positioning the claw with precision. you couldn't help but admire his persistence, even as the plushie continued to escape his grasp. “you’ve got this,” you encouraged him, unable to contain a smile at his unwavering focus.

but as the claw went down for yet another attempt, rafayel’s expression shifted from confidence to disbelief as it once again came up empty. “what?! how did i miss that?!” he exclaimed, his frustration evident as he shook his head in disbelief.

with each failed attempt, rafayel’s facade of confidence began to crack, replaced by exaggerated frustration and protests. “this machine is rigged, i’m telling you!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “it’s like it’s got a personal vendetta against me or something.”

you couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “um, maybe you should let me have a go at it?” you suggested, feeling a rush of nervousness as rafayel turned to look at you. he raised an eyebrow challengingly, a playful glint in his eyes. “oh, you think you can do any better, huh?” he teased, already stepping aside to let you take your turn.

with a small smile, you approached the machine, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. as you focused on the task at hand, you couldn't help but feel rafayel’s eyes on you, his presence both comforting and slightly unnerving at the same time. you maneuvered the claw into position, holding your breath as you watched it go down towards the plushie of your choice. and then, with a satisfying clink, the claw closed around the prize, lifting it triumphantly into the air.

you couldn’t contain your joy as you retrieved the plushie from the machine, holding it up for rafayel to see with a huge smile. “i did it!” you celebrated enthusiastically, feeling a warm flush spreading across your cheeks as rafayel grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“incredible!” rafayel exclaimed, his tone filled with mock astonishment. “i’ve officially been defeated by the claw machine champion.”

—

as the afternoon came to an end, while the sun painted the city in hues of gold, rafayel casually inquired, “so, where do you live?” your head tilted in puzzlement, not quite catching what he meant until he clarified, “i’m gonna walk you home.”

you felt your heart flutter, your cheeks warming at the unexpected offer. “oh, um, it’s not far from here...” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips. rafayel’s grin widened, his gaze softening as he gestured for you to lead the way. “lead the way then, my dear companion,” he teased, falling into step beside you as you started walking.

as you walked through the familiar streets, a comfortable silence enveloped you both. yet, it was rafayel who broke it, his voice carrying a playful lilt. “sooo, did you enjoy our little date today?” he asked, his tone light yet filled with genuine curiosity.

a small chuckle escaped your lips as you nodded, feeling a warmth spreading through you. “of course i did. thank you for spending the day with me, rafayel...” you replied, stealing a glance at him.

it seems as if the fact he called it a date completely went over your head – and could anyone blame you if you were just happy enough to spend the day with him that you no longer cared whether it was a friendly date or something else?

rafayel’s smile softened, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. “anytime.” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “we should definitely do this again sometime.”

you felt a flutter in your chest at his words, your heart skipping a beat as you nodded in agreement. “yeah... i’d like that.” you agreed softly, a shy smile creeping up your lips. the walk continued, each step bringing you closer to your destination.

—

you two stood in front of your apartment building, and as you bid farewell to each other, you waved at him with a close-eyed smile.

rafayel swore his heart had never raced faster than it did now.

just as you were about to walk away, he held you back by your wrist, halting your movements. “wait.” you took a step back. “rafayel...?” you tilted your head in confusion as you turned to face him. his hand was still holding onto your wrist, and as he stood there, holding your wrist gently, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “i was going to wait until the art exhibit event was over to say this to you, but... screw that. i don’t think i can wait any longer.”

“what do you mean...?” you asked, not quite getting what he was implying.

“well,” he began, his voice no longer laced with his trademark sarcasm. “i’ve got a confession to make.” He paused, taking a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts, his gaze never leaving you. “from the moment i first saw you sleeping at the very back of the classroom while everyone was busy talking in separate groups, something inside me shifted. it was as if the universe intended to bring us together, to intertwine our lives in a way that i couldn't comprehend at the time.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words, curiosity mingling with anticipation as you waited for him to continue. “you see,“ rafayel went on, his tone softening ever so slightly. “i never knew why i felt so drawn to you that day even though i didn’t even know anything about you- there was just something about you that made stare at you a little longer than i was supposed to.” he paused, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he recalled the countless times he had looked behind to see whether you were gazing out the window, writing down notes, or sleeping.

“you know, i’ve spent all this time trying to figure out why you just seemed to be so different from everyone else in my eyes. and maybe you’re wondering why- but that’s the thing. neither do i know.” you listened, captivated by the sincerity in his words, the layers of his personality laying bare before you.

“and then it hit me.”

rafayel continued, a warmth spreading through his chest as he spoke. “i’ve watched you, admired you, in ways that i can’t quite put into words- way before i even saw your sketchbook lying down on the ground.” rafayel confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “getting to know you even further with each passing day from then on was the nail in the coffin, you know? as i got to know you better through time, i just- the next thing i knew was i wanted to have more excuses to spend time with you.” he ran his hands through his hair, a soft expression on his face as you listened with surprise.

“your kindness, your warmth, your quiet strength, the way you’re always trying to view every circumstance you come across in a positive light, the way you’re... you. they’ve captivated me in ways i never thought possible.” you listened, your heart racing with his words, the air heavy with the weight of the unspoken. he took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving you.

“i don’t even know when, how, and why i started feeling this way. all i knew the moment i first heard you chuckle quietly at the back of the class that one time thomas and i were arguing over which of our answers to the equation mr. nero wrote on the board- neither were correct, by the way- was that if it ever became louder, i wanted to be the reason behind it.”

“you’re making it so hard for me not to fall for you, and as i stand in front of you now, i’m proudly declaring that i’ll be admitting my defeat.”

as rafayel’s words hung in the air, you stood there in disbelief, finding it hard to make his words sink in. and then it all came crashing down on you. the overwhelming surge of happiness you felt when you were adding your own touches on his artwork that one day at the art room wasn’t just a feeling of being glad you were finally able to express your talent in a way that isn’t scribbling on your sketchbook – it was because the feeling of being comfortable with letting your guard down around someone who wasn’t tara was an unfamiliar yet great experience for you.

the reason why you always found yourself staring at him in class wasn’t because you were curious as to how popular people like him lived their lives; you weren’t curious about his lifestyle, but rather... you were curious about him as a person.

“rafayel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the rustle of the leaves. “i... i never knew... i never dared to hope...” but before you could finish, rafayel reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his touch gentle yet electrifying. “you don’t have to. just... let yourself loose, yeah?” rafayel’s gaze softens, his hand still gently holding yours as he waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts.

“it’s just... it’s a lot to take in.” you finally manage, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you admit your struggle to process his heartfelt confession. “but...” you pause, biting your lip nervously as you try to find the courage to voice the thoughts racing through your mind.

“but what?” rafayel prompts gently, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “it’s just... everything makes sense now,” you confess, your words tumbling out in a rush as you finally allow yourself to let out the thoughts you had buried deep inside.

“that day in the art room, when we were working on that huge canvas, i thought i was just happy to be able to express myself through art... but now i realize it was more than that. it was the feeling of being comfortable with someone other than tara, of letting my guard down and just... being myself without having to afraid of being judged.”

rafayel listened intently, his expression softening with each word you speak. “and in class, when i would find myself staring at you... i always thought it was just curiosity about how someone like you lived their life. but now i see it was something more. i was curious about you as a person, and whatever you were hiding beneath your usual personality, i just... i wanted to know all about it.”

“i don’t know when, how, or why it all started either, but... all i know right now is that... i want to be with you, rafayel.”

a blush crept across your cheeks as you finished speaking, your gaze dropping to the ground as you awaited rafayel’s response. but before you can look up, you feel his hand gently lifting your chin, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent shivers down your spine. “you know...” he said softly, his voice filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “i’m glad you feel that way. because... well, because I've been feeling the same way about you for a long time now- if that wasn’t obvious already.”

as the weight of your shared confessions hangs in the air, there’s a palpable tension between you and rafayel. slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours as his lips hover just inches from yours.

your heart races in your chest, a nervous feeling fluttering spreading through your stomach as you anticipate what’s about to happen. and then, in a moment that feels both infinitely long and short at the same time, his lips finally meet yours.

it’s soft at first, a gentle brush of his lips against yours, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. but then, as the realization sinks in that this is your very first kiss, the sensation intensifies. his lips mold perfectly against yours, fitting together like two puzzle pieces finally finding their match. there’s a warmth that spreads from the point of contact, igniting a fire deep within you that you never knew existed.

as the kiss deepens, you find yourself melting into him, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours. his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the moment, the world around you fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you and the overwhelming rush of emotion coursing through your veins.

and then, as the kiss came to an end, you’re left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally pull away, your lips tingling with the memory of his touch.

“rafayel, i...” you mumble, cheeks ablaze with a crimson hue that refused to fade. he chuckled warmly, his hand ruffling your hair affectionately. “you’re too cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

your response came out as a nervous stutter, your words stumbling over each other as you try to process the rush of emotions flooding through you. he gently pinches your cheeks, eliciting a short laugh from you. “hey now, none of that,” he playfully scolds, a playful sparkle swirling in his eyes. “unless you want me to die or something.”

you blush even deeper at his teasing, unable to find a clever retort. instead, you offer a sheepish smile, your heart fluttering at his words. as you bid farewell once more, the memory of his kiss still lingering on your lips, you turn to head inside the apartment building. but before you do, you steal one last glance back at rafayel, waving at him with a shy smile.

he returns the gesture, a soft smile gracing his features as he watches you disappear inside, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a head full of thoughts of him.

—

you lay on your bed, cheeks still flushed with the warmth of the kiss and your heart pounding with excitement. unable to contain your bubbling emotions, you bury your face in your pillow and let out a muffled squeal, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

just as you start to calm yourself down, your phone’s notification jingle breaks the silence, causing your heart to skip a beat. with trembling hands, you grab your phone and glance at the lockscreen, where a message from Rafayel awaits.

“looking forward to seeing ur art exhibit project ;)”

your cheeks flushed even deeper at his message, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. you quickly unlock your phone and type a reply, fingers flying over the screen as you try to contain your excitement.

“i guess you weren't lying when you said i’d head home with a newfound inspiration... ～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆”

on the other side of the screen, rafayel chuckled softly at your message, finding the kaomoji you sent along with it absolutely adorable. with a smile, he typed out his reply, reminiscing about the intimate moment you shared earlier before parting ways.

“see? that’s why it’s always the best choice to trust me in every possible situation.”

he replied, his message feigning smugness. you couldn’t help but giggle at his response, feeling a warm flutter in your chest at his playful demeanor.

“as much as i want to talk to you for longer, i still have to get my art exhibit project finished (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)”

rafayel’s lips curled into a small smile as he read your message.

“why not go to sleep now? we can always talk more tomorrow, yeah?”

and despite the simplicity of his suggestion, you couldn’t resist the urge to internally scream with excitement.

—

while they strolled through the venue, thomas couldn’t resist teasing rafayel about his frequent glances towards the entrance. with an amused smirk, he nudged rafayel, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.

“looking for someone, raf?” rafayel’s response was casual, though his eyes betrayed a hint of anticipation. “just curious if she’s made it here yet.” thomas followed rafayel’s line of sight, scanning the bustling crowd. “haven’t seen her around yet,” he responded. rafayel continued to scan the room, his gaze lingering on each passing figure in search of a familiar face.

meanwhile, as you hurried into the venue, tara spotted you and dashed over, enveloping you in a tight hug. “hey, where have you been? you’re late!” you chuckled sheepishly, “i may or may not have overslept...” tara only pinched your cheek, seemingly unsurprised by your response.

“also- there’s that one painting over there that everyone’s been admiring for a while now, and the art style seemed very familiar to me... that one’s yours, right? please say it is!” tara’s eyes sparkled with excitement. with a shy smile, you nodded. “yeah, i finally decided to share my work...” tara squealed in delight, squeezing you even tighter as she practically squealed in your ear how proud she was of you.

as she guided you through the crowd to your painting, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves. but when your eyes met rafayel’s across the room, a wave of warmth washed over you, calming your nerves. tara caught your eye contact with rafayel, turning to you with a puzzled expression. “do you two know each other?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

you nodded shyly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. tara’s expression shifted from confusion to surprise in an instant. “wait, don’t tell me... he’s the anonymous person behind that note you found in your bag, isn’t he?” she exclaimed, her eyes widening in realization.

with a knowing smile, you simply nodded, causing tara to gasp in disbelief. “oh my gosh! no way! are you sure you’re not living in a shoujo manga?” she teased, her excitement evident in her voice. but underneath her teasing, you could sense her genuine happiness for you.

meanwhile, thomas noticed rafayel’s gaze fixed on you and couldn’t resist nudging him with a smirk. “there’s your girl, go get her.” he teased, earning an eye-roll from rafayel.

as they both approached you and tara, the lingering memory of yesterday’s kiss remained fresh in your minds – and it was painfully obvious with the way you two were stumbling over your own words. thomas couldn’t contain his laughter. “look at rafayel all flustered...” he chuckled, thoroughly amused by his friend’s uncharacteristic behavior.

tara, on the other hand, was practically squealing with delight at the romantic encounter unfolding before her eyes. “they’re so cute together...!” she whispered to herself, barely able to contain her excitement.

sensing the need for some privacy, thomas grabbed rafayel’s attention, patting his shoulder. “i’ll go ahead and check the other artworks.” tara quickly followed suit, declaring her sudden need to visit the bathroom, leaving you and rafayel alone in front of your painting.

as the curious gazes of the surrounding students lingered on the two of you, rafayel turned to you with genuine interest. “so, are those lovers in each petal supposed to represent us?” he asked, his tone filled with curiosity as he pointed to a petal that had a painting of two people eating ice cream.

you nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his question. “yeah... i painted each scene with us in mind.” you admitted, feeling a bit shy but also strangely exhilarated by his interest. rafayel’s eyes shone with appreciation as he examined the beautiful details of your artwork. “wow, you’re really...” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration as he seemed to be out of words. “you have such an amazing talent, you know that?”

you couldn’t help but smile at his heartfelt comment, feeling a surge of confidence in your abilities. “you think so...?”

“know so.”

“i swear, one day my lighthearted jokes about you being the next president of the art club will come true to life. i wouldn’t even be surprised, you know?” he teased, flashing you a charming grin that made your heart skip a beat.

as you and rafayel left your painting behind to explore the other artworks, the eyes of the gathered students followed your every move. some watched in surprise, their eyebrows raised in curiosity as you were engaged in a conversation with rafayel. others couldn’t contain their excitement, their voices tinted with squeals of delight as they observed the unlikely dynamic between the two of you.

“oh my gosh, look at them! they’re so adorable together...” one girl whispered to her friend, nudging her with an elbow as she pointed discreetly at the two of you. “i know, right? who would’ve thought they’d make such a cute couple?” her friend replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“did you see the way he looked at her? it’s like she’s the only one in the room!” one of them remarked, her heart fluttering at the sight. “and she’s glowing! i’ve never seen someone look so beautiful before.” another girl added, a sense of joy evident in her tone as she observed your interaction with rafayel.

nearby, a group of boys exchanged knowing glances, their expressions filled with admiration for rafayel’s ability to break through your shell. “man, rafayel’s really got it going on with her.” one of them remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice as he watched you two interact.

“yeah, but look at her, she’s holding her own too. rafayel’s really lucky, isn’t he?” another boy added, nodding approvingly as he watched you converse with rafayel. "have you ever seen anyone as radiant as her?” one of them whispered, captivated by your presence.

“she’s like a living artwork herself.” another remarked, admiring the way you seemed to bring color and life to the atmosphere surrounding both you and rafayel.

“i heard she’s the one behind that stunning painting. makes sense, she’s got such a creative aura about her, doesn’t she?” a third boy commented, impressed by your artistic talents and the way you expressed yourself through your work.

as the crowd’s whispers of admiration reached your ears, rafayel couldn’t help but grin, turning to you with a proud gleam in his eyes. “you hear that?” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “told you the world deserves to witness how talented you are.”

you felt a warm flush of gratitude spread through you at his words, grateful for his unwavering support. with a shy smile, you nodded, feeling a newfound sense of confidence blooming within you. “thank you, rafayel- for everything, really.” you whispered, feeling a surge of appreciation for the boy who had helped you break out of your shell and embrace your true potential.

and you’ll forever be grateful for having him in your life.

♡ , cupidswan.

#love : aerith 💌 #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel #l&ds rafayel #rafayel fluff #lnd x reader #lnds #l&ds x reader #l&ds

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! Have you seen the new Mickey Mouse Rebrushed trailer??? Twitter is goin crazy over it and how it’s related to twst 😭 just wanted to hear your thoughts on it

I did spot quite a few parallels with TWST from the Rebrushed trailer! I'm not familiar with Epic Mickey at all, so I'll just be commenting on what I noticed right away. You'll have to excuse my limited knowledge.

Firstly!! This design of Mickey is the exact same as the one we see in TWST. Most noticeable is his white face, which is a fleshy peach color in most modern iterations.

Mickey is reading Alice in Wonderland’s sequel, Through the Looking Glass. Of course, Twisted Wonderland has Wonderland in its title, and even opens with an Alice in Wonderland inspired dorm. Yuu and Mickey also connect via their dreams and through the mirror shared in their rooms.

The theme of dreams is very present and upfront here; Mickey wakes up from sleeping and then creeps to his mirror, which appears to be a portal into another world. Hmm... dreams, mirrors, and traveling to other worlds, now what does that remind you of? You'll also notice that Mickey's room is the exact same as Yuu's room in Ramshackle, right down to the "inverted" room that appears when Mickey passes through the mirror. Everything up until this point is very similar to what is depicted in the 1936 short, Thru the Mirror.

Next, Mickey spies on a wizard carefully using a magic paintbrush over what seems to be a diorama of a bunch of buildings on a plot of land. When the wizard leaves, Mickey fiddles with the paintbrush, causes a mess, and calls forth some kind of black ink monster with green light coming from within it. This seems to be a very close parallel to Overblots, particularly since the most recent OB has a signature neon green color. If we really are to connect Epic Mickey to TWST, this scene also seems to allude that Yuu, Mickey, and/or the "wizard" have parts to play in bringing these Overblots to life. And who do we know that is a powerful wizard that is aware of the corrupting power of blot and runs a large chunk of land... say, a campus? Crowley. This goes hand-in-hand with the theory that Crowley is intentionally allowing these OBs to happen or is even puppeteering his students into OBing.

I find this visual in particular to be very ominous; again, we have the colors that match a certain OB dragon fae but also the map itself reminds me of Twisted Wonderland's and the eerie visual of Malleus's thorns digging into Sage's Island and aiming to go way beyond it.

Anyway, the ink monster is temporarily contained while Mickey returns to his own world. We then get a montage of various Mickey media passing by, as well as a lot of imagery that would imply the passage of time (clocks, the date on the calendar changing, etc.). So... what? Is that implying not only parallel worlds, but also a time skip? Or maybe a time... loop? Like time loop theory???

The ink monster somehow eventually escapes and makes it to Mickey's world, with the blot dripping from the ceiling waking Mickey up from his sleep. It drags Mickey away into a hole drenched in ink. Kind of foreboding when you realize Yuu has also had prophetic dreams... Not of OBs, but of the events leading up to them. And being dragged away into an inky... opening? Like an... abyss? Like book 7, Ruler of the ABYSS?

That's how the trailer concludes!! Gotta say, there's definitely a lot of shared elements between this and TWST. If I recall correctly, Epic Mickey was a game that existed on the Wii waaay before TWST. It even has largely the same cinematic trailer (just with older graphics), so to me it feels like TWST probably took inspiration from Epic Mickey rather than the other way around. There are definitely too many parallels for it to be a coincidence. If that's the case, then we can probably pull some hints for what awaits us in the rest of book 7 from these cinematics. (This is a video comparing the two side-by-side if you think that might be of use!)

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #epic mickey #epic mickey rebrushed #question #notes from the writing raven #Mickey Mouse #Alice in Wonderland #Yuu #Dire Crowley #Malleus Draconia #spoilers #twst theory #twisted wonderland theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theories #Thru the Mirror

[steveharringtonat3am]

Nails

wc: 883

warnings: some adorable bf eddie

“Your room is so cute.” Eddie sighs happily, cuddling into your pillows. You watch him from your seat at your desk, smiling at his antics.

“It’s pretty normal babe.” You grab your nail polish remover, beginning to take off the two week old polish from your nails. He slides off your bed and grabs his bag and starts taking out all of his things.

“What are you doing?” You ask, turning to watch him as you rub the acetone-coated cotton on your nails.

“Painting dnd miniatures.” He smiles, setting up and tying his hair back into a bun. The sight always makes your heart flutter. His bangs have been getting in his eyes recently and you make a mental note to trim them for him.

“I didn’t know you do that.” You grab your nail polish materials and sit across from him on the floor.

“I like to touch them up so they look extra nice!” They look even tinier in his hands, using a tiny paintbrush to gently paint the little statues.

“Which one are you painting now?” You can’t help but be curious. Even though dnd was a big part of Eddie’s life, you could never get into it. You knew he didn’t mind but you know he likes being able to talk about it with you.

“This is the female wizard. I actually based her character off you. She’s so beautiful that it causes the characters to get distracted during battle.” Leave it to Eddie Munson to be incredibly romantic while talking about dungeons and dragons.

“That one looks really pretty.” With the polish off your nails, you let yourself focus on Eddie’s skillful hands painting with a tiny brush.

“I’m glad you think so.” He kisses your forehead quickly before going back to painting. His tongue sticks out as he focuses. You lay on your stomach next to him, propped up on your hand.

“Do you paint all of these?” You hold up another one and he takes it, cleaning off his brush and starts to paint it.

“Pretty much yeah. It’s actually really relaxing.” It’s so precise that it almost makes you nervous, but he does seen happy.

“That makes sense!” You stay quiet for a while after that. It’s honestly nice to just sit and be with Eddie in silence. He always liked to be talking while doing something with his hands, which was always. But he was so focused that he was quiet, and it was nice to just watch and admire how pretty he is.

“There! Done!” He finally sets the last one down, jolting you awake.

“Th-that’s great babe!” You yawn, curling up in his lap. He smiles and runs a hand over your hair.

“You can’t fall asleep on the floor babe.”

“I can’t fall asleep. Have to paint my nails.” You pout, not nearly in the mood for an activity requiring that much effort.

“I could paint them for you?” He offers, ever the gentleman.

“You don’t know how to paint nails babe.” You peak an eye at him to see him look at you with a funny look on his face.

“I just painted like 20 tiny statues. I think I can handle your nails.” He grins as you sit up against the side of your bed.

“That makes sense…let me file them first yeah?” He nods, handing you the metal file and watching as you shape your nails, blowing them off when you’re done.

“Can I paint them now?” He’s very eager, already opening up your bottle of red polish.

“Sure babe just make sure not to put too much.” He wipes off some of the excess paint, taking your hand and precisely painting your nail. His first try is practically perfect, the coat of paint looking as good as they do in the salon.

“Wow baby you’re really good at this.” He only hums in response. When it came to you, Eddie never left things half-finished. Honestly, you had expected him to get bored halfway through but he painted every nail with incredible precision.

“Is that good?” He asks once the first coat is on. Sure enough, it looks better than ever.

“It’s perfect babe. Now we just let it dry!” You smile, finally able to squirm into his lap. He grins as he pulls you close.

“How long does that usually take?”

“Well it isn’t too thick so shouldn’t take longer than 20 minutes. But until then I can’t touch them, or the polish will smudge.” You keep your hands extended as you relax against his chest.

“Okay baby. Hey did I tell you about what happened today at work? This dude came in-” He launches into an animated story but the warmth of his arms has already begun to lull you to sleep.

An hour later and Eddie’s back is really starting to ache from sitting on the floor. But wow you look adorable when you sleep. He reaches out to inspect your nails, touching them gently to check if they’re dry. Sure enough they are and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

Maybe painting all those miniatures paid off.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #stranger things 4 #stranger things imagine #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic

[yurinaa-world]

hello, blade, jing yuan, dan heng and welt platonic with a child!reader who is like griseo from honkai impact?

Characters: Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, and Welt yang platonic! x Female reader

Synopsis: reader that's like Griseo from honkai impact

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes,

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

You are favored by everyone in the Stellarton Hunters; even Elio does it too. You both are stuck together whenever everyone else is 'busy'; you’re always quiet, really wanting to talk to anyone in general, and it’s no difference with him just painting and painting (he could leave but doesn’t).

Most people don’t see you anywhere since you're probably in your art room that no one knows where it is since there are several art rooms for you; he’s walked in on you in a room, thinking it was some sort of spy.

He looks at some of your paintings whenever he’s stuck taking care of you, which freaks you out. Does he have to look at that one? The painting in question was based on him and how he looks similar to spider lilies. He doesn’t say anything and just puts the painting back where it was hanging.

Y’know those trashy art kits with bad markers and ‘paints’ (but very expressive) Well, while going causing some havoc, he saw it and thought you would like it. When he sees your face happy (for at least trying), he is glad, until Kafka tells him that you probably wouldn’t use it since the kit is really low quality.

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

He gives you an entire art room with very expensive supplies, and since he sees you somewhere where no one goes, you start to freak out a little whenever someone sees you. He hopes you impress him with your skills, and if you do, he might hang your painting in his office so that those who come and see him can also witness your piece.

You're very comfortable around him, only letting him see your paintings. You just finished wanting me to praise you for your hard work and give you a little attention.

Watch you get very shy when talking to other people at events with him. Go on, why don’t you tell them about the painting on the walls? You were the one who spent your sweat and tears just to complete it.

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

He’s a bit awkward when it comes to you; you both don’t talk and don’t leave your rooms either. Since everyone is going out to get something on this new planet and you both are staying well, Dan Heng is in charge of you. It might have been the first time he’s ever seen your room. and it’s a total mess—paintbrushes, paint, several unfinished paintings, and broken parts of supplies all over the place.

Everyone thought his room was that bad. He can just sit there on the side and not stare at you, you say in a whisper. What? Well, you get nervous whenever he stares at you, so he can't... One question about painting: you lost your mind and told him about everything, so it was a bonding experience, and now you give him some little drawings, so it’s worth it.

You also use the database in his room to get inspiration for your next painting from your favorite artist.

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔

He asks you many questions just to see you freak out over your obsession. Like,  let it all out; he’ll hear out everything you say; he means everything—the origin of the color purple, sure! Knock yourself out or talk about your favorite artist, what kind of painting they did, what their first painting was, and stuff like that.

Unlike Blade, he gets you good painting supplies that aren't like Crayola or those bad art sets like pencils that have good pigment and paint brushes made with the finest bristles, like he knows what good stuff is at.

I helped you design your room as well, making it very bright and artistic like you, with your most beloved paintings all over your walls, and even gave you two matching paintings, one for you and the other for him.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ #honkai star rail #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #welt yang x reader #yang welt x reader #welt x reader #welt yang x you #dan heng #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #honkai blade x you #blade x reader #blade x you

[ssparksflyy]

heyyy can i pls get a rachel elizabeth dare x fem! reader ? maybe in which the reader finds some drawings of her in rachel's sketchbook (you know, artist in love)

p.s: im working in your request <3

ask and thou shall recieve ༉‧₊˚.

draw me like one of your french girls ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

pairing: rachel elizabeth dare x fem!reader summary : your girlfriend has always proudly shown you all her artwork, or so you thought warning(s) : none! just fluff ♡ word count : 1.4k a/n : hihi! tysm for requesting! i hope this fits what u imagined :DD also best believe i took inspo from ghostflower to make thisss AND ik it says rachel lives in the oracle's CAVE but like nah lemme give me girl a flippin cabin omg 😭

at this point, it was just routine for you to head to rachel's cabin after activities.

your last activity of the day before dinner was arts and crafts. you found it funny, how you'd spend around an hour or so trying to paint the simplest thing, fail, and then head to rachel's, only to find her painting the next mona lisa.

that made you all the more impressed and appreciative of rachel's artwork. some days, she'd be in her 'painters trance' and you'd just watch her paint. you found yourself in your own trance, watching her simply glide the paintbrush across the canvas and manage to create a masterpiece. forget davinci, picasso, or van gogh. rachel was your favorite artist.

today, in arts and crafts, you had experimented with clay. you managed to sculpt out a pretty good-looking strawberry. you planned to give it to rachel later, after all, they were her favorite fruit. she loved taking you on walks through the strawberry fields, holding your hand and smiling the whole time.

after arts and crafts had ended, you hugged your friends goodbye and began to descend into the woods, to rachel's cabin.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

once you arrived at rachel's cabin, you climbed the steps that led up to the door and knocked on it. you took a step back, waiting for a response, but it didn't come. you frowned and looked around on the porch. near the door, rachel had enough room for a chair and a small side table on the porch. on the side table lay a note, in rachel's handwriting,

"hi love! im out getting flowers right now, i've got this super cool idea i want to try! the door's unlocked, so just let yourself in :) i should be back soon ♡♡

xoxo, rachel ♡

p.s. if you're not (y/n), then dont go in. sit on the chair. ill get to it when i get to it."

you smiled at the letter, you couldn't help but laugh at the way rachel's mood changes when not talking to you, even in writing. you left the note on the table, just in case somebody did need rachel and would have to wait on the chair.

you opened the door and walked into rachel's cabin, closing it behind you. you walked to her windows, opening the curtains and allowing the natural light to illuminate her room. rachel had told you about how much she'd preferred natural light or lamps, but never a main room light. she said they were too eye-straining and preferred the yellow-ish light that came from the sun and lamps.

after opening her windows, you looked around the room, eyes searching for something to do. you spotted one of rachel's sketchbooks on her desk. one you hadn't seen before.

'it must be new' you thought, walking over to her desk. you sat in her chair and gently placed your strawberry sculpture on the desk. you looked at the sketchbook, it was white and covered in heart stickers, you'd never seen this book before.

now, rachel always allowed you to look at her work. she'd always smile whenever she saw you lying in her bed, flipping through one of her many sketchbooks. she always said she didn't mind you going through and looking at her artwork, it made her happy.

so surely it was the same case for this book? but you'd never seen it before, and it did look pretty used. oh well, if you were a cat, curiosity definitely would've killed you in all 9 lives.

nothing could've prepared yourself for what you saw next. you expected to see the book full of prophecies, scenery, characters from rachel's favorite shows, doodles, not yourself.

you let out a small gasp when you opened the book, immediately met with a gorgeous drawing of you smiling (in like this pose ♡). the drawing was surrounded with small hearts and stars, and of course, rachel's signature near the bottom.

as you flipped through the pages you admired each drawing. rachel had seriously done such an amazing job on these drawings, you were amazed. as you continued to look through the book, you couldn't help but smile. with each turning page, your heart would flutter. the little person in your head was jumping around doing cartwheels saying 'ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh'.

you could've stared at the book for hours. around midway through however, your admiration had been interrupted.

you jumped up when you heard the door open, with a smiling rachel coming in behind her. as she came into the room, one of her arms holding dozens of flowers she said, "hey! sorry i wasn't here, but look at all the pretty flowers i-"

her sentence was brought to a halt when you turned in her chair, her sketchbook in hand. you had a soft smirk on your face, making sure she could see what you were holding.

she dropped the flowers that were once in her hand, her face immediately turning a bright shade of pink. the sides of her ears were turning red, the same way they always did when she was flustered. her lips were pressed into a thin line, unmoving. the poor girl seemed to be in too much of a shock to say anything.

but she didn't need to. slowly, you got up out of her chair, still holding the book in your hands, and began to walk towards her. you stopped right in front of her and squatted down to pick up a handful of flowers she had dropped. as you got back up, you met her eyes. they were full of panic. you simply smiled and handed her the book. she quickly grabbed it and shut it closed.

you let out a small laugh, rachel remained silent and flustered. you crouched down to pick up the rest of the flowers rachel had dropped.

"you know, im impressed you were able to draw all those poses with no references," you said, walking towards her desk and placing down the flowers. you then turned around and said, "you could've told me you needed a model."

rachel stayed frozen. you didn't think she'd be this embarrassed but you had to admit, it was funny. just then a great idea hit you. you began to walk over her bed and said, "i think i'd make a pretty good model right?" you asked, smirking. rachel's head followed your every move, but the rest of her body remained frozen in space, clutching the sketchbook tightly to her chest.

you sat down on rachel's bed and said, "i mean i've learnt from the best" you began to lay down on your side, resting your head on the pillow. you dramatically raised your hands to the side of your head like rose had in titanic as you said in an exaggerated wistful voice, "jack, draw me like one of your french girls".

this caused rachel to finally leave her state of shock, and instead slide her hand down her face, and covering her mouth. you put your hands down and laughed as she walked over to you with heavy steps. she kneeled down next to her bed so your faces would be the same level.

you smiled and moved your head to the edge of the bed, just inches away from hers.

"im sorry" rachel said, looking down at the sketchbook in her hands.

you furrowed your eyebrows, "for what?", you asked.

"for drawing you so much. i know it's weird" she said eyes focused on the book.

"hey look at me" you said, moving your face slightly closer to hers, "i love them. you're seriously so talented and im so glad i get to be the person who inspires your art. ok?"

rachel nodded slowly with a smile. you gave her a grin in return.

you placed a small kiss on her lips and rolled over on her bed, making room for her. "alright now cmere jack", you said.

she let out a small laugh and climbed into her bed. she wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her head in the crook of your neck, holding you close.

you began playing with her hair, wrapping her curls around your fingers. you both laid there in silence, just enjoying each other's company.

"hey (y/n)?" rachel said.

"yea?" you responded.

"i love you."

"i love you too rach." you said, smiling.

a/n pt.2: hii! i hope this is what you were looking for! <3 i love the whole artist in love :( need me someone to draw me like on of their french girls :( except can i not be butt-ass naked thanks

ANYWAY yea again, hope u enjoyed! tysm for reading and requesting! im almost done with all my asks and then i'll write some ideas i wrote down <33 ok, bye! hope u have a good day/night, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

peace from manhattan,

percy jackson

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #rachel elizabeth dare #rachel elizabeth dare x reader #rachel dare x reader #by bells ♡⋆ ࣪.

[starlightglimglam27666]

Ending the Hatred

Summary: The Smiling Critters attempt to end Mommy Long Legs' hatred of them.

One day at Playtime Co, CatNap was just minding his own business when CraftyCorn came over, clearly distressed. CatNap could tell by looking at her. He came up to the unicorn to see what happened to her.

"CraftyCorn, what's troubling you?" he asked, trying to calm her down.

"Why does Mommy Long Legs hate us so much?" CraftyCorn said in a saddened tone, making it clear that she didn't like that MLL hated the Smiling Critters so much

"Good question," CatNap said, even though he had no idea why MLL hated them so much. "I have no clue, but... we could end her hatred towards us, and I know the perfect method!"

Later that day, CatNap told the other Smiling Critters what had happened and how it affected CraftyCorn.

"Oh, you poor thing," Bobby BearHug said, going over to CraftyCorn and hugging her.

"Why would Mommy Long Legs be so cruel to us, when she's nice to Poppy and her friends?" DogDay asked, obviously confused about the situation.

"I have a plan," CatNap said, intriguing the others. "We would use advanced methods to get her to see that we can be friends."

"I know what you mean by 'advanced methods'" Bubba Bubbaphant stated. "But do you think it'll work?"

"I've seen it work on Player, so it'll work on Mommy Long Legs as well," CatNap said, giving him a look of disbelief.

"Let's do this then!" Hoppy Hopscotch said in her usual energetic tone.

The Smiling Critters made their way to Mommy Long Legs' location. When she saw them, she did not look happy.

"What are you Smiling Vermin doing?" she said sourly, but CatNap just smirked.

"First of all, it's Smiling Critters, and secondly, we're here for a little bit of... NOW CRITTERS!" CatNap said and with that, KickinChicken tackled MLL and pinned her down.

"What are you doing?" Mommy Long Legs asked, unable to get herself free. "And how are you so strong?"

"Well," CraftyCorn said, using her magic to gather paintbrushes and art sponges. "After you hurt my feelings with your hatred, CatNap decided to end it once and for all!"

"What are you going to do to me?" Mommy asked, now sounding nervous.

"We'll be nice, at first..." PickyPiggy said, smirking. "And from what I've heard, laughter burns calories and it's also the best medicine."

"What do you mean by... eep!" Mommy started to question, but was cut off when DogDay started moving his paws across her sides.

"What was that reaction?" he said, tempting the others to join in.

"S-sorry, I guess I'm a little... ticklish," Mommy said, but because of KickinChicken holding her down she couldn't defend her sides.

"Did you say that you're... ticklish?" PickyPiggy said. "Well that makes our job a whole lot easier."

"Like this!" CraftyCorn said, using her magic to position her paintbrushes at MLL's sides, while DogDay straddled her waist, his paws positioned at her stomach.

"How does it feel to be tickled for once?" Bobby BearHug said in her sassy tone, which is what she uses on others and she also referred to all the times Player has been tickled in the past.

"I ohohohonly dihihihihihid tht fohohohor fun!" Mommy tried explaining, but her giggling was making it difficult. "And hehehe wahahahas too cuhuhuhute!"

"Yeah, but you're cute too when you laugh," CraftyCorn said, using her paintbrushes on her sides, tickling her.

"Plehehehease dohohohon't!" Mommy Long Legs tried to ask for mercy, but the Smiling Critters had other plans.

"Begging for our mercy only gets you nowhere," KickinChicken said, not letting go. He's been trained to restrain others, having done this to the other Smiling Critters before.

"I guess this is one of your weaknesses, huh?" DogDay said, moving his paws across her stomach, causing her to break into laughter.

"Same as Player," said CraftyCorn, making the paintbrushes go faster.

"NO MORE! NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHORE! STAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHIHIT!" Mommy pleaded through her laughter. "I'M TOHOHOHOHO TICKLISH FOHOHOHOR THIHIHIHIHIS!"

"WHEEEEEEEE!" Bobby BearHug said as she and the other Smiling Critters joined in.

"You might not as ticklish as Player, but you're still pretty sensitive," said PickyPiggy, making a point. "If we keep this up, you could burn more calories."

"I'LL DOHOHOHO ANYTHIHIHIHIHIHIHING! I WOHOHOHON'T HAHAHAHATE YOHOHOHOU ANYMORE! JUST MAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAP!" Mommy found it very difficult to get any words out without being dissolved by lsughter.

After twenty minutes of nonstop tickling, feeling like hours for Mommy Long Legs, the Smiling Critters stopped tickling her and let her go. She thanked them for stopping and then smirked.

"Why don't we see which one of you has the most adorable laughter, hmm?" she said as the girls backed away.

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #catnap #craftycorn #mommy long legs #lee!Mommy long legs #Ler!CatNap #Ler!CraftyCorn #Ler!Hoppy Hopscotch #Ler!DogDay #Ler!Bobby BearHug #Ler!Bubba Bubbaphant #Ler!KickinChicken #Ler!PickyPiggy #poppy playtime tickles #Poppy playtime chapter 3

[ocean-armin]

GET FREE

Armin Arlert x Reader

Synopsis: Armin and reader build their home together after the war, inspired by another Lana song <3

Tags: armin arlert x reader, post-canon, post final season/ch 139, cottagecore armin x reader, alluding to death, shameless fluff, fem!reader if you squint?

enjoy <3

You dip the paintbrush once more into the pail in order to scrape the bottom. Dribbling down from the bristles to the handle, the perfect sage color rolls onto your fingers. You had begged Armin to let you buy the paint for the shutters the second you spotted it.

Who would’ve associated picking a color of paint to luxury? Growing up within the walls, you both lacked knowledge that the outside world had possessed for so long. Your three years of freedom had been jarring, and often times heartbreaking; but it allowed choice. So, if you wanted green shutters, green shutters it was.

“How’re the finishing touches coming?” Armin called out, approaching the patch of grass in which you were seated.

Rolling up his sleeves, his face glistened in the heat. A tinge of sunburn creeping across his nose. Despite his role as a commander, Armin was never viewed as one of the athletically inclined soldiers during your shared days in the war. However, your husband was fairing surprisingly well building your shared house. Maybe the years of training weren’t totally useless?

“Just trying to use up the last of this paint,” you state, smiling up at him, “I’m on my last coat.”

“The sooner you get done, the sooner we can hang it up and go inside,” he returned your smile and inhaled sharply, wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks before kneeling down to your level.

“That paint is all over you…” Armin noticed, pointing at your green hands. The drops of paint that had made their way onto your clothes throughout the day.

“I know, but I’m already covered in it, it’s a lost cause,” you chuckle, holding up your palms to show him.

“You can’t track paint in the house on our first day in it,” he teased, running a hand through his sunlit hair, which had grown out to falling in front of his eyes; the length you love it at. He looks good. A little too good.

Acting on pure impulse, you swipe a paint-covered finger onto his cheek.

“Hey!” He laughs and brings his hand to his face to assess the damage.

“Now we’ll track paint in together,” you grin, pulling him in for a kiss.

Armin reciprocates, of course, softly smiling as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I still can’t believe we have a house,” he whispers, seemingly dazed.

“Me neither,” you reply, voice hushed as you take his hands in yours, fingers intertwining.

Three years after your world was ripped apart, and who knew rebuilding it would feel almost as scary. Three solid years of time at sea, fulfilling commander duties and working as ambassadors. It was about time you and Armin made the decision to finally settle and put roots down somewhere.

You both had wanted a cottage, as long as Armin could stay close to the coast. You obliged, agreeing as long as you weren’t too far from your shared bookshop…and as long as it had green shutters.

And it was finally in front of you.

****

A few minutes of silence passed, the two of you in awe of the open front door looming before you. Once you walked in, it would be official; you two would finally have a home. How foreign it felt to finally belong somewhere.

“We’re doing this for everyone,” you break the silence with a choke of tears, rubbing your thumb over Armin’s hand in yours. Even in moments like this, insurmountable guilt and grief will always follow.

Armin met your glance with glassy eyes, gripping your hand tightly.

“….y’know, I think he would’ve loved it,” Armin added, sniffling.

“He would’ve hated the shutters,” you wipe your eyes.

“He absolutely would’ve,” Armin agreed with a tearful laugh, wrapping you in a hug.

****

I'm doing it for all of us who never got the chance

For…and for…

And all my birds of paradise

Who never got to fly at night

'Cause they were caught up in the dance

Sometimes it feels like I've got a war in my mind

I wanna get off, but I keep riding the ride

I never really noticed that I had to decide

To play someone's game, or live my own life

And now I do

I wanna move

Out of the black

Into the blue

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #armin arlert aesthetic #armin aot #armin fluff #cottagecore armin #armin #Spotify #aot x reader #aot #snk

[notjustjavierpena]

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did (Part II)

A/N: A cute summer romance has started! Enjoy chapter two! See my masterpost for all chapters.

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. You trip on a stepladder.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120864268

Chapter Two: Wasp

The school’s summer vacation wasn’t around just yet, and so you found yourself spending a few days working on the front of the house alone or with Joel. He came by with Sarah whenever they were free, but Sarah mostly just did her homework whilst he cut the grass, drank lemonade, swept the stone path to your front door, took a look at the water tap at the back of the house, wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his gardening gloves… He was always eager to help you with whatever you had in mind as a project that day, but not scared either to tell you that the weather was great for painting the facade of the house. 

So that is what he and you are doing. Sarah is at school still, but you don’t mind a moment with him alone. 

You stand on your tippy toes on the stepladder that Joel assembled for you a few weeks ago. Weather wise, you are in a drought that makes coating the house in wood protection perfect because it’s not going to be raining for a few days (Joel’s words). On the side of the ladder, a bucket of the varnish hangs on a hook which you are continuously dipping the paintbrush into. 

You have gotten clear instructions on how to use the brush, nearly getting scolded for going up and down in the beginning until Joel had grabbed your wrist to make you go from side to side instead. You had let out a sir, yes, sir, and you had been able to hear him roll his eyes at you with a chuckle.

“Looks good, like I taught ya,” Joel says as he walks up behind you, holding the ladder in place as you paint along the boards. You hum quietly in agreement, a little lost for words as his face is level with your thighs and his hands are level with your calves. He could so easily reach out if he wanted to, but you haven’t felt his hands on you yet despite several opportunities, which has made you hyper aware of how one-sided your crush is. 

“I’m not completely hopeless, Miller,” you say as you continue working the brush from side to side. You’re glad that you didn’t wear a dress with the way that the soft summer breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees would have pulled at the skirt, exposing you more to him. 

“I’m just making sure that you know how to do this, so you can do it yourself a few years from now,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the warm metal of the ladder. He goes silent for a moment, but you don’t notice him staring at your exposed thighs in your shorts, because you have your back towards him. 

“That’s fine, but I won’t have any trouble finding someo—“ you’re just about to dip your brush into the varnish again when you spot a wasp close to your face. Your mouth falls open in a squeak, and you automatically take a step back to get away from the insect, “Joel, I’m allergic to wa— Ah!”

Your movement has made you fall backwards. You feel your ankle twist due to stepping too close to the edge of the step you’re standing on, causing you to lose balance and reach for the stepladder’s side, but you simply swing backwards to your right instead of saving yourself from the fall. You squeeze your eyes shut then tense up as you prepare for the impact of the ground. 

It never comes though. 

Instead, you’re caught in a pair of strong arms due to Joel’s dangerously fast reflexes. He has you in his arms, bridal style, looking down at you with big eyes as if he cannot wrap his mind around what he has just done. He doesn’t let go of you though, and the wild eyes that he is giving you almost has you courageous enough to kiss him right then and there, just to see if they’d widen even more or find peace. It would have made Sarah laugh, cringe visibly too, but mostly laugh at how cliché it would have been. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts again shortly after, because despite how bad you want it to be fireworks, sugar and pointed toes, you can hear the buzzing of the wasp close by. It makes your heartbeat spike even more.

“Wasp! Wasp wasp wasp! Joel!” You slap Joel’s shoulder to make him notice, panicking at the thought of being so close to the stupid animal. Joel frantically grabs you tighter and carries you away from the spot where you had been working and you listen carefully before confirming that the buzzing is gone. Whew. Your EpiPen is inside the house in a kitchen drawer, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell him where it was before it would have been too late and he would have had to call emergency services.

“Perhaps a pretty decent idea to tell me that you’re allergic to wasps before we started working outside in the middle of summer,” he huffs, but his tone isn’t angry, but more concerned as well as flustered, “Must’a been your bright colored top. They like that, don’t they?”

It’s your turn to be flustered, steadfast in holding your gaze at his eyes and not let it drop down to his mouth like it often did. You are too close to him to hide when your eyes start to roam around his handsome features. 

“Uh, Joel—“ 

“What?” Joel furrows his brows.

“Put me down, please?” You are blushing. 

“Oh,” Joel splutters, but soon easily bends down a little to place your feet back on the ground.

It isn’t easy for you though. You wince as soon as your right foot hits the grass, making you nearly tumble to the ground, but Joel quickly supports you so it doesn’t happen, and you grab the front of his shirt. Perhaps emergency services aren’t such a bad idea after all.

You frown despite the opportunity to lean your whole frame into Joel’s strong body. He has an arm wrapped around your waist, so you can stand on one leg without tipping over. You take the time to stretch out your leg in front of yourself to look down at your foot and carefully try to rotate your ankle. Pain shoots out from your joint, and you whimper under your breath. 

“Don’t let go,” you warn him anxiously. You notice that you have smeared varnish over his t-shirt from gripping it as you had nearly fallen. 

“I won’t,” he absentmindedly rubs your side soothingly but it doesn’t make your heart rate drop. 

“Oh no, I got varnish on your shirt,” you point out.

Joel gets a line in his forehead when his expression switches to confusion. He blows air out of his nose in a humorless laugh, “That’s your worry? Sweetheart, we should get that foot checked. Head too, maybe.”

The nickname seems so natural. You slap his shoulder again, but then remember that he has your whole body at his mercy; your legs will disappear from underneath you if he moves, so you decide not to protest too much.

“You can take my car,” you say but he already objects. 

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m putting you on the front seat of your own tiny car. We can take my truck, and you can lie down on the back seat,” he doesn’t even give you room to argue, just leaves everything as it is in your front yard and crosses the street with you in his arms. 

“You’re overreacting,” you want to have the last word, and Joel gives it to you, because he says nothing in return, focused and determined instead. 

When you reach his old truck, he puts you on the bed to go fetch his keys. It gives you just a moment to process the way that your skin feels on fire where his hands have been, and you hope that no one at the emergency room wants to test your blood pressure or pulse with him in the room. You already start practicing a polite way of telling him to get out. 

When Joel returns a few moments later, he unlocks the truck and turns on the engine before fetching you again. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, trying not to look too interested in the way that one of his hands rests comfortably just underneath where your bra sits against your skin. 

“Uhh,” Joel quickly turns on his heel as Sarah clears her throat, having arrived home from her walk from the bus stop to their home. You nearly bump your head into the roof of the car as Joel spins due to him being too startled by his daughter’s sudden presence to notice the space around him. 

Sarah has on her school backpack, clutching the straps as she approaches the two of you. She raises a brow, “What is going on here? Should I leave again?” 

You hope Joel doesn’t drop you at that. 

“Nah, it ain’t like that,” he shoots her insinuations down a little too fast.

“Definitely not,” you add just as quickly to save face, and then reach out for the door handle from your position in Joel’s arms, “I’m just a klutz, think my ankle might be sprained or broken.”

“Oookay, whatever you say,” Sarah says, but doesn’t look very convinced with the way she grimaces as she removes her gaze away from you for a moment. When she regains her composure, trying not to make disgusted teenage eyes at her father, she goes on, “So should I wait up?”

“Probably not, s’not serious enough to be prioritized,” Joel says as he crawls half way into the truck’s backseat to place you down on it. You look up at him with a hitched breath, nod when he asks ‘this okay?’ with his eyes.

He pushes himself back and out of the car again by gripping the roof of the vehicle, turns to Sarah then leaves you with butterflies in your stomach. 

“There’s still leftover pizza from yesterday,” you hear him say to her, and she replies with whatever. Knowing enough about her by now, you know that she will probably be cooking her own dinner.

She knocks on the window to wave at you before leaving, “Hope it’s nothing too serious!”

*

After waiting three hours to see a doctor at the emergency room, you are now the proud owner of a sprained ankle. It’s a conclusion that you could have made yourself, but Joel hadn’t wanted to take you back home and had argued that it was better to be safe than sorry. There had been no point in arguing about it because Joel is as stubborn as a mule, even now that the doctor is confirming your suspicions.

“Plenty of rest, ice packs, pillow under when you sleep,” the doctor tells you as she taps away on her computer to log your condition. She smiles softly at you and urges you not to try to put on your shoe again, “I will let a nurse wrap your foot soon, so just relax for now. Just regular ibuprofen for any pain or discomfort. I’ll make sure the nurse gives you a dose before you leave too.”

“Thanks,” you say as you scoot back onto the examination table, already determined to put your foot up. Joel sits on a chair with his arms crossed over his chest, resting his chin in one hand, and has his legs spread out in front of himself. He looks tired but he did carry you all the way through the hospital. 

The doctor turns towards the two of you on her spinning chair, “So it’s no more house work for you the coming week. You’re lucky it wasn’t bad or your boyfriend may ha—“

“Not together,” you and Joel say in unison. You try not to be offended by hearing him say something you’ve just said yourself. At the same time even. 

“Well, nevertheless, you’re lucky that it isn’t bad enough to have been four to six weeks of rest,” she says a little sheepishly. 

You laugh softly at her comment, nodding in agreement, “Oh yeah. I’m terrible at sitting still.” 

You don’t tell her that you feel lucky because four to six weeks without seeing Joel would have been torture. This is good. You don’t have to stop seeing Joel, and knowing his stubbornness, you guess that you’ll be allowed to watch him coat the rest of the house with varnish because the dry weather calls for it. 

You guess right, spending lazy days on your porch with cool drinks and a nice view of Joel’s tall frame on the stupid stepladder. He had insisted that you stayed inside, but you’d told him it wasn’t going to happen. That was fine, but only if you had your EpiPen next to you. 

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #my writing #the last of us fanfiction #dilf!joel

[balkanradfem]

So I decided to learn to knit! I've never before found a way to ethically and cheaply get yarn. I found a little ball of yarn outside at some point, as one does, and saved it, but beyond that I didn't have any other tools. Then I saw a video showing how you can take a thrifted machine-knit sweater, and undo it back into yarn, and then just knit with that. Incredible, since I have a full box of old sweaters, I just need to figure out which ones are easily undone.

So I grabbed my little ball of found yarn, and then I needed some needles. I looked up what I could use instead, and found there's plenty of alternatives; pencils, chopsticks, wooden sticks for barbecue. Looking around my room I realized I had some very long paintbrushes; I tried to use them, and immediately realized they need to have a pointy end. I grabbed a pencil sharpener and sharpened them; only this made them very rough and splintered. I needed to sand them down, but I had no sandpaper, and then I remembered that recently someone gave me a flat tool that removes dry skin from feet. I sanded them down with that, and it actually worked, they worked perfectly like knitting needles. They're even the same size.

The knitters probably already know this, but if you start knitting for the first time, especially if it's winter and you're under a blanket, some ancient human instinct will activate and you will feel that you are doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing and everything is well and right with the world. Creating fabric is a powerful thing to do, in a society where everyone needs fabric to stay alive, and go outside, and I like having this power to myself.

I found out there are two basic types of stitches; knit stitch, and purl stitch. I liked the knit stitch better, on the basis that purl stitch had 'bad vibes'.

It knew before that most fabric will be woven, or knitted, or in some cases, crochet, so I got little curious, and studied each layer of clothing on me, and every single item of clothing was knit, and it was all a purl stitch. I got fascinated by this, wondering if this is true for most clothing, or if I just somehow prefer knit things on me because they're nice and stretchy. Looking into other fabrics, I could easily tell that all of the sheets, pillowcases and kitchen cloths were woven, and that they were much sturdier and less stretchy for it.

I looked at stuff in my closet, and found that I had a scarf, hat, and pants that were woven, but in very soft and warm fabric, and they were very sturdy and non-stretchy as well. I then wondered what was the logic behind it, and is there a traditional type of things that will be woven, that isn't just bedsheets and cloths?

I tried to find a video on youtube detailing that stuff, but no female-made video was found, so I'm now downloading several women-written audibooks on the topic of history of textiles. I think we should just take the power to make textiles back to us, because back when women were the maker of the cloth, it was just something we 'did out of the goodness of our hearts for our families' but it was also environmentally friendly, practical, sustainable and a beautiful, powerful craft. Now that m*n decided it's something to make money off, they created fast fashion, tons of waste and environmental damage, new types of slavery for workers, and the clothing isn't even practical anymore, it's made to fall apart.

So, back to my knitting, I have to say it's not happening very fast, I thought by the end of the day I would be done with that little ball of yarn and be able to tell how much fabric it can make, nope, did not happen, in fact I've been working on it two days and by this time I've barely made any progress. Apparently the 'purl stitch' is faster, well, I'm still refusing to do it. Boo purl stitch. The yarn I found outside is some of the worst quality yarn I've ever seen, not only it's different in thickness everywhere, but in some places there are 3-4 different threads distangled from each other, and it confused me so much while knitting that I kept adding stitches on the brush unnecessarily, until the entire thing could barely fit on one.

One thing that surprised me was how incredibly soft, stretchy and comfortable the fabric feels when made. I genuinely expected the fabric to be as horrifying as the yarn quality, nope, it's nice and comfy I absolutely love it.

There is a movement in online spaces for being mindful of environment when purchasing clothing, and making our own wardrobes, which is absolutely delightful; seeing people gain new respect and fascination for clothing, sewing and textile making, and then doing it themselves and becoming non-dependent on capitalism, it's the change the world needs. I didn't think I would try to join in, because I get so much discarded and unwanted clothing from others, I wouldn't need to buy any ever, but I did get fascinated by looms, natural fibers, and women doing all that work, that I can't resist trying it out.

#knitting #making textiles #yarn #learning to make fabrics #making fabrics #craft #history of textile #knits weaving and crochet

[flowerandblood]

Rokeby Venus

[modern! photographer • Aemond x female]

[warnings: sex content, domination, sexual tension, fluff]

[description: Aemond is a photographer dealing with works referring to the painting of the old masters. His sister poses in class for a girl who catches his attention. He decides that she would be a perfect model for one of his photos. Lots of sexual tension and slowly built fascination.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

This is Part 5 (and the last) of story: Girl with a Pearl Earring

_____

After the photo shoot Aemond had to go straight to a family dinner. She didn't know what to think about what he had told her, but things started to clear up pretty quickly. Later that evening she received a long text from him.

[Aemond]: "Next week my photos will be in a large group exhibition. I want you to go there with me. Your portraits will also be on it. I will drive us there in my car. You can decide whether you want to sleep in a separate or shared room in the hotel. Think about it and give me an answer tomorrow."

She was shocked by his proposal. She wondered if he wanted to take her there to show off. She didn't like the thought.

She felt like she wanted to think it over calmly and didn't reply back, afraid that the sudden joy and excitement might lead to a hasty decision. She wanted to think about what this would entail.

She guessed that then she would definitely get the label of his lover and the woman who got in front of his lens through his bed. Even though it wasn't true, she dreaded the thought and felt uncomfortable with it. She blushed at the thought that she might have chosen to sleep in the same room with him.

The next day he came to her in the morning when she was alone in the painting class, taking her completely by surprise. She thought he was trying to get her decision out of her, but he came to tell her that he had already chosen the painting they were going to replicate this time. She gave him a shocked look when he told her it would be Rokeby Venus painted by Diego Velázquez.

She knew it was a female act, and even though woman's back was to the viewer, she would have to pose naked for it. She swallowed hard, putting the paintbrush down on the easel and looking at him uncertainly.

"Then everyone will be talking about us sleeping together. You're about to graduate, but I'm staying here for three more years." She said to him with a hint of resentment, recognizing that he hadn't thought at all about what awaited her after he got bored of her. Aemond pursed his lips, frowning.

"Let them talk. I'm going to sleep with you now and after I graduate." He said it so seriously and calmly that for a moment she thought she might have misheard. Her cheeks turned scarlet. She lowered her gaze, ashamed of his directness.

"Tell me if you don't want it. I won't hold any grudges." He immediately added, looking at her expectantly. She was silent for a long moment. After a while she swallowed hard and looked at him, defeated.

"I want this." She said softly. Aemond smirked at her words.

"Good. See you at the photo shoot." He muttered, giving her one last look and left the room, leaving her alone with his words.

From that moment they became a couple.

Since then, she and Aemond have been texting each other a lot. They arranged the details of the photo shoot and their trip. Aemond would often show her paintings he found interesting, and decide with her which ones they should use in the future for his thesis.

She was glad that he took her opinion into account throughout this project. She could see how serious he was about it. He also no longer showed dissatisfaction when posing for a portrait she was painting. On the contrary, during the breaks he would come up to her and watch her progress. He made remarks to her which were often right and helped her improve her painting.

"You have a very sensitive eye for color and chiaroscuro. You solve it in a very interesting way. I like your expression." He spoke casually and she smiled warmly at him. He looked at her and pursed his lips.

"I want to kiss you." He said softly.

She looked at him surprised. She was touched that somehow he was asking her permission. She moved closer to him and let him do what he wanted. His lips were warm and wet, pressing against her hungrily.

Neither of them tried to bring about full physical intimacy. They knew that their first time would be at an upcoming photo shoot. They didn't talk about it or even suggest it. It just seemed obvious.

On the day of the photo shoot, she felt a lump in her stomach from the morning. She took a shower and dried her hair, putting it in a bun like Venus had in the painting. She arrived at the studio a few minutes early, unable to contain her excitement any longer.

She saw that Aemond had really taken care of the scenery this time. A variety of thick light and gray fabrics lay on a wooden platform, with a cherry-colored bedspread thrown diagonally in the background. The only object lying there was a large decorative mirror. Aemond flinched at the sound of her footsteps, and they both looked at each other with wide eyes.

She couldn't look at his face in embarrassment, so she quickly moved to the next room to change. Undressing slowly, taking off the layers of clothes, she had the impression that she was also getting rid of illusions and what she was denying herself.

She wanted him more than anyone else in her life.

She put on a thin robe over her naked body, knowing that she wouldn't be able to just walk around the room without any cloth on her. She opened the door quietly and looked out. Aemond looked at her, his mouth parted slightly. She saw him swallow hard and drop his gaze, apparently unable to contain his excitement himself.

She walked on bare feet to the wooden platform where she was supposed to lie down. She turned her back to him. She felt her hands tremble as she untied her robe. She inhaled sharply as material slid to the ground.

She lay down on the soft, fragrant fabrics and rested her head on her hand, just like in a painting. She saw her face reflected in the mirror, flushed and hot, her eyes shining, her mouth full of desire. She thought that she wanted to be a goddess to him today in every sense of the word.

His Aphrodite.

She heard his quiet footsteps. He stood behind her head.

"Lift your right arm a little higher. That's right, perfect. Tuck your right leg deeper into the sheets. Stay like that." He spoke softly and she heard the shutter sound.

"Turn your head a bit towards me. Yes, that's right. Look at my reflection in the mirror." He said with a hint of excitement, and she blushed even more, actually seeing his face behind her in the reflection. She heard the shutter sound again.

Aemond took a few more shots from different positions, tweaked some of the fabric to make it drape better, and finally took another series of shots.

She heard him shift again and waited patiently for his further instructions. She shuddered, snapped out of her toughts when she felt his hand untie her hair, letting it fall freely down her back.

"Look at me." He said, his voice trembling slightly. She saw in the reflection as her lips parted involuntarily, her eyebrows pressed together pleadingly, her heart pounding like crazy. She was unable to move.

"Look at me." He repeated softly, his hand gently grabbing her cheek and turning her face towards him. His gaze darted from her face to her collarbones and soft, firm breasts, heaving uneasily. She lay shivering on her back, resting her head on the soft sheets, surrendering completely, letting him look at her entire naked body in the lamplight.

Aemond stared at her with his mouth slightly parted as if he wasn't looking at a human, but some divine being he was afraid to touch. His fingers brushed gently over her soft cheek as he sat down next to her. For a moment he just stared at her in awe as if he couldn't believe she existed.

"I would like to see you too. All of you." She said quietly, ashamed of her own words.

Aemond looked at her, swallowing hard. It was obvious that he felt better as an observer of events than someone who had to open up to someone on his own.

He lifted his hands lazily and took off his turtleneck. She pursed her lips seeing how well built he was. He stared at her intensely as he unbuttoned his pants. He smiled as he saw her nipples harden at the sight of his naked body.

"Do you like me that much?" He asked teasingly, purring as he lay on his side next to her. His hand ran gently over her body. She tried not to look at his hard, throbbing manhood.

"What can I say since you look like a greek statue." She mumbled, looking at him with wide eyes. He chuckled lightly, and she blushed as she saw for the first time that something amused him.

"You're so sweet. You caught my eye right away." He said leaning over her, kissing her bare shoulder. She blinked at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean?" She asked quietly, his fingers on her body driving her crazy.

"When you turned to me for the first time when I was looking at your painting, you looked at me like a girl from a Vermeer portrait." He said, his hand caressing her cheek gently. Her fingers rose to touch his hard, bare chest. She felt a shiver run through him.

"I knew that if my cock was hard from just one look from you there was no hope for me." He murmured, leaning over her, his mouth pressing down on her greedily, sucking on her lips. She moaned into his mouth, surprised and aroused by his words.

He pulled her close, kissing her hungrily, his mouth caressing and sucking her lips as if they were ripe fruit. She moaned softly, delighted, tangling her hand in his hair, returning each kiss with devotion.

He pulled away from her, wanting to look at her body again. He ran his hand down her cheek, over her shoulders, down to her breasts. His fingers traced gently over her soft skin, teasing her nipple once in a while.

She felt her cheeks burn, the space between her thighs crying out for the long-awaited fulfillment. She moaned softly, wanting more intense caresses. He smiled as he decided to take his time, touching her body as if she were a map he was slowly discovering. The touch of his fingers made her body shiver.

"Do you know how often I've imagined this before going to sleep?" He asked quietly, his voice quivering slightly with excitement. He was delighted with the view that lay before him. His hand slowly slid between her thighs, and she sucked in a breath, meekly spreading her legs in front of him.

He inhaled sharply at the sight. His fingers slid between her moist, warm entrance, gently massaging her clit. She moaned, pressing her face into the fabric, unable to bear the tension building in her lower abdomen.

"Please…please, I need this so much." She whispered helplessly. Aemond remained unmoved.

"I'll make sure you remember it well." He purred, massaging her a little more intensely. He forced his tongue between her lips, muffling her loud moan. They both started breathing louder, kissing chaotically.

She threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut as she felt his finger slide inside her, rubbing her wet skin exactly where she needed it.

"God, Aemond, yes" She moaned, her hips moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand, seeking the desired fulfillment. All she wanted was to come and finally feel relieved.

Aemond licked his lips at the sight. To her delight, he slipped his finger out of her. He pulled her buttocks closer to him, lifting one her thigh up, threaded his hand through her hair, and kissed her hungrily. His tip teased her entrance, sliding in and out slowly, causing both of them to moan to each other's mouths.

"Please, please, please" She moaned like a prayer, trying to impale herself on him harder, wanting to feel him deeper, but his hand held her steady.

"So wet and horny for me. I will reward your devotion, sweet girl." He said as he pushed deeper into her, she moaned loudly, her hands clenching on of his back.

"Yes, yes, Aemond" She sobbed as she felt him finally start to move faster, entering her fully, panting heavily. His hand gripped her hip hard, pumping brutally into her with the wet sound of bodies hitting each other. They gasped into each other's mouths, kissing once in a while, writhing under each other in pleasure.

When she was looking at their bodies writhing in exciting, hot, sticky pleasure she thought they were like Aphrodite and Ares. There was something raw about him, like in sculpture, inaccessible, aggressive and sensual at the same time. They snatched their love from each other, fought for it and for their fulfillment, fucking mercilessly.

Aemond forced her to lie on her back and began to fuck her with all his might, panting and moaning loudly with her, neither of them controlling their movements anymore.

One of his hands propped up beside her head on the sheets, and the other slid between her thighs, rubbing her clit with calm, confident motions that drove her crazy. Aemond groaned low as her core tightened on him.

"You're so tight." He said helplessly, he had never wanted a woman so much in his life. "I'm begging you, tell me you're taking birth control pills."

"I do, I do, please, come inside me" She sobbed loudly and he opened his mouth in a silent moan, his hand closing around her buttock and fucking her even faster, on the verge of breaking down, putting all his strength into it.

"Is this what you want? Want me to fill you?" He hissed, feeling that a few more thrusts and he would come.

"Yes, please, please, please" She moaned helplessly and loudly, throwing her head to the side as she felt a wave of orgasm run through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and her lips parted, unable to catch her breath. She heard his helpless, low groan.

"Oh, God... Fuck!" He moaned, laying helplessly on top of her, feeling his warm cum spill over her insides. His hips moved inside her for a moment longer. He rested his head against her face, closing his eye, breathing raggedly.

"My muse. My Goddess. My Aphrodite."

_____

Here I decided to end my mini-series. I had a great time writing it, thank you all for receiving it so warmly! If you liked it, here is my Masterlist and my other fanfictions! ♥

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid

Others:

@tinykryptonitewerewolf @malfoytargaryen @toodlesxcuddles @fan-goddess @skikikikiikhhjuuh @diosademuerte @hanula18

#aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #aemond x reader #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #dark aemond targaryen #modern aemond #modern!aemond #aemond angst #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #aemond fluff #hotd #hotd smut #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n

[ticklishthoughts1]

Hyperfocus:Ribs

NGL, this was long overdue but I have been busy as of late ^w^

I'm just sitting down, reading, a relatively often occurence. I look up as they come in, and a smile lights up my face. I wave them over, setting the book down and hugging them, then moving over on the bed so they can lay next to me, they themselves getting a novel. Life can be so chaotic, fun but wild at times. It makes these times with them, just quietly being together, enjoying each others presence, all the more precious. Of course, them being them, the silence wouldn't be forever. I feel a poke in my side, and look up, only to see them reading. Hmm. I slowly look down, and 3 minutes later, another poke. I whip my head up, and see them looking at the book, a barely contained silly smile on their face. Aha. I roll my eyes playfully, then pretend to look back down. As soon as they slowly reach out to poke my sides again, I grab their wrist, turning, straddling their wasit, and using my forearm to hold both arms above their head, on the pillows. I smirk as they struggle to pull free, but don't, and touch foreheads with them softly, whispering "New Story. This one is about the Little Lee who liked to poke the bear...The Lee with Ticklish Ribs~". My insinuation is noticed, I can tell by the small look of lee panic in their eyes. I smirk, and simply rest one hand on the left side of their ribcage, before drawling out "Now...let's see how many toys we have to play with, hmm?~". I roll their shirt up, before resting two fingers on an individual rib, "counting" it, by vibrating both fingers on the rib and moving on to the next rib as they squirm around under me. "1......2......3...4.....5....6....Dang it! You're so Squirmy! I lost count of which one I was on...guess we gotta start allllll Over!~ Try to be still this time, Darling. 1.....2....3.....4...5...6...7...8..........Ah heck, I got lost in your eyes about that. Dang. What number was I on? An 'EEHEHEHEHEIHIGHT' ? What is that? Guess we'll just restart again~". I "lose count" 3 more times, and get it right on the 6th try, then I stop, locking eyes with you, and growl out happily, my voice deepening. "I'm gonna do it again. Not because I lost count. Because I can tell you're loving this, and that's just so cute I wanna keep going forever, Sweetheart~". The Flustered Expression on their face tells me I hit the money on my Analysis of their feelings about this whole event. Good. I count the ribs one more time, Painstakingly Slowly, and then finally, I stop counting, and get up.

Oh but I'm not done.

Not by a long shot.

Instead, I tell you to wait, leaving the room for just a second before coming back with a couple of paintbrushes, and paint that's safe for their skin. I giggle evilly, then climb back on the bed, drawling out "Here's the deal, cutie. You have to keep your hands above your head, whether gripping each other, or on the bedframe, while I paint. If you can't, I'll pin you again~". I tilt my head, smiling as they lock their arms over their head, then go over, and straddle them once more, beginning to paint. I'm thorough, using a smaller brush to get in between each rib. My concentration is pure, but not enough to not notice how hard they're trying to keep still for me, which I note on: "Awwwww, you're doing such a good job Baby!~ Being nice and still for me...guess you still like this, huh?~". I wink at them, both of us knowing full well that you loving it was the entire reason I do this. After about 3-5 minutes I finish painting, then raise a washrag, giggling as I begin to scrub the paint off, wiggling my fingers through the rag, and watching them stop holding their arms above their head, cooing "Calm down baby we've gotta get you clean!~". When done, I grin at them then say slowly, softly "There we go...clean enough to eat~". I chuckle when I see their eyes widen, and before they can stop me, I start nomming their ribs gently. I do this for 2 minutes, then, scrub them off AGAIN, and finally, pull you into a hug, stroking their back gently. After a while, we get back to reading, and it's like nothing happened.

Except for the blush on their face.

And the warm smile on mine.

#tickle thoughts #sfw tickle community #ler mood

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

The Unexpected Gift

cw reluctant whumper, pet whump, captivity, carewhumper, caretaker new master, dehumanization/use of “it” as a pronoun 

“My lady?” 

She huffed, paintbrush hovering over the canvas in front of her. “Why on earth are you interrupting me, Julian?” she demanded without looking up. “You know I like to concentrate when I'm painting.” 

“Yes, miss, I know,” Julian replied from his place in the doorway. “However, I must inform you that Lord Donovan sent you a gift. It has just arrived, and he requested it be brought to you at once.” 

“Oh, how lovely,” Charlotte said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She set aside her paintbrush and turned to face Julian. “And I'm sure he expects something in return. Perhaps my hand in marriage, or something equally ridiculous?” 

Julian’s lips quirked up in an understanding smile. “According to him, the gift is merely a show of friendship. Although, I am sure neither he nor your parents would be opposed to finally marrying the two of you off.” 

Charlotte laughed, abandoning her easel for the time being and taking a seat on the sofa. She appreciated Julian’s good humor and their shared distaste for the supposedly inevitable union between her and Donovan. “Well, alright then—bring it to me. Heaven knows I need another pearl necklace or tea set or whatever he’s sent over this time.” 

An uncertain look flashed across Julian’s face. “Right, yes. Well, I must warn you, this present is a bit different from the ones Lord Donovan has given you before.” 

Charlotte adjusted the fabric of her skirt, smoothing out a sea of blue satin. Already bored of the whole ordeal, she said, “I don’t have all day, Julian. Just bring it to me.” 

“Right away, my lady,” he replied with a nod, before swiftly exiting the room. 

Late afternoon light formed golden panels on the floor, and Charlotte’s gaze followed it out the window. Her mind wandered as she studied the gardens outside, which she had been in the middle of painting before the interruption. She hardly noticed Julian and one of her other servants return to the drawing room until he coughed, announcing his presence. 

“Lady Charlotte,” Julian said as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Your gift from Lord Donovan, sent with his deepest affections and admiration.” 

Charlotte shook herself out of her thoughts and turned to face him. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the color drain from her face when she took in the sight in front of her. Standing just behind Julian was another of her servants, who was holding onto a delicate silver chain. The chain was connected to a pair of cuffs which were locked around the wrists of a young man whose gaze was cast on the floor. 

“Is this some sort of practical joke?” Charlotte choked out, looking at Julian for answers. 

He shook his head. “I am afraid not, miss. Lord Donovan said that a lady of your standing deserves such a gift. You may read his letter at your convenience.” 

Charlotte’s eyes returned to the “gift.” The man was fairly young—about her age, she figured—of average height, and worryingly thin. His clothes hung loosely from his frame and they were worn; the neckline of his shirt fell to one side, revealing a prominent collarbone. He had a small, upturned nose and his face was framed by messy, dark locks. Charlotte’s first thought was that he needed a haircut. 

“I—I really don’t know what to say.” Charlotte glanced at Julian again, floundering. “Why in God’s name would Donovan send me such a thing?” 

“It seems that he acquired it in his recent travels,” Julian answered. “However, he said that if it displeases you, you may return it at once and he will figure out something to do with it.” 

The man’s shoulders tensed at that, but he made no other move. His eyes remained obediently fixed to the floor. 

Charlotte’s chest tightened and she replied hurriedly, “No, no—don't send him back. Heaven knows where he’ll end up.” Wherever it was, she could only expect it would be much worse. She had heard stories of the way people treated their pets, and it was horrifying enough to keep her up some nights. 

“Well,” Julian began, “if you wish to keep it, I can arrange for accommodations to be made. For the time being, would you prefer to have it sleep in the cellar, or perhaps the shed in the garden?” 

“Dear god,” Charlotte breathed in shock. “Nothing of the sort. He can sleep in my chambers.” 

The man looked up at that, a pair of piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. They were filled with equal parts shock, fear, and gratitude. It broke Charlotte’s heart. Then, just as quickly, he lowered his gaze back to the floor. 

“My lady,” Julian interrupted hesitantly, “with all due respect, that would not be proper.” 

“What is improper,” Charlotte spat, beginning to lose her temper, “is that a man sent me a human pet as gift with no warning. Now here I am, completely unprepared and unequipped to accommodate him. He may sleep on the floor in my room, and that is final. I will not be locking my gift in the cellar. Are we clear?” 

Julian sighed, then nodded once. “Yes, my lady.” 

She turned her focus back to the man—her gift—and asked, “When was the last time you ate?” 

Those blue eyes found hers once more, fearfully searching her face as though Charlotte’s question was some sort of trap. “I eat when I am permitted, Mistress.” His voice was soft and hoarse. 

“Julian, have him given a proper meal immediately,” Charlotte instructed with a huff. “I would also like him bathed and given a fresh set of clothes. After that, you may bring him to my room.” 

“Certainly,” Julian said. 

Once she was left alone, Charlotte returned to her easel. She stared at it for several minutes, trying will her mind back into the space it entered when she was painting—contented and focused. But her stomach was still turning from what had just happened. Her hands trembled. 

Charlotte grabbed the canvas and threw it across the room, knocking over a lamp with a loud crash. 

#i might continue this who knows #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #reluctant whumper #pet whump #captive whumpee #carewhumper #caretaker new master #captivity #dehumanisation #original character #writing #requests open #snippet

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Tea Set Painting Date With Riddle Headcanons

Masterlist

Warning: I write the Reader as female

This idea came to you one day to have a tea set painting date with your boyfriend so you went to Sam’s store (since you didn’t know if there was a Twisted Wonderland equivalent of Hobbycraft and he always seemed to have everything you needed) and purchased about five to six different blank white ceramic tea sets, the appropriate paints, paintbrushes, and all of the other supplies.

Then you handmade a very formal and professional-looking invitation card, telling Riddle to come to Ramshackle on the afternoon of the next day for your date and that you already double checked with Trey and you know that his schedule is clear, which you gave to the resident baker to give to the love of your life.

Strawberry boy is very confused but on the day of the date, he finds himself knocking on the front door of Ramshackle.

He was very excited for whatever it is you’ve scheduled. Whether it’s a study date, tea party date, picnics with his beloved hedgehogs or simply just sitting side by side in complete silence - he adores every minute he spends with his precious rose ♡

He even kept your invitation all nice and secure in the drawer of his bedside table.

You greet him with a beaming smile and usher him inside where he finds a newspaper covered table with an assortment of different arts and craft supplies

When he asks you what you’ve got planned you tell him that since you enjoy spending tea time with him, you thought it might be a fun idea to decorate your own tea sets together 

As strange as the proposal sounds, he’s all for it. After all, any time spent with you is worthwhile.

So you lead him towards your table and start your relaxing painting session by playing some calming classical music on your phone

At first he’s a little insecure - since he spent his childhood locked in his room studying all day he doesn’t have the first clue on how to draw and paint, making him worry on whether or not this would reflect poorly on him in your eyes - but you reassure him like you always do

“Don’t be silly, Riddle,” you smile at him, taking his hand and pressing a kiss on his knuckles before nuzzling your cheek on them, “art is subjective and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And allow me to tell you that my eyes will always consider you and everything that you do beautiful. So just relax and have fun, dearest. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Of course I will, my rose,” he clenched his free hand into a fist in front of his mouth and turned his head away so that you don’t see his blush

So the two of you start painting together, decorating the blank tea cups, saucers and teapots with his motifs: red roses (of course), strawberries, colourful hedgehogs wearing crowns (they looked more like lopsided spiky jelly beans, though), flamingoes 

You both even sign your initials inside a heart underneath every piece of crockery 

Riddle is having the time of his life decorating them, scrunching his nose in concentration as he paints on all of the finer details

Usually he’d raise a fuss if he got even a speck of paint on him but he’s having so much fun and your joy is so beautifully contagious that he doesn’t even think about the possible mess.

To anyone else they look a little slapdash and unprofessional and definitely amateurish, but to Riddle they were worth more than quadruple their weight in gold.

He keeps them all in a special tea cabinet in his bedroom so that he proudly gaze upon them in his own time, and to prevent anything from happening to them

Trey has walked in on his friend lovingly staring at one of the sets at multiple points in time 

At first he was too scared to use them because he was worried that they’ll get damaged and he doesn’t want your handiwork to go to waste but you point out that tea sets are meant to be used not looked at so he relents

He likes to use them whenever he misses you, smiling fondly as he traces over your artwork

Whenever the two of you have private tea parties, you bet that those sets are going to replace the expensive one-of-a-kind limited edition royal tea set that was imported straight from the Queendom of Roses.

At one point, he was drinking from one of those tea cups during a Dorm Leader zoom meeting and he looked at everyone, just daring them to say anything about his and his precious rose’s handiwork - no really, he wanted someone to say something so that he has a reason to brag about you

Riddle in the near future: *proudly showing off the sets, which have been placed in a rich, luxurious glass cabinet* And here we have the fine china

Poor unsuspecting person: *stares confusedly at a set of tea cups with a bunch of paint splatters that appear to have been done by reception aged children*

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #fem reader

[pythonees]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ MAKEUP WIPES — xavier thorpe

A/N: it's short and sweet and cute cute cute. also makeup wipes are not good for your skin babes don't use it

Xavier loves to watch you do your makeup. It doesn't matter if you do something fast and simple or your going all out on a look that takes hours. He will sit through all of it.

If you're the type of person that gets up at the ass crack of dawn you better fucking believe he's sneaking into your room to watch you do it. Doesn't matter where your room is located, top or bottom floor. He will be there so long as you want him to be. He just loves spending time with you in any way he can.

Sometimes he'll bring a sketchbook and draw you while you're doing your makeup, wanting to look back on the adorable look of concentration whenever he wants. Other times he's just watching, asking questions about what your doing and how things work. You happily tell him everything he wants to know, glad that he's taken an interest in something you like to do and isn't annoyed by the time you take getting ready.

Eventually he watches you enough times that he feels comfortable enough to ask if he can do your makeup for you. He knows how to handle paintbrushes, so he figured it's the same thing.

It's absolutely not.

He's used to working on a flat canvas, not on the curves on a face. So he works really slowly, hands a little shaky because he really really doesn't want to hurt you. That's the last thing he ever wants to do.

After everything he does he's shoving a mirror in your face so that you can check over his work, a wide smile on his face when you tell him he's doing good. You have to force yourself not to smile back, not wanting to crease any of his hard work before he was done.

The first thing he does is your foundation, which comes out flawlessly, like, way better than you have ever done before in your life. It's smooth and blended to perfection in a way that you didn't think was humanly possible. When you tell him as such he blushes a cute pink that you wanna feel on your lips. But you hold off, sitting still and letting him do his magic.

Contour and blush is also perfect, making your face come together better than you have. This he somehow takes longer than the foundation, tilting your face this way and that, trying to find the best spots to put them on you face. Again he shows you his work. He smiles when you tell him it looks amazing.

He does your eyeshadow in an array of colour that bring out your eyes beautifully. They seem to flow and sparkle when you look in the mirror, the colours super pigmented and without any patchiness. He moves onto your eyebrows before showing his work again. By this time your roommate is awake, used to Xavier being in the room by now. She says she wants him to do hers next.

The liquid eyeliner is one he makes you do on one eye, watching avidly as you easily apply it. It's usually what you wear everyday, not one to bother with eyeshadow when your just going to class all day. So your confident in your strokes, painting on a solid black wing that isn't even a millimetre out of place.

He takes the bottle from you gently, dipping the wand into the pot to pick up more of the inky black liquid. It takes him a while to even touch the brush to your skin, and after having to convince him four times that it's an easy fix if he messes up, he finally starts in on your eyeliner.

It feels funny against your skin, the tip tickling you from how lightly he's pressing it to your skin. But you don't say anything as you sit as still as a statue. You don't want to discourage him or make him any more nervous than he already is.

After an hour or so of pampering from your boyfriend, he finally holds the mirror up one last time, and you find yourself speechless. You've never had your makeup done this well in your life, and you've had it professionally done for your cousins wedding. It's perfect for your face shape, blush and contour done in a way that looks natural while defining your bone structure.

You go the whole day feeling like your on the top of the world, a pep to your step as you make your way to each of your classes. Every time you see Xavier you're all over him, smothering in kisses as a thank you in the time you have before you have to split up again for your next class. Your friends tease you for your overt display of affection, but you couldn't care less. You just want to appreciate your talented boyfriend.

Not only does this boy offer to do your makeup, but he'll also offer to take it off for you too. He will hold your face so gently as he wipes your face, laying down with your head in his lap. You can feel all the love he has for you with every swipe of the makeup wipe, unbelievably tender as he glides it over your skin. The whole time he does it he has such a soft look on his face it makes your eyes water.

You don't cry, though, you just smile back at him and hope that he can see all the love you have for him, too.

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

#xavier #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday #Ꮺ. my work