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#this piece has been on my mind for months now but I never felt confident about it

agustdiv1ne · 8 months

Text

ticket to nowhere (but your heart) (m) — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, photographer!yeonjun, artist!reader, fluff, angst, smսt

wc: 22.3k

synopsis: twelve days. twelve days is all you have on this godforsaken train to find the spark that will save your dying art career — but you never thought that you would find it in the enigmatic stranger that you can’t seem to stop running into.

warnings: mdni!! ageless + blank blogs dni!!!, mc is bad with feelings, is alluded to have anxiety, and is written as shorter than jjun (i'm sorry to my taller friends, i love you) + the same age as him (24), this takes place in various places across the u.s. (sorry in advance), mentions of food + alcohol, vvvvv brief depiction of potential self-injury when describing a painting, beomgyu + le sserafim's sakura, chaewon, and yunjin (called jennifer here just bc i felt like it) are featured, dom!jjun, sub!mc, soft sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), light begging, multiple orgasms, protected sex (hooray!), missionary, praise

note: part of @majestyjun's yeonjun bday event!! REPOSTED bc tumblr decided to not let this show up in the tags (edit: it's now showing up!!) </3 also my longest fic to date, so that's something

*:･playlist･:*

(cross-posted to ao3 here!)

masterlist

everything in your life is bland. gray.

the food that you eat, the people that you become acquainted with, the skyscrapers above you that grasp for the sky and fail to reach it — they have all become so monotone and somber and utterly lifeless. something within you gnaws at itself, aching with pain — though the sharpness of the feeling has been blunted by the passing of time — because you used to adore the city that you call home. you used to find unrivaled beauty in the skyscrapers that spread across manhattan, in the lush green parks scattered amongst the urban landscape that would turn warm and golden as summer metamorphosed into autumn, in the people that would walk by you with their unapologetic, unique fashion and confidence. the very things you used to love have dulled in hue, washes of the vibrancy you once appreciated and took significant inspiration from.

throughout your apartment lay half-baked paintings and charcoal drawings and pieces with odd compositions from that one month where you went through a mixed media phase, staring at you with their paint-streaked eyes, mocking you. finish us, their fragmentary faces scream. they beg for you to provide them with souls, to be their maker, their creator — but not quite their god. you are not pretentious enough to go that far, to paint yourself as that self-important, that narcissistic. you are far from a god. if you were, you would be in a larger apartment, a penthouse worth millions of dollars in soho or maybe the upper east side. if you were a god, you would purchase the finest art supplies in the world, have your pieces be displayed in major galleries to be auctioned off for hundreds of thousands — no, millions of dollars by pretentious art collectors to be hung up in their gaudy mansions, their own slices of heaven. however, in reality, you fall exceptionally short of a higher being; in truth, you are a rather simple woman who had transplanted herself from her suffocating hometown to brooklyn as soon as you completed your undergraduate degree. a tiny little apartment in brooklyn, new york city, new york — an adumbration of purgatory, floating somewhere between heaven and hell. trapped, trapped, trapped. nowhere to go.

sitting on your bed, the balls of your feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, you ponder if these thoughts, this density of emotions burrowing into your stomach, are a symptom of burnout. maybe even artist’s block, though in the past you’ve often remarked that the concept doesn’t exist. you had never experienced it, so in your sorely narrow-minded view, it simply couldn’t be possible, and other artists were simply blaming their laziness on this elusive concept. what a fool you were for ever thinking that. shame hangs like a heavy weight within your chest; who are you to criticize the experiences of other artists when you know how difficult a creative’s life can be? how could you be so insolent?

a raging hypocrite, really, is what you think you must be. a blank, blurry stare scans over your space, the coolness of the floor spreading up into your toes. an easel in the corner, near one of the small windows that allows for a view of mostly red brick, a sliver of blue-brown water where the hudson and east rivers meet, and a few lower manhattan skyscrapers that tower high in the air across the watery expanse. it’s not that far from your bed, which sits on the wall opposite below a second window, the slightest bit larger than the other one. most of your apartment is taken up by supplies rather than actual decor, a jar of paintbrushes on your small, round dining table in the corner near your kitchen instead of a vase of flowers, works-in-progress on the walls rather than posters, pictures.

you live and breathe art, and your entire apartment reflects that, but the oxygen is getting thinner and thinner.

even then, you’re not quite sure how long you have felt this way — it’s not as if you woke up one day and noticed the change. it wasn’t sudden like a car accident, slamming into you one second and leaving you to cope with the aftermath the next. quite the opposite, really, more akin to the tide slowly coming to shore, washing over more of your body with each incoming wave. soothing, flowing along with each ebb and flow, pulling you further and further away from the beach until you have nowhere else to go but down.

weak fingers dig into the white comforter below you, curling into the fabric with a surging desperation — for what, you are unsure. comfort? someone to hold you? you haven’t felt the embrace of another, the warm sensation of lips pressed against your own, in an embarrassingly long time. the dating world had slipped from your hands long ago, shattering on the floor like a snow globe, your wants and hopes and desires to love and be loved soaking your lacerated feet and stinging as it enters your wounds. your mind trails to beomgyu, a fellow artist who you had met when you could afford a private studio in a warehouse one burrow over. he was fun, a sappy romantic, and he made you laugh to no end — but he ruined you. he moved across the country without warning and you’d never heard from him again, leaving you heartbroken and with questions you’d never get answers to. you wonder how he’s doing now, if san francisco is treating him well. his number is still in your phone. you should delete it. you need to delete it. you need to make dinner. you need to finish that commission. you need to do a lot of things.

you need to get out of here.

fuck, you do. the desperation surging within your veins takes the new form of a beast, clawing its way up your throat. you need to leave the city and experience new places and see new things and—

finally, you wrench yourself off of your bed after hours of sitting there. snatching your laptop from the floor, you search. you search and search and search for something that will get you out of this city, albeit temporarily. several different trips to italy — too expensive, and too far away from here. an airbnb in florida — you’ve never been a fan of humidity, and you don’t think only seeing one city will be enough to sate you. come on, come on, there has to be something.

and then you find it: twelve days on a train, across the country. stops in chicago, denver, san francisco, seattle, and even a national park for half a day before looping back through chicago and back to new york. this sounds…perfect. your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the price as you scroll down. for you, it’s expensive, so fucking expensive, but…

“you need to let go and enjoy life for once,” one of your friends told you at a party a few months ago, when you were experiencing a less incapacitating version of the burnout you currently face, when you had thought it was a mere blip in your unending motivation. of course, you hadn’t listened to jennifer and her sound (and moscato-induced) advice, opting to throw yourself further into your art and ultimately fail at creating anything worthwhile. you regret it now, because you feel stuck. terribly, utterly stuck — but this is your chance to change that.

you need this; you can make the sacrifice to your already thinning bank account, you think. let go, enjoy life. let go, enjoy life — you repeat those four words over and over again as you type in your card information, as you click the button to book the trip, as you read over the confirmation email that outlines the steps you need to take before you leave. let go, enjoy life, and you will. you will, and you will relight that dimming, nearly extinguished fire within you while you’re at it. you’ll make damn sure of it.

day one.

your heart is pounding. the rapid ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump roars in your ears like thunder as people upon people walk past, shoving against both of your shoulders as you stand in front of a board full of green and yellow and red. the sounds of voices and rolling luggage echo across the high, transparent ceilings of the station which allow for a view of the sky above. early mornings and you do not agree with each other, and today is no exception; poorly-veiled dark circles sit beneath your eyes, illuminated by the soft, warm light streaming in from above. looking down at your phone and back up at the screen again, you find that your train is thankfully on time, the bright green letters helping loosen the tightness gathered in your shoulders as you roll them back once, twice. your teeth skirt your bottom lip while you nod to yourself, then scan the spacious building for the escalator that will take you down to the correct platform.

you hate that you’re nervous. the feeling twists your stomach into knots and flushes your face, cheeks hot as you stand there and wait out the remaining minutes before you can board. it doesn’t even make sense — you should be happy to get out of town, to go places you’ve never been to before, but all you can focus on is the unease creeping up your throat and blooming sour on your tongue. perhaps this is actually excitement that you are feeling. maybe you’re reading it all wrong — jennifer was more than ecstatic when you told her of your impromptu trip, saying “this is what you need! this might be your breakthrough!”

ever since you met the her, she was always a degree more optimistic than you. looking on the bright side of things, no matter what dire circumstances lay splayed out across the dealer’s table. what’s stopping you from being the same way? several things, but at the same time, jennifer is right: you need this. your hands jitter with an odd combination of excitement and fear — maybe it’s simply the thought of solo travel that is so intimidating. yeah, it has to be. it will pass soon enough — hopefully. you roughly shove your set of headphones onto your head, slipping them over your ears. music will have to do for now, if only to prevent thoughts from racing through your head.

once you board, you learn that your quarters are…small, though that was expected. it reminds you of your studio apartment, almost; cramped, but lacking the scattered paint tubes and canvases and miscellaneous mediums that you have not laid a single finger upon in months now. the small, travel-size tubes of paint sitting in your backpack weigh your shoulders down, begging to be taken out and spread across the small, flat canvases that are tucked snugly beside them. you muffle their pleas by turning up the music streaming through your headphones. closing the door behind you, you softly hum to the current song in your ears, shoving your suitcase in the corner of the room.

once the attendant checks your ticket, you decide to take a nap — who cares if it’s early? you barely got enough sleep last night in the first place, too nervous to allow your eyes to shut. collapsing onto your bed, you pull the curtains next to it shut and allow yourself to drift off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

*:･

you awake around noon with a growling stomach. with a sigh, you rub your tired eyes and sit up, smoothing out your rumpled shirt. after a quick look on your camera to make sure none of your mascara has transferred below your eyes, you make your way to the dining car that’s not too far from your own.

it’s nice, quaint; simply decorated like the rest, with large, square windows divided by thin pieces of wood lining each side. smaller tables line the wall to your right, two seats at each, while larger, four-person tables sit to your left. you opt for a two-seater towards the middle, tunnel vision blocking out the rest of the people present. you stare out at the greenery that blurs outside the window, listening to the low rumble of the train, mindlessly thumbing the laminated menu laying on the table. while you wait for the waitress to get to your table, a light, feminine voice knocks you from your own little world.

“excuse me?” the voice asks. you flinch in response, blinking hard as you look to your left and find two women sitting at the four-seater next to you. they’re both pretty, brown-eyed with full lips curved into twin smiles. they don’t look like sisters, though — more so friends.

“yes?” you politely say, wondering what they could want with you. the shorter-haired one’s smile grows wider once you speak. she has a rounder face than the other girl, her black bangs ending above her eyes that are currently crinkled at the corners.

“are you waiting for anyone?” the other girl asks, the one with a long wolfcut and wide, hypnotizing eyes. definitely not sisters, you think, they look nothing alike.

shaking your head, you softly murmur, “i’m not.”

“would you like to join us, then?” the wide-eyed one asks, a hopeful glint shining in her eyes.

“i...i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you reply. your mouth curls into something apologetic, as if you’re the one burdening them despite them being the ones to ask you. this interaction feels weird, awkward, and a very large part of you wishes you could melt through the floor and disappear forever.

“you wouldn’t!” straight black bob chimes in, hands clasped together on top of the table as she leans towards you. cheery, excitable. “we wouldn’t mind at all, really.”

you nod with a tiny, somewhat nervous grin as you take the seat closest to you, right next to wide-eyed wolfcut. you offer them your name, unsure what else to give them. your age? your profession? your deep-seated trauma? okay, definitely not that last one.

“it’s nice to meet you,” straight black bob says, while the other chimes in with a soft hum of affirmation. “i’m chaewon.”

“and i’m sakura,” wolfcut adds with a dip of her chin.

hands placed snugly in your lap, you pick at your thumb nail. your back is stiff in the chair, and you hope they won’t notice. “it’s nice to meet you guys too. are you traveling together?”

both of them giggle, glancing at each other for a moment before swiveling their eyes back to you. for a moment, you’re confused. why was that so funny? they look to be decent friends, at least from your limited interactions with them thus far.

“we actually just met a few minutes ago,” wolfcut — no, sakura claims. oh, so they’re not friends, then. “we ran into each other— like, quite literally ran into each other.”

“it was…kinda bad,” chaewon laughs before she takes a sip of water. “my ass is still sore.”

you huff a laugh at that, all air and no sound, and the conversation continues with a light-hearted air to it. as the minutes tick by, you learn that chaewon is a graduate student taking a gap semester, while sakura owns her own makeup line, a small business that is beginning to pick up speed thanks to social media. one lives in brooklyn—

“no way,” you gasp at chaewon. “where at?”

sakura, meanwhile, resides in upper manhattan. even more information about them bombards your brain as all of you begin to eat, but you doubt you’ll remember most of it by tomorrow, even later today — it’s alright, though. the three of you have exchanged numbers (to create a group chat) and have basically promised to be travel buddies for the coming days. your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, grateful to find kind, welcoming people on this train — you’d think that jennifer would like them. the way they interact with each other is somewhat reminiscent of your and jennifer’s friendship. friends…yeah, you can see the three of you becoming good friends.

“can we see some of your art?” chaewon asks, bob shifting like a wave around her head as she shakes it. oh, yeah. you had briefly mentioned your profession, though shame barred you from sharing your reasons that led you to this train in the first place.

you cringe. “oh, well—”

“i’m sure it’s great!” she continues. “c’mon, pleaseee?”

with sparkling doe eyes and hands clasped tightly together, it’s difficult to say no — and you don’t, shaking your head a little as you pull up your instagram account. while you’re proud of the pieces you’ve posted on there, they aren’t your most emotional. those ones are saved in your camera roll, and that is where they will stay, only for your eyes (and a very few select others) to see. they coo and aw as they swipe through, your phone placed on the table between them. heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to pick at the remnants of your lunch sitting on your plate. deep down, their kind comments cause an unusual sense of guilt to invade your heart. why couldn’t you produce shit like that now? what the hell is wrong with you?

with a polite smile, you thank them and move to excuse yourself before your pathetic sense of self-pity can consume you. they seem a bit surprised by your abrupt exit, but they also take it in stride, offering to text you later for dinner. slipping from your seat, you send them a wave before setting off towards the door from which you initially came.

*:･

you don’t know what spurred you to make a stop at your room and snatch your sketchbook from your backpack before heading to the observation car, but after a whole lot of sitting and not one speck of sketching, you kind of, sort of have started to hate yourself for that decision.

the open page in your lap is abysmally blank. no marks, no little trees or lush fields or flowers or anything that you see speeding by outside the window. your pencil has been poised against the page for the longest time, dark gray dots scattered across the page where you would press the point of the pencil to start making a mark and subsequently give up. another hour with no progress ticks by, but you still can’t make it move. move, why won’t your hand just move?

flipping it shut, you lean back in your seat with a deep sigh. you can’t force these things, you know that much, but that won’t stop you from trying — and failing — to produce something. you’d rather not dwell on that for too long, though. those thoughts are what got you here in the first place. instead, you allow your tense muscles to relax, your eyes to lose focus and blur, blobs of green and blue passing by your vision. soft murmurs from other passengers meld together into a wall of droning noise, soft and soothing.

that is, until the sound of someone settling into a seat a couple away from your own pops your little bubble like a sharp, pointed pin pressing into the skin of a balloon. blinking your vision back into focus, you take a quick glance to your right and—

holy shit, he’s beautiful. a sloping nose and pink, plush lips, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model of some sort with a face like that. his dark, slightly outgrown hair frames his side profile perfectly, sweeping back towards the back of his head where it begins to curl down the back of his neck. there’s this sort of dreamy, ethereal quality to his looks, like the universe took it’s sweet time creating him, lovingly placed tiny little stars in his sable, fox-like eyes and kissed his skin with the sun’s gentle rays, a light pink dusted across his cheeks — or, at least, the one cheek that you can see. bulky headphones sit snugly over his ears as he simply watches the landscapes pass by, one long leg crossed over the other. before you register the movement of your hands, your sketchbook is flipped back open to that very same blank page you’d given up on mere moments ago, fingers gripping your pencil once more. fluid like water is how your hand moves across the page, capturing the unique shape of his eyes, his soft yet defined jawline, the slope of his neck…

for the first time in months, you lose yourself in your work, yet you don’t even register this small breakthrough. peeking back up at the beautiful stranger every once in a while, you slowly carve out his likeness on the page in front of you, begin to add his surroundings and even a background, shading with light, circular strokes as you go, building up the deposit of graphite where it is needed most, defining the shape of his pouty lips and the strong cupid’s bow that connects his top lip to his nose, mapping out the flow and shape of locks of hair with dark, daring strokes, graphite pressing hard into the page. you even add some flyways for good measure. in your frenzied bout of drawing, you have hunched over in your chair, an old habit that is rearing its ugly head now that you don’t have a standing easel to work with. straightening your aching spine, you sit back and observe your sketch, wondering if you have missed any defining details—

and when you move to look up and take in his features again, he is staring right back at you.

oh.

oh, fuck.

frozen in your seat, you can’t tear your gaze away from his own, a hint of concern swirling in his irises. his eyebrows raise, eyes slightly wide as he tilts his head. the corners of his pretty lips raise, parting as if about to speak — and he does.

“are you okay?”

his deep voice snaps you out of your stupor, flinching before you quickly flip your notebook shut and sent him a tight smile paired with a nod, eyes darting around to look everywhere but him. your heart just might leap out of your chest at this rate, tear open your sternum and collide with the floor. you almost wish it would.

he’s frowning now, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “uh, are you sure—”

without another glance at him, you stand, clutch your notebook and pencil tight enough that it presses marks into your skin, and book it straight out of there with swift and featherlight steps. you don’t look back, far too embarrassed to even consider it, not stopping until you reach your room. the door is slammed shut behind you, but the nerves-induced ache in your chest won’t fade. pressing the cool backs of your hands against your fiery cheeks, you resist the urge to slap yourself. what the fuck is wrong with you? you should’ve just answered him and apologized for staring. he probably thinks you’re some creep now, with your weird little notebook and lack of verbal response — and the way you left. god, if a hole opened up and swallowed you whole, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“you are so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss, venemous words aimed straight at yourself, your head buried in your hands as you curl up on the bed. day one, day fucking one, and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of someone.

maybe you should stay in here for the rest of your trip.

day two.

“...why is it so big?”

chaewon is referring to cloud gate — or, rather, what is more popularly known as the bean — a terribly ugly, silver, oversized, bean-shaped art installation that sits in chicago’s millennium park. an art installation that you, quite frankly, despise mostly due to the artist behind the work. given that anish kapoor is an elitist prick who has shit on the art world with his wealth and hates when people call his piece the bean, you take great, overwhelming satisfaction in calling it that.

her question — paired with her furrowed eyebrows — causes you and sakura to snicker to yourselves. you’re grateful that they texted you this morning, had forced you out of your room because you actually were going to go through with your staying-in-your-room-forever plan (for today, at least). this park is your first stop of many, but you really want to get this part over with so that you don’t have to see this gargantuan, chrome bean ever again. despite its ugliness, you can admit that the slightly warped, mirrored reflection of the city that it provides is kind of interesting to look at, and it makes for some cool pictures.

(still, fuck anish kapoor. you refuse to give that man any credit.)

you end up taking a photo of you flipping it off from afar, sending it to jennifer with a smirk before helping the other two girls with some of their own photos. here, there’s no pressure to create, only to enjoy and experience what surrounds you, no matter how tourist-y it may be.

sakura slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to her, arm extended out to take a selfie. your hand raises in a peace sign at the camera, smile bright and wide like the sun above. there’s not an inkling of worry in your expression — until you see him.

the guy from yesterday, standing maybe ten feet away. he dons an unbuttoned striped shirt layered over a tank top which is tucked into baggy, dark wash jeans. a thin, black belt wraps around his waist, a small camera hanging from his neck, and his hair looks as perfect as yesterday, shiny and smooth under the unobstructed sunlight. thankfully, he hasn’t noticed you, but that doesn’t stop your smile from fading, your heart from hammering within your chest as your brain cruelly replays the events of yesterday afternoon in slow motion. you can’t face him right now. what if he comes up to you? what if he confronts you for your odd behavior in front of this crowd? these are worst case scenarios, sure, but they are potential outcomes nonetheless. as he begins to turn in your direction, you whip around, slipping from under sakura’s arm as you face the two girls.

“you guys ready to go?” you ask, masking your worry with a tight grin. don’t ask why, don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.

“yeah, sure,” chaewon nods. “i think i’ve had enough of the bean.”

“same,” sakura laughs.

“we could grab lunch, then go to the aquarium and planetarium?” you suggest, one foot beginning to tap against the concrete as you look back and forth between them. are there eyes burning into the back of your head right now? you can’t tell, but the prickling on the back of your neck is not a promising sign. they look at each other, then back to you — a phenomenon that has rapidly become a habit for them — and agree. surging forward, your hands loop around their wrists closest to you, and begin to speed walk away. far away.

“uh, girl? this is the wrong way, we’re going deeper into the park,” sakura notes, heels digging into the concrete to slow you down. she’s right, you know she’s right, but you’re not particularly keen on turning around.

with a sheepish grin, you say, “maybe we could take a walk through the park first?”

as if on cue, chaewon’s stomach emits an audible growl.

“nevermind, then.”

turning around, you find the stranger facing your way, and for some reason, he’s already looking at you. his eyebrows raise in recognition the moment you make eye contact. all of a sudden, you wish that you could shrivel up and die. despite this, you rip your gaze from his and push forward, turning to speak to sakura so that you aren’t forced to glance in his direction. mission: avoid the stranger who now haunts your life — success!

goodbye, the bean and the guy who you embarrassed yourself in front of. hello, chicago-style pizza.

*:･

you’re tired.

you’re tired and slightly more broke and your legs and feet ache to hell after the copious amount of walking you’ve done, but your day still isn’t over. no, despite the setting sun and rising moon, you still have one more activity on your itinerary — clubbing, by request of your newfound friends, though even they claim that they don’t often partake in the activity. similar to them, you’re more inclined to small get-togethers with wine, food from that thai place down the street from your apartment, and a good movie, but hey, this trip is all about experiencing new things. hell, maybe you’ll even enjoy it, who knows? at least, you’re going to try to, but the pain radiating in the soles of your feet and calves has worsened due to your high heels. the dress wrapped around your body is tight and flattering in all the right places, yet the hem rides up every few minutes as you walk.

“the pessimism isn’t cute. quit it,” you hear jennifer’s voice echo inside your head, yet another phrase she’s uttered to you in the past. fine — on the bright side, you haven’t seen that good-looking stranger since the park. bam, positivity, go you.

sakura’s arm loops around yours as you reach the club that you collectively decided on earlier. her excited squeals at the prospect of alcohol (or, rather, more alcohol, since she pregramed a bit prior to leaving the station) and dancing are enough to bring on a weak headache that spreads across your temples. ibuprofen. you desperately need ibuprofen, but vodka will do just fine too — it’s the first thing you order at the bar, a straight shot with no chaser because at this point, you don’t care. let go, enjoy life, you internalize as you toss the sharp liquor down your throat, fatigue melting away as the alcohol enters your veins.

cheers, jennifer. you still need to text her back.

one more downed shot later, and chaewon is dragging you to the dance floor. the bass pounds in your ears and vibrates the floor as the three of you sway to the upbeat songs. droplets of sweat begin to bead along your hairline, bodies packed so close together that it’s virtually impossible not to be jostled by a stray elbow or shoulder as you dance. if you were completely sober, it would be uncomfortable, but your hazy senses allow for you to overlook the sardine can that is called a club. it’s easy to lose yourself in the warm, heady air, in the way your hips bump between chaewon’s and sakura’s. inhibitions melt away — you’re free; no expectations weighing you down, nowhere to be, no one to be. only music, flashing lights, and the new, fruity drink in your hand, courtesy of sakura.

“gonna take a breather!” you yell into chaewon’s ear, the alcohol finally catching up to you. she nods, yells words you can’t make out into sakura’s ear, and both of them begin to follow you out of the crowd. you sip at your drink as you push your way through, ducking under swinging arms and avoiding splashing drinks. the crowd thins as you grow closer to the edge of the dance floor until only scattered groups of friends remain.

“you didn’t have to come with me, y’know,” you say as soon as you reach a slightly quieter part of the club, taking a seat in an empty booth. “i can handle myself.”

“it’s better to stick together. less dangerous,” sakura refutes. some of the glitter that sits above her eyes had drafted down to her cheeks, glinting as a beam of bright light travels over the lower half of her face. “you never know what could happen in a club.”

chewing at the neon pink straw in your drink, you nod, “that’s true.”

as chaewon and sakura fall into conversation, their words not quite reaching your ears, you silently scan the club. the darkness is cut by wild lasers and spotlights that whirl around and catch on the faces of countless strangers, their pearly, grinning teeth glinting and disappearing back into obscurity in a flash. you continue to nibble at your straw, vision hazy around the edges and an airy sensation in your limbs, as if you could float up to the ceiling. you look up at the multicolored lights, flashes of red and green and blue bombarding your vision, then back down towards the crowd.

and yet again, you find him in your sights.

suddenly, your vision has a crystal clear clarity to it. button-down shirt wide open to reveal his toned torso, he smoothly moves to the beat with an intoxicated smirk painted on his lips, a small glass of amber liquor in his left hand. dark, outgrown hair, plush lips, those dark, dreamy eyes — that’s him. shit, that’s definitely him.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmur, head collapsing into your arms on top of the cool wooden table. sakura jumps in her seat next to you, before scrambling to place a hand on your shoulder.

“are you okay?” she squeals near your ear, tacking on a worried call of your name when you don’t respond right away. honestly? you’re kind of not okay. you’re tired of encountering him at every turn and being reminded of your humiliating escape from him yesterday. you’re tired of him spotting you and sending you odd looks as if you’re the weirdest person he’s ever crossed paths with. you’re tired, you’re tired, you’re just so tired.

you decided to go on this trip to get away from the mundanity of your day-to-day routine, to get over your spell of artist’s block and see new things, but maybe you bit off more than you can chew if you were going to allow one random person to ruin that goal for you. a random stranger shouldn’t have this much power over you.

raising your head, you send them a half-hearted nod. “i’m fine. sorry.”

chaewon frowns, “are you about to throw up? ‘cause you look like you are.”

“you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” sakura chimes in.

sighing, you shake your head. “i think— i think i need to use the bathroom.”

as you move to get up, they do as well — though you decide not to protest this time. there’s no point, really. your legs wobble a bit as you walk, face dropping once you notice that he is near the men’s restroom now, waiting outside right across from where you aim to go. head down, you scurry past him, ignoring how his eyes widen and his knuckles pale as he grips his drink tighter. chaewon and sakura are hot on your heels as you slip into the quiet bathroom. with the music from outside now muffled, you realize your ears are ringing. reaching a sink, you turn on the faucet and splash some water onto your face. hunched over the sink, your fingers grip the edge of the counter. deep breaths, now. deep breaths. this is likely the quickest you have ever sobered up, and the sensation is rendering you dizzy.

behind you, your friends exchange concerned looks through the mirror. sakura jumps into action first, coming up behind you and placing her hands onto your shoulders. with a gentle squeeze, she murmurs, “let’s get you back to the station.”

day three.

today, the observation car is devoid of life — and so is your body after yesterday. can you overdose by taking too much ibuprofen? you’re pretty sure that you can.

last night is but a blur in your memory with few spots of clarity, but you do vividly remember panicking in the dimly lit bathroom as the girls fretted over whether you were going to vomit all over the floor or not. you hadn’t slept much once you returned to your room after exchanging drunken hugs with your friends, assuring them that you were, indeed, not going to throw up. after a few hours of restless sleep, you’d completely given up on proper rest — you have never slept all that well with alcohol in your system, so you’re not sure why you thought this time would be any different.

you take a seat far away from the one you took last time. clad in your pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, you’re grateful that no one else is here to see you at your worst: slightly hungover with dark circles the size of dinner plates. your legs fold up onto the chair so that your knees sit near your chest, your arms looping around your shins, fingers laced together. a deep sigh. a long blink. though the rest of the sky remains an inky black, the horizon morphs into a deep purple, the color of eggplant, almost. perhaps a smidge lighter.

a door opens, its hinges faintly squeaking, before subsequently clicking shut. figuring it must be someone older, you do not bother with checking who entered; most people your age aren’t up this early, especially not willingly. instead, you keep your eyes trained on the ever-changing sky, chin resting upon your knees.

footsteps near you, and you assume that they will pass, but then they don’t. rather, they stand right in front of you.

“may i sit here?”

you have heard this voice before, just two days ago. unsurprisingly, he stands a mere few feet away, clad in a black tank top and gray sweatpants, a long finger pointed towards a seat. similar to you, small dark circles sit beneath his eyes, but he somehow makes them work. once you nod, one corner of his lips twitches upward before he sits down, a singular seat separating your bodies. his gaze burns the side of your face; your arms wrap around your legs tighter, your unwavering stare pointed out the window. silence envelopes the train car, tense and suffocating. your lungs tighten, prickly thorns sprouting within the thin membranes. your bottom lip may begin to bleed if you keep chewing at it so carelessly.

he breaks it first, shatters it like glass colliding with the floor, with five words:

“i’m really hungover right now.”

your brows furrow. why is he trying to strike up a conversation with you? why do you want to answer him?

he continues before you can formulate a response, “i saw you at that club last night — you looked a little sick. are you okay?”

“peachy,” you curtly mumble, lips pursing. of course he remembers you; you did pass by him, after all, basically sprinted into the bathroom with the grace of a bull in a china shop. he hasn’t mentioned the park, but you know damn well he remembers that too.

you can sense the frown from his tone, confusion lacing the edges like delicate lace. his question is careful, slowly intonated as if he’s scared of pissing you off. “uh, did i do something wrong?”

you shake your head, not a single glance spared in his direction thus far. he hasn’t. your attitude is a direct result of your own actions, your own rampant anxieties. a pang of guilt punches you in the gut — he does not deserve your bitchiness when he, quite frankly, has done nothing but exist in relative proximity to you.

“you haven’t,” you reply, voice meek. your eyes trace over the short fibers of the plain carpet below your seat. “i’m just— i’m sorry.”

the low rumble of the train fills the air again, no further words spoken between the two of you. there’s no clear way to explain yourself further, but your apology is sincere; with a brief peek, you find him staring out the window.

“can i ask why you keep running away whenever you see me?” the query lacks an accusatory edge. rather, curiosity and interest cushion his voice. maybe…maybe he doesn’t find you that strange, after all.

and finally, after two days of avoiding his gaze, you swivel your head to face him. you find a tilted head, a single humorous, raised eyebrow. despite yourself, you begin to smile. “honestly?”

“i’d prefer honesty, yes,” he grins.

“i—” you hesitate for a moment, then continue, “i was embarrassed.” a grimace paints your face, dragging your brows down and twisting your lips. “after, y’know…”

“running away the first time?” he supplies.

your mouth flattens into a thin line, a hand moving up to scratch your cheek. “yeah, that.”

laughter reaches your ears, partially nasally. rolling your eyes, your mouth splits into a grin.

“i get it. i feel like i definitely startled you, so no hard feelings.” he pauses, starry eyes widening in what you believe is realization, “i never got your name.”

easily, you supply it, cheeks flushing with heat when he offhandedly comments that it’s pretty. if he notices your sudden flustered state, he doesn’t comment on it, and despite the warmth now slithering down your neck, you feel yourself relax back into your seat, legs leaving their curled up position to cross at the ankle in front of you. then, he offers his own. yeonjun — at long last, you have put a name to his handsome face.

out of nowhere, he asks, “have you had breakfast?”

shaking your head, you gesture to your pajama bottoms. “not yet, i was going to grab some after i changed.”

“i don’t know, i think the plaid pants are pretty fashionable,” he chuckles. you join him. “c’mon, i saw an old guy wearing boxers and a shirt in there yesterday. i’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

you giggle, “that’s kinda gross, but alright. let’s go.”

peering out the window again, you find that the sun has just peeked above the horizon, a wash of orange fading into blue, melting together like watercolor. smiling to yourself, you stand and begin to follow yeonjun towards the dining car.

*:･

you and yeonjun had gone your separate ways hours ago, but not without exchanging contact information. since then, he hasn’t stopped texting you, his talent at keeping any conversation going shining in direct contrast to your, well, lack of said talent. however, you do find yourself replying to him with ease — he makes it so easy to do so, mostly due to the fairly unorthodox topics he likes to bring up. currently, you’re talking about the animals that scare you the most. why? because that’s the nature of yeonjun’s conversation skills, you suppose.

another voice message pops up in your chat, about ten seconds long — one of his more obvious quirks. most of his messages are sent in this form, not that you mind. his voice is as pretty as the rest of him. heart-fluttering. okay, stop. you just met this guy.

(jennifer always does say that you fall too easily. maybe she’s right.)

pressing play, his voice enters your left ear via your single earbud. “no because hear me out: dolphins have fooled you into thinking they’re nice. manipulated you. they literally torture their prey— and they use puffer fishes to get high! i can’t make this shit up. my fear is justified, i swear.”

under your breath, you chuckle, an elbow leaned against the dining table. after a long nap, you had texted the girls to see if they’d like to get dinner with you. of course, they said yes, but you decided to get here a bit early to grab an open table. the car is already packed as it is.

“what’re you laughing at?” unexpectedly, sakura’s head appears over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. out of habit, you lock it, your reflections staring back at you through the black screen. as she sits next to you, chaewon, takes the seat across from you, elbows placed on the table and her hands supporting her chin. she sends you a knowing smile.

“is that your boyfriend?” she prods. the question causes your mouth to fall open for a moment before you snap it shut.

“no!” you exclaim. “it’s just a friend.”

“sounds like a boyfriend,” sakura surmises, exchanging a conspiratory nod with the other girl. you release a groan, hands shielding your fiery hot face before you drag them up over your hair.

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you shoot back. “we just met today.” two days ago, actually. if you can count that.

their mouths open in tandem, shock coloring their features. is this a big deal, or something? you aren’t even dating the guy.

“you met a guy and didn’t tell us?” sakura grasps your arm with both hands, shaking the limb with a strength that shouldn’t be possible to come from her thin body. “you should’ve told us! we can be your wingwomen!”

“wingwomen?” you echo dumbly as you stare at her. wingwomen, as in, like, jennifer-style wingwomen? as in trying too hard to set you up with someone and ultimately embarrassing you in the end wingwomen? your love for jennifer knows no bounds, but she’s ruined the term for you long ago with her terrible luck. a shudder runs down your spine, and you grin nervously. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

“of course it is! i’ve always wanted to do that for one of my friends, but they’re all taken already,” chaewon pouts, irresistible puppy dog eyes appearing. “c’mon, please?

“i doubt he’d want to date me, though? we’ve literally only talked once, so really, it’s okay.”

“once is enough,” sakura declares, suddenly tilting her body closer to yours. “tell us, is he cute? what’s his name?”

they’re obviously not going to let this go, and you have no power to really stop them.

sighing, you officially give up, “yeonjun, and yes, i do.” unfortunately.

chaewon claps her hands together, an audible smack! echoing from her palms. her smile is blinding, a supernova of pearly white teeth and pink, upturned lips. “perfect! we can work with that.”

“i already have an idea: ask him to hang out tomorrow,” sakura says, and you send her an incredulous look, glancing at chaewon for a moment to find that she’s excitedly nodding along to the idea like an excitable puppy. her round eyes sure make her resemble one.

you shake your head. “i can’t do that, it’s too forward.”

rolling her eyes, sakura tosses her hands up in the air. “too forward my ass! how do you expect to bag him?”

“i don’t!”

chaewon chimes in, an open hand reaching towards you, “alright, give us your phone. we’ll text him for you.”

“absolutely not!”

ding!

it’s comical, how all three of you pivot your wide-eyed gazes to the phone clenched in your fingers. the flash of yeonjun’s name across the screen is enough to send your table into chaos.

“open it!”

“what did he say—”

“calm down, oh my god!” you shriek, sending an apologetic look to the couple next to you when they look over. fingers fly over your keyboard until you’ve reached his contact. words, this time, no voice message. butterflies burst into your chest.

yeonjun: do you have anything planned for tmrw?

after scanning over the message herself, sakura pokes at your shoulder. “tell him you don’t.”

with a deep, heavy sigh, you do as she says.

[6:37 p.m.]: not yet, why?

“that’s too dry,” chaewon comments.

“shut up, i’m trying,” you hiss. it takes him a few minutes to respond, minutes in which you internally panic. was your text really too dry? in the meantime, you place your dinner order with a kind waiter that stops by, a hearty dish that you can drown your sorrows in the not-so-off chance that this goes terribly, terribly wrong. another ping sounds from your phone’s speakers, and time stops once you read what he sent. clocks stop ticking, you stop breathing, everything around you freezes.

yeonjun: do you wanna grab coffee in the morning then? :)

sakura sends you a sharp look. “i doubt he’d want to date me — are you seeing this right now? or do you need me to spell it out for you? this is a date, babe.”

“it’s not,” you counter weakly. you only (officially) met him today, so, “it’s really not.”

day four.

contrary to what sakura claimed, this is very much not a date — but you’re happy about it.

he keeps a respectful distance between your bodies as you walk, you pay for your own coffee, and you pull your own chair out when you go to sit down. it’s simple, it’s friendly, it’s a bit awkward, but there’s some things you have to sacrifice when making new friends. the croissant you’ve decided on is on the drier side, a little too flaky. you nibble on it anyway in a poor attempt to ignore the silence that has fallen between you once again. this is why you try to meet people through other friends; at least in those situations, you have a buffer, someone who knows you and the other person well enough that they can find connections between you without having to dig. you hate digging — you’re the worst at it, hence the stifling quiet that permeates the air now.

the café is quaint, if a bit moody thanks to the lighting. outside the window, the denver street teems with people, and you decide to survey the passing strangers rather than look at the man sitting across from you. wisps of fluffy white clouds float high above, sometimes passing over the sun. you wish you had your supplies with you — this would make for a wonderful painting.

click!

turning your head, you find yeonjun holding a camera, the lens pointed at…you? you hadn’t noticed it prior, so you are unsure where he got it from. it looks like the same one he had at the park. a bashful smile appears as soon as he places it on the table. “sorry, the lighting was perfect. can’t ever pass up a nice shot.” you study the camera for a moment, and he takes your lack of response as a sign to continue, “once i edit it, i can definitely send you a copy. do you wanna see it?”

a photographer. yeonjun is a photographer. you’re not sure why it’s taken you this long to realize. maybe because you’ve been avoiding him up until now? you think. shaking the thought away, you smile. “i’d love to see it.”

he presses a few buttons, a focused twist to his plush lips, before he’s sliding it over to your side of the table. he’s right: it was a nice shot, and while you don’t often enjoy how you look in photographs, he’s found an angle that highlights your best features as you gaze outside, a slight part to your lips and your eyes wide open, shining. the sheer amount of contrast between the dark café and your warm-lit face scratches an itch in your brain. you can see it now — the golden pigment wetting your brush before being placed on the canvas, being blended into an umber, almost black, but not quite. a splash of umber here, a hint of red there…

“is this your job?” you decide to ask.

the sheepish expression returns in full force, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. he’s proud of his work. “yeah. i’m not, like, famous or anything, but i enjoy it. my mom said that when i was a baby, they put a stethoscope, a gavel, a camera, a microphone, and a test tube in front of me, and i chose the camera, so it was basically meant to be,” he chuckles, but, realizing that you’re staring at him, he pauses for moment. crimson paints the tips of his ears; it’s a color that you’re pretty sure sits in your travel set. “sorry, was that too much?”

“not at all,” you reply softly. “that’s a lovely story, yeonjun.”

“thanks.” shyly, he bites down on his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing it. a beat of quiet passes, then he’s asking, “how about you? what do you do for work?”

for some reason, the question looms over your head like a storm cloud. it’s unavoidable and dark and heavy. a bitter taste fills your mouth, different from the aftertaste of your coffee, but you try not to let your sudden drop in mood show.

“i’m an artist, though i don’t think many people would consider me one nowadays,” you snicker, but the self-deprecating edge to your words is not lost on yeonjun.

wrinkles form in the space between his brows. “what do you mean?”

“i…” you trail off. you should tell him. you should rip the bandaid off and quit avoiding facing it for what it is. “i haven’t finished a piece in months. i feel stuck, almost? like nothing is resonating with me, if that makes sense. it’s the whole reason i went on this trip. it’s humiliating, not being able to draw a single thing without hating it— sorry, that’s definitely too much.”

“no, no, you’re fine,” and he’s sincere in his reassurances. he doesn’t look at you like you’re some sort of failure for how you feel. he doesn’t spew out a hollow apology to absolve him of the weight you’ve transferred to his shoulders, nor does he seem to mind that he’s helping you burden it. his hand reaches over the table, hesitant for a moment, before his fingers curl over yours, his warm skin against yours. you stare at his hand, but you don’t move away from his touch, allowing him to give your hand a delicate squeeze. looking back up, you sit frozen under his gaze. it warms your insides, melts the icy shards solidifying in your lungs that make it hard to breathe. “none of that makes you less of an artist. it’s something every artist goes through — hell, i’ve gone through it, and it’s okay to feel that way. it’s real and it sucks to feel like you can’t accomplish anything, but there’s nothing wrong with it. eventually, it will pass on its own, but until then, it’s not a sin to lean on others for support.”

tears almost, almost prick your eyes. however, you push them down; there’s no way you’re going to cry in public, in front of him. absolutely not. he squeezes your hand one more time, his thumb brushing over yours, before pulling away. “and if no one else will listen, i will.”

“thank you,” you croak out, blinking rapidly, taking a long sip of coffee in order to buy yourself a few precious seconds to cloak your emotions. a calm veil falls over your face soon enough, and while you hate to be the one to change the subject, you feel like you should. “do you want to go on a walk? it’s too nice out to stay in here all day.”

he doesn’t question the sudden change, humming in confirmation as he scoots his chair back. “it really is nice out. do you have any other plans?”

“not really,” you say, pushing the door open. the warm breeze caresses your face. “i’m trying to be spontaneous—”

“y/n!”

sakura and chaewon appear to your left, each carrying a couple bags that look to be stuffed with clothes. you vaguely remember them mentioning going thrifting, but you didn’t know that they’d be in the same part of the city as you. chaewon comes in for a hug, whispering into your ear, “he’s cute.”

glancing up at yeonjun, sakura feigns ignorance, “who’s this?”

thus, your friends meet the one man you’d rather keep them away from, if only to prevent their wingwomen shenanigans. you have zero clue what they have planned, but you’re sure none of it can be good.

“we were just on our way to the botanical gardens,” chaewon sings. “if you’d like to join usss.”

wordlessly, you and yeonjun communicate, only raised eyebrows and tilted chins. somehow, you understand exactly what he’s trying to convey. do you want to? do you? i don’t mind if you don’t. alright, let’s do it.

when you do arrive at the gardens, yeonjun’s fingers find your wrist, holding you back for a moment. his free hand gestures to the camera hanging around his neck. “mind being my model for the day?”

you blink. you, his model? “oh, um. i think chae and kkura are a bit more qualified—”

“no way,” he laughs. “i’m the professional here, and i want you. no one else will do.”

i want you — god, those three, simple words send a visceral shiver down your spine. a want, a need, an overwhelming desire for…you’re not even sure, but something all-consuming blooms behind your sternum like a moonflower in the night. with a coy dip of your head, you smile to yourself, allowing the feeling to surge through your veins, consume every fiber of your being.

“alright, mr. professional. lead the way.”

*:･

it’s early in the evening when you return to the station in a giddy haze, arm looped around yeonjun’s. the photo session had been a success; by the end, you were drunk on the compliments he aimed your way, on the way he treated you like glass as he directed you into a specific pose, the fleeting sensation of his fingertips pressing into your skin burned into your memory.

closing the door to your room, you press your back into it, squeal into your palms like you did when you were sixteen and harboring a silly little crush. because that’s all it is right now, really: a foolish crush on a man that you probably won’t see again after this trip. you can fantasize all you want, but in the end, that’s what it is. those invading negative thoughts get drowned out by the movie playing behind your eyelids — a replay of the day. you swear you can feel every touch of his skin against yours, every ray of sunshine that kissed your skin and gifted you its warmth. scurrying over to your bag, you locate your supplies.

and you begin to paint.

a flurry of lilacs, a blurry figure among them all, defined only by a flowing white button up and brown, wide leg trousers, black streaks of hair and nothing more. yellow daffodils and vibrant emerald sweetgrass take shape, a cerulean sky, fluffy clouds. it’s messy and you kind of hate it, but it’s something. something is on the canvas, it’s dynamic, it has character.

“okay,” you mumble, staring at the brushstrokes, going over them again and again. “okay.”

day five.

“can i draw you?”

a spur of the moment question, borne from the golden sunset gracing his cheeks, highlighting strands of his hair. the day has passed quietly today, mostly spent in your room sketching to your heart’s content. though mostly inconsequential doodles paired with terribly cheesy words of prose that even your most romantic friends would scrunch their noses at, these exercises in creating without a specific goal in mind seem to be helping. a part of that gray fog over your world has been wafted away by an invisible hand, and everything is a bit more vibrant, closer to its true hue; while nothing about your creations are particularly special or groundbreaking, going on this trip is now beginning to prove its worth.

yeonjun’s head tilts, and you shrug. “what? i need practice.”

“okay, as long as you promise to show me afterward,” he challenges, and you immediately shake your head.

“i’m only going to show it to you if it turns out well,” you decide. you think back to the painting sitting in your room, still a bit wet, the paint overworked to hell. that one is staying a secret. it’s not good enough to be known by anyone else — and certainly not by him.

“then no deal.” when you give him a pleading look, he raises his hands. “i show you my pictures, you show me what’s going on in that sketchbook, it’s only fair.”

“fine,” you hiss, fishing your sketchbook from your bag. “get comfortable, and don’t even think about moving.”

“harsh.”

with a suppressed grin, you take in the planes of his face. he’s shifted to face you, intent eyes trained on you, which makes your job harder. gulping, you raise an arm, mapping out his proportions with a thumb. the process of pressing intentional marks into the page is a slow one, exacerbated by his unwavering stare. you have to look out at the mountains every once in a while to allow oxygen back into your lungs, and even then, the action proves difficult. graphite scratching paper is backed by the low murmur of other passengers in the observation car as you work, capturing the fading light that casts shadows across his face. however, your creative juices quickly run out, likely sapped by your painting escapade that extended far into the night. the shape of his eyes isn’t quite right, and no matter how much you erase and try again, there’s always a slight detail off about it. too narrow, too round, too—

the tip of the pencil snaps, the point rolling across the page and falling onto the floor. you curse under your breath.

“is it done?” yeonjun asks, leaning forward. his hands gently take your sketchbook from your lap before you can protest, and you watch as his expression shifts from neutral to slack-jawed.

“that’s…you’re…wow,” he starts, then never finishes. he still hasn’t torn his wide eyes away from the page, flitting around as he drinks in every miniscule detail, while you pinpoint every single thing wrong with the drawing.

“it’s bad,” you deadpan. “give it back, i need to fix it.”

he frowns. you seem to make him do that a lot. “there’s nothing to fix.”

“there’s everything to fix.”

“it’s literally a carbon copy of me,” he counters. “you’re crazy.”

“says the one who can’t see the shape of his eyes right now. the lash line isn’t straight enough at the top, the nose isn’t quite right, the hair lacks form. it’s terrible.”

for the first time since you met him, yeonjun is annoyed. eyes narrowed and dark, he locks his gaze into yours, throws away the key. you can’t move while he tosses the worn sketchbook back into your lap, a hand running through his hair, locks raising with his fingers and flopping back down into his face.

“i know what it’s like to be your own worst critic,” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, standing in direct contrast to his firm expression. “but it’s one thing to be critical of your art, and another to resent it. you’re a wonderful artist, y/n. talented isn’t enough to describe you, but negativity is going to get you nowhere. it holds you back.”

he’s right — you loathe that he is, and you more so hate how he sounds just like jennifer. your nails skirts the fraying edge of the leather cover in your laps, picking at it like you would with skin, peeling cracked flakes off to reveal a soft underbelly of lighter-colored suede. wine red versus warm tan. you feel like you’re being admonished, a child who’s misbehaved. you feel small, but at the same time, you need to hear it. you’ve been coddled enough.

“i used to hate my stuff too, y’know. never thought it was ever that special, but that’s what made me underestimate myself. that’s what made me settle for less, that’s what made me lock my camera away in my closet for the longest time until i felt i was ‘ready’ to use it — but who was i to say i was ready? how do you know when you are? honestly, you don’t. you won’t ever know. all you can do is create and create and hope that you eventually make something that you’re proud of. until then, you keep trying, you figure out what’s working, what isn’t, and go from there. in the end, everything you create is a reflection of you, and that’s the beautiful thing about art. it bares your soul, it strips you down to the rawest parts of yourself that you may despise right now — but it’s still you. and don’t you think you deserve to give yourself some grace?”

his words strike a place deep within you, an ache beginning in the center of your chest and snaking out like the roots of a tree into your stomach and throat. you do deserve some grace, don’t you? you don’t spew venomous words towards your friends or strangers every day, yet you do it to yourself without a second thought. why? you bring yourself and your skills down any chance that you get. why? your art is merely an extension of yourself — is this how you forever want to feel whenever you are drawing? whenever you’re sculpting a piece? no, not at all. your head raises.

“have you ever thought about becoming a public speaker?”

he lets out an incredulous scoff, but there’s still an inkling of teasing in his tone, “is that all you got from my mini speech? i thought it was amazing. life-changing, even.”

“no,” you deny with a tight-chested laugh. “but there’s not much more to add. you’ve said it all for me.”

the passing mountains are purple now, the greenery a muted magenta. in this moment, you decide the yeonjun is an enigma; untouchable, unreachable — standing too close to his bright, technicolor world would burn your muted one to the ground. if you are icarus, then he is the sun sending you plummeting down into oblivion.

but you want to touch him, you want to burn.

you want to feel alive again.

“let me draw you again,” and maybe it won’t be your best. maybe the slope of his chin will be crooked, maybe the intrinsic sparkle in his eyes won’t be quite right, but there’s a conviction present in your tone that causes him to smile.

day six.

“are you really trying to have a dick measuring contest with the seals right now?”

san francisco’s iconic pier 39 is abustle with tourists, but you and yeonjun are currently at the very back of the pier, where seals soak in the sun on little wooden docks constructed just for them. at the moment, yeonjun is trying to out-seal the seals with loud barks and hoots, mimicking their distinctive sounds. yeonjun is still making noises, people are starting to stare, and you are beginning to want to climb over the wooden fence and jump straight into the ocean.

“yeonjun, please stop,” you plead, hands gripping the sleeve of his t-shirt, yet he doesn’t stop, honking back at the seals once they respond. you tug a bit harder. “c’mon, people are staring. the seals don’t care how loud you are, you’re not proving anything.”

“i’m proving a lot of things right now, actually,” he quips before he’s going back to making noises that are unbecoming of a human being. this feels like a cruel form of exposure therapy.

you try pulling at his sleeve again. “c’mon, yeonjun.” and again. “yeonjun!”

“okay, okay, i’ll stop,” he cackles, turning to face you. he’s close — too close to be considered platonic. his hands could come up and hold your waist right now, pull you closer into his chest. it causes you to take a step back, and it’s as if he can sense the heat radiating from your cheeks, leaning down towards you with a smirk. “you embarrassed?”

“of course i’m embarrassed,” you hiss. “how are you not?”

shaking his head, his grin grows impossibly wider. “if i buy you lunch, will you forgive me?”

pretending to think, you look off to the side, then back to him. of course you will. “maybe.”

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs as he falls into step next to you. the air is much cooler here than at your other stops, a gray blanket of fog rolling in on the horizon that cuts into the clear blue sky. he sends you a hopeful look as he asks, “y’feeling clam chowder?”

with a tiny shrug, you confess that you’ve never had it before. with a dramatic hand placed against his chest, he gasps, “you live in the northeast, and you’ve never tried it? that has to be some sort of crime.”

chowder hut is his restaurant of choice, a circular, well, hut that sits by its lonesome across from the infamous pier. it’s a place he used to go when he lived in san jose and took day trips here with his cousins, he claims. the restaurant holds a lot of fond memories for him, this whole city does. you wonder what those memories entail.

“i got you a small one in case you don’t like it,” yeonjun says as soon as he returns with your food. a tray is placed in front of you: a round sourdough loaf carved into to create a bowl, filled with cream-colored, steaming-hot chowder thick with chunks of potatoes, pieces of bacon, and, of course, clams. digging a spoon in, you take your first bite — clean, briny, slightly sweet, bursting across your taste buds like tiny little firecrackers. your eyes widen at the taste, buzzing in delight against the spoon poised to your lips. he grins. “it’s good, right?”

you hum in agreement, swallowing another spoonful. you’re crazy for never having tried this before. twenty-four years of living, and you had no idea what you were missing out on. you’ve missed out on a long of things, it seems, but you’re beginning to catch up on them with the help of yeonjun — as well as sakura and chaewon, of course. you could never forget about them.

“you’re forever going to be connected to clam chowder in my mind now, i hope you know that,” you say, tearing into the walls of the bread bowl. the remnants of the salty chowder have soaked into the bowl, mixing perfectly with the tanginess of the bread. yeah, you wouldn’t forget this in a million years; it’s too delicious to forget.

“you do that too?” he asks. you send him a questioning glance. “like, connect people to food.”

“yeah, i guess i do,” you ponder. “my mom reminds me of this one dish she always made me as a kid. my best friend reminds me of wine, since that’s what we drank when we first met. it’s also her favorite. and now you…remind me of clam chowder.”

he chuckles, “great, i’ll always be the clam chowder guy to you.”

you giggle back. “it’s not a bad title to hold. you could be, i don’t know, the terrible clam chowder guy.”

“fair enough. i’ll take it,” he declares before he shoves the last piece of his bread bowl into his mouth. his cheeks puff out, similar to a chipmunk, and you resist the urge to chuckle at the image in your head. “now that i think about it, i don’t do it with just people — a lot of my fondest memories are connected to food, too. something human about it, y’know? food is its own form of love. or, at least, i think it is.”

“no, i completely agree. there’s something special about sharing food with others — it’s kinda intimate, i guess? especially if you’re cooking for someone, those are some of the most vivid memories for me.”

nodding along with you, he’s leaning forward, elbows resting against the table. the corners of his lips quirk up. “you get it. the intimacy of it, i mean. my mom has always said that food is the best way to a person’s heart — food brings people together. it’s amazing.”

“yeah,” you beam. “it really is.”

for a moment, conversation ceases, the two of you smiling at each other, leaning forward over the table. your mouth opens to speak, but a loud caw draws your attention away from his hypnotizing eyes. you watch a seagull swoop in to harass a man that sits two tables over, his glasses skewed on his face as he tries to keep the bird from stealing his food. arms wave everywhere while the seagull screeches at him, flapping its wings on top of the man’s head. after a brief second of shock, the sight has you nearly doubling over with laughter, unflattering shrieks sounding from your throat. it takes a minute for your giggles to subside. while you wipe a tear from your lash line, you look back at him — and freeze.

he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, chin supported by his palm. his mouth curves into something serene and fond, hooded eyes scanning your face as you stare back. you’re no longer smiling, mouth parted as you wait for him to say something, anything. he doesn’t, so you move to break the intense air brewing between you.

“is…is something wrong?” with a flinch, his eyes blink rapidly for a second, coming back into focus. he sits up straighter, leaning into the back of his chair.

“i just— nevermind. sorry, spaced out there for a second,” his chin dips towards his chest before rising again, the tips of his ears flushing cherry. he looks nervous, almost. “um, if you’re up for it later, we could grab dinner at this korean restaurant i used to go to? it reminds me a lot of my parents. i think you’d like it.”

while you’d rather ask where his head is at right now, what he was going to say before he stopped himself so abruptly, you say, “i’d love that.”

*:･

he was right, you do like it.

the restaurant is cozy, a little hole-in-the-wall in the heart of the city where less tourists roam. the food is delicious, flavorful meats and fluffy rice and various veggie side dishes that you can’t stop eating. as he snaps some photos of the place, he tells you the decor reminds him of restaurants in seoul, of the mom-and-pop shops he’d frequent there. that at some point or other, some of the owners would start recognizing him when he came in and gave him extra food free of charge.

“so you lived there for a while? in korea?” you ask as you watch him some meat for the two of you to share. the action is second nature to him, each piece staying on the grill for the same amount of time, flipped only once. you bring a piece to your mouth — it’s perfectly cooked.

“i was born there, in a town near seoul,” he says through a mouthful of rice. “moved around a bit, but i lived in seoul for most of it ‘til i was eighteen. then i moved to new york for college, but dropped out after two semesters to pursue photography. it’s been six years since i moved to the states.”

“you said you lived in san jose for a while earlier.” you tilt your head at him. “when was that?”

“ah,” he starts. “i studied abroad when i was in elementary school and stayed with some family there— do you want some more meat? i can order more.”

your meat supply has dwindled down to two pieces. there’s still room in your stomach, so you nod. “sure.”

he calls over the sole server on shift, speaking to him rapidly in his native tongue. the server glances over at you for a brief second before focusing back on yeonjun. out of their entire conversation, you recognize one word: friend. it’s a term that jennifer taught you a while ago, one that has stuck with you because she now likes to jokingly call you that every now and then. an inside joke between the two of you.

when the server leaves, yeonjun is left a flustered mess. your eyebrows raise. “why’s your face so red? what’d he say?”

“nothing! it’s just from the kimchi! it’s really spicy here,” he quickly claims before he’s gulping down half a glass of water. you, quite frankly, don’t buy it for a second, but choose not to pry.

day seven.

of course, at least one thing has to go wrong on a trip like this. mechanical problems with the train has rendered everyone stuck in the golden city until tomorrow morning, at which another train will take over the rest of the trip. the station is across the bay, so amtrak has given every passenger a voucher to pay for a night’s stay at various hotels across the city — customer’s choice, no less. to be safe, you choose the one closest to the bar chaewon and sakura want to check out tonight. once you told yeonjun where you decided to stay, he used his voucher there as well. he wants to stay near you, he says, to make it easy to find each other.

today, the girls join you and yeonjun at pier 39. they partake in bread bowls, they watch yeonjun embarrass himself at the seal docks, they send you knowing looks when he pays for your food. when yeonjun finds a street performer with a dance mat and wastes no time in starting a battle against the guy, they tell you that he’s trying to impress you.

“he’s not,” you whisper to them. “that’s just how he is. i promise.”

night begins to fall, and they suggest going to a bar for dinner, more for the drinks and not the food. you accept, and in turn, so does yeonjun — though you immediately regret not thinking the decision through more. the bar is dangerous. not in an external hazard sense, but in more of a you’re scared of getting drunk and vomiting your blossoming feelings onto his shoes type of sense. you keep your drinking to a minimum, still on your first drink an hour in. next to you, however, yeonjun is starting to collapse in on himself, hunched over the counter of the bar as his third drink kicks in. a giggle bubbles up from your throat. you never pegged him to be a lightweight.

“let’s get you some water,” you gently suggest, a comforting hand on his shoulder. waving the bartender over, you ask for a glass, helping him sit up and take a sip. his chin falls onto your shoulder this time, eyes hazy as he looks up at you with a dopey smile.

“you’re really pretty, did y‘know that?” he slurs, leaning further into you as an arm wraps around your waist. his barstool screeches across the floor, shifting closer to yours. you freeze as shock fills your veins, nerve endings beneath his touch on fire. he pokes your warm cheek. “s’pretty.”

you blink. hard. “yeonjun, you’re drunk—”

“no ‘m not. ’m perfectly— ‘m perfectly fine,” the words stumble out of his pouty lips drenched in fatigue, his tone whiny and petulant, as he turns in his seat to wrap his other arm around your waist, forehead now sagging against your shoulder. your body stiffens up, tense muscles frozen in place as he continues his delirious ramblings.

“i need to go to the bathroom!” you all of sudden exclaim, attempting to pry his arms off of you. he only squeezes you tighter, whining how you can’t leave here alone. you sigh, patting his hair, “you could wait outside?”

he accepts the offer, but doesn’t remove his arm from your waist as both of you stand. despite his almost six foot tall frame, you are forced to support him as he stumbles along towards the bathrooms and pray that you don’t twist an ankle in the process. when you reach the women’s bathroom, he still doesn’t let go.

“nooo, don’t leave meeee,” he whines, pulling you back into his chest while your hand grips the door handle. calling his name, you slip your hands beneath his and grab them to pull them off of you.

“i’ll be right back, i promise,” you say once you situate him against the wall, his shoulder hunched and his head hanging down towards his chest. you give him a worried pat on his head before disappearing into the bathroom. in reality, you do not have to go. instead, you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your blown out eyes, feeling a scorching heat encase your face and spread down towards your chest. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

you wash your hands once. twice. three times, allowing the cool water to run over your heated skin. you splash some on the back of your neck. calm down. calm the fuck down.

you are, indeed, not able to calm the fuck down before a flurry of knocks reverbates against the door. yeonjun’s voice follows soon after, asking if he can come in, if you’re okay. “why have you been gone for so longggg? i miss you!”

“no! don’t come in!” you yell, glad that all of the stalls are vacant. making your way back over to the exit, you wrench open the door and find him standing there, fist raised in the air as if he was going to knock again.

he blinks once. then, an impossibly wide grin splits his face. “you’re back!”

stepping forward, you allow the door to swing shut behind you. arms wrap around you once again, but this time, you stumble backwards into the wall. when you look up, his face is just above yours.

oh.

oh, fuck.

this feels like a repeat of day one all over again, you trapped under his gaze, but this lacks the distance of that day. the unfamiliarity with each other. his hands haven’t left your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh over your thin dress, while the wall presses into your back. you have nowhere to go, but maybe you’re more drunk than you initially thought, because his lips look very inviting right now. you watch his eyes trail down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. his eyelids hood his dark, hazy pupils. the muscles in his neck contract, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leans closer, an electric attraction between your lips. you tilt your head, eye fluttering shut, moving closer, closer…

“y/n! there you are!”

yeonjun jumps away from you as chaewon rushes up to you. her hands find your shoulders as she cries, “kkura twisted her ankle really bad! can you help me?”

you turn your head towards yeonjun, then back to chaewon, whose wide, rounded eyes plead you to come with her. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s go.”

yeonjun follows close behind, and all you can think of is what would have happened if chaewon didn’t show up. sakura’s ankle ends up being fine, and getting her back to her hotel room isn’t too difficult given the close proximity of the hotel.

*:･

four days. four days you have known yeonjun, but it feels like it’s been years since you met each other. that fact strikes fear into your heart, remembering that the last time that this fast burn of feelings in your heart occurred, you ended up a brokenhearted mess for months. if yeonjun is the sun, his overwhelming heat melting you down into a puddle, then beomgyu was a black hole, all-consuming and ripping pieces of you away when he abruptly up and left. you’re unsure if you can go through that again, but at the same time, yeonjun doesn’t give off the impression of a drifter who wouldn’t tell you he’s leaving until after the fact. he’s a constant, a steady fortress. reliable, enduring.

“good night,” yeonjun murmurs, both of you standing in front of your door.

“good night,” you parrot back, rocking back on your heels, but you don’t really want him to go. knowing that isn’t realistic, you settle for opening your arms up towards him. for the first time, he hugs you good night, his lithe arms wrapping around your waist while he presses a drunken kiss into the crown of your head, and a feeling of being home washes over you.

day eight.

he sits closer to you now. no longer is there a gap that separates your bodies, a full chair between the two of you. now, he sits right next to you, thigh brushing against your own. his hand sometimes finds your knee, never too high on your leg, never uncomfortable. just…there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. neither of you mention what transpired between you last night, his affectionate words, the mere centimeters that separated your lips before chaewon interrupted. nevertheless, an unspoken barrier between you has broken, its bricks torn down by the hands of intoxication — due to alcohol, but also because of each other.

the almost-kiss replays in your mind in a constant loop; the woody citrus of his cologne is still strong in your nose, the warmth radiating from his flushed cheeks a phantom against your skin. you want to talk about it. you want to rip open the memory like a pomegranate for the two of you to share, but you don’t. you don’t know what you would do if you ruined…whatever this is that you and him have going on. he’s become a sort of constant in your life that you don’t think you can live without. you like him; you can admit it now. what you feel is not just a mere attraction anymore, an artistic appreciation for his unique features. he brings out a brighter part of you, a part that has been buried deep into your soul over the years, beneath layers of grime and dirt and negative experiences that you won’t let go of. the gray film over your eyes has been wiped clean by him, him and his beautiful heart he so easily bares to others. his heart that is so full of love — love for being alive, love for others — you wonder if any of that love could ever be for you one day.

he watches you sketch, you let him snap photos of you doing so. you share a small bag of chips, greasy fingers brushing against each other during those times in which you both reach in tandem. for hours, you sit together in a silence that is no longer awkward, but soft and tender. shoulder against shoulder, skin against skin. words aren’t required, your actions speaking for themselves. you bask in it all.

day nine.

the space needle isn’t that impressive.

you’re sure it’s a much better experience when you’re at the top, but yeonjun shares a fear of heights with you, so there’s no way in hell either of you are going up there. instead, you stand beneath it, amongst an ever-moving sea of seattleites and tourists, and wait for chaewon and sakura to come back down from the tall building.

at the beginning of this trip, you’d allow for a few feet of space between your bodies, but slowly, it’s diminished to a scant few inches. you don’t really register this gradual change, as natural as it was. every once in a while, his pinky brushes against yours. neither you nor yeonjun move to do anything about it, either by pulling away or linking them together — a state of limbo that is befitting for a pair of strangers falling for each other. to make the dive into the unknown or to stay on the surface where it’s safe, that is the question.

“how much longer do you think they’ll be?” you ask, staring up at the pointed top of the tower. the sky is gray today, a bit chilly, but it’s an expected sight in washington during this time of year. “i’m getting hungry.”

yeonjun huffs a laugh, lightly elbowing your bicep. “maybe we could grab something real quick. i saw this taco truck nearby—”

“y/n? is that you?”

you’d recognize that deep timbre anywhere. the man that dropped your heart on the floor and vanished from the earth before he could watch the aftermath, the man that you never wished to see ever again.

turning around, you find beomgyu.

your phone slips from your hand, clattering against the concrete — but you can’t bring yourself to check if the screen has shattered. instead, yeonjun grabs it for you, rising with it as he anxiously asks if you’re okay. you don’t answer, too busy staring at the man now standing before you. he’s changed; his shorter hair has grown out past his ears, dyed a warm brown, though his black roots are apparent; soft pastel pullovers and light jeans have been swapped out for black slacks and a dark brown leather jacket, clothing choices more mature than when you last saw him. why is he here? you thought he lived in san francisco — you would’ve been less shocked to run into him there, but in seattle?

“i moved here a few months ago.” shit, did you say that out loud? “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’m on a trip,” you quickly answer, no further explanation leaving your mouth.

he nods nonchalantly. you think you see his eyes flit to yeonjun for a second. “cool, cool.”

“yeah.” why won’t he walk away already? your feet are glued to the cement, jaw tense as you try not to cry. the memory of him texting you that he had left the city and things between you won’t work out come rushing back. why now? how can he show his face to you after all he’s done?

he nods again. “are you here for long?”

“just— just for today.”

“well, i’d love to catch up with you before you leave. i’ve missed you a lot. maybe we could grab dinner tonight?” his smile is soft, hopeful — manipulative, in a way.

“i’m actually pretty busy today,” you begin, but of course, you have no idea how to tell him no. “but maybe if i’m free later.”

“great!” he exclaims, hands now in his trouser pockets. he looks over at yeonjun again, the upward curve of his lips flattening. “i need to get going, but i’ll text you later. you still have my number, right?”

“i think so.”

“cool.” his smile grows excited. “see you later, then.” beomgyu turns to walk away with a confidence in his strut that he didn't have when he lived in new york. when he was dating you. how shameless can he be? soon enough, he disappears into the crowd. blinking, you wonder if that really just happened, turning back toward yeonjun. his jaw is set, eyes still staring at the point where beomgyu vanished. the gray clouds feel suffocating now. the cool air constricts your lungs. you want the cement to open up and swallow you when his hardened eyes turn to you.

“who was that?” yeonjun asks, tone casual, but there’s a…jealous? edge to his question. you’re looking into things too much — there’s no way he’s jealous right now.

“...my ex,” and it hurts you to admit it. his eyes darken as he utters a soft “oh.” you sigh, “yeah.”

he won’t look at you anymore. why won’t he? you didn’t do anything wrong. you had no control over beomgyu showing up. he purses his lips. “are you gonna meet up with him?”

your head shakes on its own, words escaping before you can think about them. “i don’t know, yeonjun.”

“okay.” biting his lip, he turns so that he faces the space needle again, stepping away from you. you feel like strangers again, an ocean of distance between you bodies. “yeah, okay.”

*:･

you don’t meet up with beomgyu.

meanwhile, yeonjun is nowhere to be found. after the beomgyu incident, the two of you waited in tense silence for your other friends to return. he then made up some lame excuse to leave, and didn’t turn back when you called his name. you haven’t seen him for the rest of the day, even when you return to the train. he won’t respond to your texts. eventually, you stop sending them; he obviously needs space for whatever reason, so you will give him it.

the terrible, painful thought of ruining everything you had with him sits in the forefront of your mind, taunting you. the girls try to distract you, showing you silly tiktoks and youtube videos and the like, but you simply offer them a half-hearted huff each time. once you explain what transpired while they were gone, however, their tune changes a bit.

“y/n, i’m going to be very honest, and i need you not to take it personally,” sakura replies. though your head lays on top of your folded arms, you signal that you are listening with a bob of your head. she continues, “your response wasn’t the best. it probably confused him, and now he doesn’t know if you’re still hung up on this guy or not. if one of his exes came up to him while with you, and he told you he didn’t know if he was going to meet up with them later or not, how would you feel?”

“shitty,” you mumble into your forearm.

“exactly. so give him space for now, and when he reaches out, explain and apologize. you owe him that much.” sakura sounds just like jennifer — they’d definitely get along.

“i know. i will.”

the waiter comes around with water, and you order a strong cocktail to go along with your dinner.

day ten.

“has he texted you back yet?” sakura asks for the thousandth time today.

when you shoot her a defeated glare, she gets her answer. no, of course he hasn’t. he hasn’t responded to you since he left. “you said to give him space.”

“yeah, but i didn’t know he’d fall off the face of the earth,” she shoots back. sighing, you tip your head back against the wall next to her bed. a lake passes outside, surrounded by tall grass and trees. small hills rise behind the blue expanse, but you don’t feel the same urge to grab your sketchbook and translate the view onto the page anymore. it’s funny, how easily one person can affect your mood, turn everything upside down with the mere lack of his presence in your life.

“he just needs time.” chaewon opens a can of soda with a pop! and takes a sip. “maybe it affected him more than we realize.”

“‘cause that makes me feel sooo much better.” sarcasm drips from your voice. “i’m such a fucking idiot.”

there’s a half-day stop in glacier national park tomorrow. will you see him, or is he going to avoid you for the rest of this trip? will you ever see him again? the emotions that swirl within you are reminiscent of how you felt before you met him. that grayness. that sinking sensation festering in your chest that claws it’s way down into your stomach and shreds it apart. you said that you wanted to burn, you wanted it to hurt, but this feels all too fast. too much.

sakura makes a noise in disagreement. “no, it shows that he cares about you. you just have to make sure you clear things up with him, and tell him that you like—”

“if you’re going to tell me that i need to confess my feelings to him, i really don’t think i can do that.”

“why?” chaewon prods. “what’s stopping you? he obviously likes you too.”

beomgyu. beomgyu is the fucking reason why. you can’t bare your heart to someone again, lest you get hurt all over again. after all that has happened, if yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate, it will confirm your worst fears — that you aren’t built to receive love, no matter how hard you try to mold yourself into a person that is deserving. dread churns in your stomach, rises into your throat like bile, acidic and fervid, as thoughts of worst case scenarios where you pour your heart only to hear “sorry, i don’t feel the same way.” you can’t do it. you can’t allow yourself to spiral again. however, you don’t divulge your reasons for holding back, remaining silent as you trace the patterns on the ceiling.

after a deep, shuddering sigh, you give them a three word explanation: “i don’t know.”

day eleven.

stepping off of the train into fresh air sharpens your dulled senses. the national park is beautiful, for lack of better words; thickets of trees spreading out in all directions as far as the see. the sun is rising over the mountains that stretch high above your head — you’re starting to enjoy this view more than the lifeless skyscrapers that await you back home. the train station looks more like a little lodge than an actual station, but you appreciate its quaint character. reddish-brown wood makes up the majority of the small-scale building. it looks like a place where people would spend the night in, with a warm, cozy fireplace in the wintertime, and wide open windows in the summer to allow the refreshing breeze to waft in.

meandering down the path behind the station into a field of tall grass littered with bunches of tiny, white flowers, you begin to reflect on everything that has happened on this trip. originally, you went on this stupid trip with the goal to find inspiration, and last night you had a very important realization: yeonjun is that something — you started drawing again because of him, you started looking on the bright side of things because of him, and most important of all, you fell for him. you didn’t just fall for him in the way an artist falls for their muse, no. you fell for him as a person. getting to know him has been one of the best parts of your trip, but now all of that has gone down the drain because yeonjun hasn’t responded to you in over twenty-four hours and you have not a clue what to do to try to make things right. if he doesn’t wish to speak to you, then that’s that. it’s over. whatever momentum this fleeting relationship had has been effectively pummeled into the dust that would blow away with even the gentlest of breezes.

you wish you could appreciate this view more. your paints sit in your backpack back in your room, out of sight so that you don’t have to think about them, nor hear their pleas to be used. although you now know why you lack the drive to paint and draw and generally create once again, no clear-cut solution to your problem comes to mind. instead, you wander through the grass towards a large, squatty boulder, climb on top of it, and plop down. your knees curl up towards your chest while your arms wrap around them, fingers tracing random patterns against your shins. fatigue solidifies in your bones, but the tranquility of the early morning the quiet tucks a blanket of peace over your body, swaddling the edges around you, cocooning you in.

you sit there, taking in the sounds and sights of nature, for hours. the chirping of birds sings a melody over the whisper of trees in the breeze. a deer leaps across the open field, disappearing into the trees, her fawn following close behind. bighorn sheep graze in the distance, their circular horns reminding you of cornucopias.

the rustle of trees and grass obscure the sound of approaching footsteps from your ears. it’s not until yeonjun begins to climb onto the boulder that you notice him. you hug your legs tighter to your body as he sits next to you, but not too close. an invisible wall separates you. he does not look remotely near your direction, his focus far out in the trees. staring at him, you wonder what to say. i’m sorry? i have feelings for you?

“i never met up with him.”

he still doesn’t spare you a glance. assuming he wants you to continue, you do. “i don’t know why i said what i said, but it was shitty of me to put you in that position, and i wanted to say that i’m sorry. i was just shocked, i guess. to see him. he ruined my perception of a lot of things, jjun.” jjun. that’s a new one. you are quite unsure where it came from, it slipped out before you could think. no matter, he’s looking at you now, and it’s your turn to look out towards the horizon. “trust, commitment, love…”

his gaze burns into your temple. you take a deep breath, fingers clenching the fabric of your jeans. “they’ve all been ruined for me. it’s hard for me to trust anyone after what he did. i’m terrified that the people i grow close to will wake up one day and leave me without a word. i’m scared that i’ll never get the closure i deserve when they do. worst of all, i’ve stopped believing that love is in the cards for me, like there has to be something wrong with me for him to have left me like that—”

“don’t. don’t you dare say that about yourself.” whipping your head around, you finally meet eyes for the first time in nearly two days. they aren't soft like they usually are when they look at you, but hardened, guarded. “there’s nothing wrong with you. you have every right to be hurt, and he’s honestly a piece of shit for doing that to you, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone that comes after him will be just like him.”

“i know, and i’m sorry. i know you’re not like him.” he doesn’t respond, and you begin to chew at the inside of your cheek. you watch an ant crawl its way across the rock beneath you. the small insect disappears over the edge.

silence. you begin to count the seconds. one, two, three, four—

“i’m sorry for not texting you back. i just needed time to think about things. a lot of things,” he starts. “i felt weird, for some reason. didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “no, i understand. i forgive you.”

important words remain unspoken, but both of you refuse to address them. instead, his hand finds yours, he links your fingers with his, and both of you peacefully watch the sheep graze across the field.

day twelve.

not everything is fixed yet.

despite being on speaking terms again, strain pulls your relationship taut. the unspoken words from yesterday hang heavy in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to give them a voice. you want to. your voice won’t work every time you try.

sitting next to yeonjun on his bed, you scroll through various forms of social media, bookmarking work that you find particularly interesting in between catching up on your friends’ posts. jennifer has been thoroughly caught up on what’s been going on after a long overdue apology for not responding to her texts. she understood, of course she did. she’s known you long enough to know how you can shut down whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed.

“i’m proud of you for telling him. i know it’s hard for you to share, honey,” she cooed to you over the phone last night. “but you need to tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

you know that. you know damn well that once you get off this train, it may all fall apart, a budding romance distinguished by reality. there’s no security, no safety net for you to fall into if you take the leap, and while he showed you an inkling of how he felt yesterday, who’s to say he’ll feel that way tomorrow? the next day? are you willing to tear your heart open for him to consume if there’s still a chance of him throwing it away when all is said and done?

you don’t know the answer to that question. honestly, you don’t know the answer to a lot of those questions, stuck in this state of self-imposed purgatory. to rise or fall, what is the best choice? you don’t fucking know.

“is that yours?” he asks from over your shoulder, at a ceramic piece in your feed made by one of jennifer’s acquaintances. his breath snakes warmly over the expanse of your neck due to his proximity, his head so close you could turn and just kiss him—

stop it.

“oh, no. um.” you shift away from him slightly. distance. some distance feels more comfortable right now. “i don’t sculpt. i just paint, and draw.”

he makes an ahhh of understanding, leaning back onto his palms, the mattress sinking down with his weight. he’s staring at you like he expects something from you. what shall you give him? when you don’t say anything further, he does.

“can i see some of yours, then?” it’s an innocent enough request. rather than simply press on your account, your fingers move on their own until you reach your gallery. why? are you really about to bare your soul to him? you guess so, because he’s gently taking your phone from your fingers after gaining quiet permission from you.

he asks you questions as he pulls up certain pieces. the thought process behind each one, what made you do this, place that color there, how you came up with the composition, what the meaning of it all is. you try your best to explain each one. sometimes, your choices were the product of spontaneity. you thought yellow would look nice at that spot, so you put some there. her nose is crooked because it gives the piece more character. the color of the drapes in the background are blue for no particular reason other than the fact that your reference photo had blue drapes. you continue in a cycle of question, answer, question, answer, and some of your answers are more emotional than others. you remember where you were, both physically and mentally, when making all of these. you remember the ones you made when you were having a bad day, the ones where you felt like you were on the top of the world.

then, he pulls up one that you wish he didn’t. it was buried so deep into your gallery that you have no idea how he found it — your most dreaded hyperrealism piece: a woman lays on her back, hair fading into the foreboding, void-like background. her face is twisted up into an abject sadness, a deep-seated pain that even now, you have no idea how you captured so vividly. her veiny left hand is splayed next to her head, thin crimson threads tied to each finger so tight that she has begun to bleed. the strings fall limp beside her, severed from their counterparts that meander off of the canvas. more red threads loop their way around her neck, pulled taut as if to choke her — and to her throat, she holds a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, hand gripping the metal tight enough to pale her knuckles.

it’s dark. it’s terribly dark and you wish he never saw it. why did he have to see it? why did he have to choose that one? the world tilts on its axis as he stares down at the picture of your most soul-baring work, though you think it would be worse if he saw the actual painting in person.

“what’s the story behind this one?” he asks quietly. your lungs expel all air, and you’re left gaping for more. breathe, come on, you have to breathe. your inhale is shaky, shuddered. breathe. say something.

“that one…” your voice trails off into something quiet. scared. “i made it when i was in a really— really dark place mentally, um. i made it mostly because—”

he’s looking at you now, concern shining in his irises, but you push on.

“because i stopped believing in fate.”

while you could say more, you stop yourself there. you hate digging — digging into your deepest fears and emotions that you keep locked behind a wall so that you never have to feel them. a pandora’s box sits in the center of your heart, wrapped with chains to keep them imprisoned. somehow, though, you think yeonjun knows what you really want to say: you meeting each other wasn’t fate to you, but a gross series of coincidences, and when he asks if you think so, you simply nod.

“but out of everyone on this train, i met you. i got to know you — shouldn’t that mean something? can’t that be considered fate?” he presses. something akin to desperation laces his words, an urgency you’ve never heard from him.

it sure feels like fate, doesn’t it? after all of those times that you ran into him, how he found you in the observation car when it was just you in there, how your feelings have unfolded like taking apart a paper crane in the short nine days you have known each other — it feels like it should be fate, you want to admit that all of it does seem like the universe’s divine intervention. maybe you running away was really just you trying to deny your fate to meet yeonjun while on this train. maybe him finding you was fate, an apology from whatever is above for what they put you through a year and a half ago.

“i think—” you hesitate. “i think so. it’s hard for it not to when i feel like i’ve known you my entire life.”

and you sit there and he’s smiling at you like you just created the earth with your bare hands. chicago passes outside the window. the sun shines high in the sky over the high rises, glints across glass panes and into his room. all you have is one more day on this train, and most of it will be spent sleeping tonight. he’ll wait for you tomorrow, right? would he wait for you forever?

“you know, i tell most people that my name is daniel.”

tilting your head, you echo, “daniel?”

he hums as he scoots a bit closer, planting his feet on the floor next to yours and leaning forward. his knees support his elbows as he stares down at the floor. “it’s my english name. i used it when i was in college, i use it for my work, but for some reason, when i met you, my actual name, my given name, came out instead. call me silly, but i think my heart knew you’d become someone special to me. i wanted you to use my actual name — the one my parents call me. the one my closest friends call me.”

“oh.” why does your chest feel so tight right now?

he sucks his lips behind his teeth for a moment. “yeah.”

sitting there, you wonder how you should respond to that. words expelled like an exhale of air, colliding with each other in front of your eyes, unable to be unscrambled by your mind. this time, it’s you who reaches over, closing the distance between you with a hand over his. his palm flips open to meet your own, your fingers linking together like matching puzzle pieces. you take a deep breath, and squeeze.

“thank you,” you whisper. thank you for being here. thank you for helping me find myself again.

day twelve (point five).

“i’m gonna miss you guys so much!”

chaewon is basically on the verge of tears at this point, constantly blubbering how she is going to miss hanging out with you every day as she pulls you and sakura in for a hug over and over again. sakura laughs as she pulls away for the thousandth time this afternoon. “girl, it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna meet up for coffee soon, right?”

she looks towards you, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “right. i’ll invite my friend too. she said she’d love to meet you guys.”

chaewon’s pout doesn’t vanish, but she looks a little less emotional after all of your reassurances. blinking back the remnants of her tears, she nods with a watery “okay.”

you bring her in for one more hug while sakura asks, “have you seen him yet?”

“no, i haven’t heard from him since last night.” your teeth worry your bottom lip, peeling a piece of raised skin off. the sensation stings.

her lips purse sympathetically, a hand being placed on your shoulder. “i doubt he’d leave without saying something to you, don’t worry. he has to be around here somewhere.”

“yeah, you’re probably right.” as chaewon pulls away, you check your phone again. no texts or calls yet. doubt ricochets around in your brain, but you know yeonjun; he wouldn’t do that to you.

“i’d love to wait with you, but my manufacturer is pissed i didn’t call them back yesterday, so i should get going,” sakura admits with an apologetic smile. her fingers squeeze your shoulder one time before her arm drops back to her side.

“i should go too,” chaewon sadly adds, kicked puppy eyes in full effect. “my cat is waiting for me. my friend said she was a little demon the whole time i was gone.”

“it’s okay,” you laugh, shooing them away jokingly. “you guys can go. i’ll be fine.”

with a last group hug, they grab their suitcases and head towards the hallway that connects the train station to the subway lines. sakura twirls around, walking backwards as she calls, “keep us updated! we need to know everything,”

“of course!” you yell back, grin widening. chaewon turns back too to wave, and you wave back. eventually, the crowd swallows them up, and you are left alone to wait. a few minutes pass, and you realize that this sea of people will likely make it impossible for either of you to find each other. his contact is pulled up on your phone, your thumb hovering the call button. you look around one more time—

and he’s standing right there, mere feet in front of you, in all of his glory, long hair still flopping into his face, eyes still dreamy and all-consuming. you stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other with stupid, goofy grins overtaking your faces. long legs carry him over to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in his arms and pulled into his strong chest. you bury your head into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“thank god,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “i thought you might have left already.”

pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous stare. “what in the world made you think that? i was waiting for you.”

his ears tint an opaque red, the raised apples of his cheeks flushed a similar hue. he’s bewitching, and despite knowing that since the very first day — the day that you drew him for the first time — there’s so much more to him than looks to you now. he’s beautiful in both body and soul, in heart and head. one hand removes itself from your middle to cup your jaw, steadying your gaze with yours. your heart pounds, knees weak like a newborn doe’s as he stares deep into your eyes. blinding are the emotions swirling in his dark irises, but it doesn’t burn anymore. it’s more like the caress of the sun in the springtime, bright yet gentle in its own right.

“this feels long overdue for me to say,” he begins, eyes closing as if to steel himself. when he opens them again, resolve has been added to the mix. “but i have feelings for you. i’ve never fallen for someone so quickly. i’ve never met someone like you, and i just— i knew, from the very day that i saw you, that we’d have something to do with each other. and then we kept running into each other, and i just thought wow, this has to be—”

“yeonjun,” you call, interrupting his ramblings. he pauses, eyes wide and anticipatory, as your hand moves up to cover his on your jaw. you can’t help the tremble in your lips as you speak. “i feel the same way.”

his lips purse, hiding a smile, before he surges forward and embraces you for a second time. the pure, unadulterated joy that the action brings you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you’re almost…sad, when he pulls away.

“can i take you out on a date?”

the question throws you off kilter, and you have to catch yourself before you fall face first into his chest. “like, right now? with our suitcases and everything?”

“i’ve done much worse,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair, only for the locks to fall back down into his eyes. “but i meant later today, maybe? around six? i have to go take care of some things i neglected before i left.”

“that sounds wonderful,” you gush. despite your best efforts in keeping your excitement to a minimum, you bounce up onto your toes for second, heels sinking back onto the floor. you swear he mumbles a quiet “cute” under his breath before he’s slipping his hand into yours.

“perfect,” he beams, before he playfully continues. “shall we be off to the subway then, my lady?”

giggling, you fall into step next to him, your arm swinging with his between you. “we shall.”

*:･

he’s right on time to pick you up, dressed casually but not too casually. a cool beige, short-sleeved button-up is tucked into a pair of straight-legged black jeans that stop at his waist. the chunky converse on his feet cause him to be a bit taller than usual. evidently, he is distracted by his phone, head ducked down as he waits for you to show up.

“yeonjun!” you call out, causing his head to snap up. once he does, you find that he’s somewhat styled his hair back — most of it has been swooped back towards his ears. a few strands fall into his face, but his forehead is fully exposed, and he looks…amazing. sometimes, you wish you were a poet instead, because then you’d have the words describe what you were feeling, what you were seeing. his jaw drops at the sight of you, dolled up in a jean skirt and frilly tank top over a thin long sleeve, your makeup soft and flattering to your features.

“hi,” he breathes, and you repeat the greeting back to him. “you look…wow.”

“thanks,” you, biting your glossy lip. as his focus flits down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh, you shyly smile, releasing it. a shock runs through you, new and carnal and it warms your stomach when he bites down on his own lip for a split second. “um, i know we didn’t really talk about where we were going to go, but there’s a thai place down the street from here, if you wanna go there? it’s my favorite.”

“of course,” he accepts, offering his arm to you. you loop your own through, standing close to him with your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow. “lead the way.”

now that neither of you feel the need to skirt around your feelings, silence no longer lingers between pauses in conversation — both of you are able to pick it back up with ease. you meant it when you said that you feel like you’ve known him your whole life, and it reflects in the way you banter with him without worry or care. it’s…nice, freeing, not having to think too hard about what you’re about to say. natural. everything with him feels so natural.

when both of you are sated, in both terms of food and conversation, he offers to walk you back to your apartment. the sun is beginning to set, and the sky has faded into a wash of rosy pink. the hue reflects the giddy feeling churning in your chest, rendering you light-headed and dizzy and fuck you just want to kiss him—

and he does. standing in front of your apartment building, he swoops down and captures your lips with his. slow, unhurried, his lips taste sweet like thai tea and are as soft as clouds. no one leads the other, no one moves to deepen the kiss. no, instead, you and yeonjun savor the taste of each other, the syrupy, vertiginous feeling of your first kiss together. when he pulls away, his lips have a slightly swollen quality to them, though you’re sure own look the same. you don’t want him to leave yet. you want more, you want something carnal and irrepressible that, by the way he’s looking at you, he wants too. playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, you pant against his lips. “come inside with me, please?”

soft eyes darken, and he takes your breath away once more with another kiss, hands squeezing your waist. once he separates your lips from his, he rests his forehead against yours. nerves flutter in your stomach. “okay.”

you find it terribly difficult to keep your hands off of him as you unlock your door, as it shuts behind you. for a minute, you stand there, waiting for something, anything to happen — then he’s crowding you in against your door and his lips are on your again. although there remains an air of softness, urgency fills the gaps where your lips don’t quite meet as they meld together, his tongue slipping into your mouth to curl with your own. your shoulder blades press into the cool wood of your door, the warmth of his body against your front a dizzying contrast to your scattered mind — but you want more. you want him.

when he slips a knee between your legs and knocks them apart, you let him. when he presses that knee into your core, encourages you to grind against it, you let him, you listen. whining into his mouth, you tug at his shirt, at his belt loops, his hair — anything you can get your hands on, you’re pulling at it, grinding down harder as his jeans rub your soaked panties against your aching pearl. a cry rips itself from your throat, mouth leaving as your head is thrown back against the door. “y-yeonjun—”

“patience, love. i’m gonna make you feel good,” he mumbles as he ravages your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. his hands have snuck beneath your shirt and smooth over your stomach up to the cups of your bra, squeezing the flesh over the fabric. as you raise you arms, he helps you pull your top off, the article thrown onto the floor without ceremony or care. his hands loop behind your back, fiddling with your bra clasp. “can i?”

“please,” you keen, and he wastes no time in doing so, expert fingers sliding the straps down your arms until your bra, too, lays on the floor. lips find your right nipple, enveloping the pebbled flesh in a warm wetness that causes your back to arch into him. one hand pulls you into him, while the other tweaks your other tit. his teeth graze it, and the stinging edge of painful pleasure causes you to shiver. he hums, vibrations causing you to moan his name louder, plead for him to do more. leaving your breast, his mouth kisses and laps at the skin of your stomach. down, down, down, until he drops to his knees in front of you, swiftly unzipping your skirt and pulling it off of you. lips find your thighs, biting down lightly, and you squeak, hand finding his hair and pulling. he looks up at your through his lashes, absolutely depraved and almost drooling for more. you gulp, legs almost giving out under you as you smooth your hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have fallen into his face back. “can we— can we move to the bed?”

immediately, he stands, pulling you behind him before he’s placing you onto the edge of your bed with great care. before he can fall to his knees again, you curl your shaking fingers into his shirt. “take this off? i wanna see you.”

with a huff of a chuckle, he does as you ask, revealing a toned stomach, broad shoulders, muscled arms. your tongue darts across your lips as you drink him in, causing him to smirk. “like what you see, pretty?”

“y-yes,” you stutter out, quiet and wanting and full of lecherous need. your thighs attempt to squeeze together in order to provide some relief to your pulsating core, but his legs stop them from fully closing. his fingers find your jaw, squeezing the flesh. your cheeks heat up.

“so fucking cute.” the praise sends a white hot streak through your stomach and into your center. your face is on absolute fire now, vision growing hazy around the edges as you watch him sink down between your thighs, your panties quickly discarded to reveal your center to his eyes. two fingers trace your folds before dipping beneath them to find your entrance. his eyes widen at what he finds, fingers coming back up coated in your wetness, glinting against his fingertips and knuckles in the light streaming in through your windows. “you’re so wet, baby. this all for me? a little kissing got you this needy?”

“mhm— oh,” you gasp when he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking on them lewdly as he refuses to tear his gaze from yours. he moans at your taste, hot tongue swiping up the remnants that accidentally smeared onto the corner of his lips once he removes his fingers. his smirk returns, hands sliding under your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth. you sit up on your elbows to watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, hands holding you open for him. there’s nowhere for you to hide, as he traces your folds with his tongue, dipping into your entrance and swiping up to your clit. crying out, your fingers find his hair in an ironclad grip. he groans against your pearl, your hips bucking up into his face before his arms snake around each thigh and hold you still. he alternates between circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it between his plush lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he loses himself in your taste. meanwhile, you’re already so close to the edge, you can feel your walls begin to clench around nothing, your hips jumping up as far as he allows. as he dips down to your entrance, his nose bumps against your clit, but his tongue is back in no time to continue its assault on your poor little clit. “jjun, ‘m gonna, please, ‘m gonna—”

“cum,” he mumbles against you. “cum f’me, pretty girl.”

with his permission, your head falls onto your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your vision spots white. cries pour from your lips like honey for him to drink, but you never quite come down fully. rather, he keeps circling his tongue against your clit through your high, and as your orgasm subsides, another one already begins to build. tears prick your eyes as you plead, “jjun, no, can’t, i can’t, nonono— i can’t!”

“yes, you can,” he murmurs, removing his arm from your right thigh. his lips don’t leave your clit as you feel two fingers slip into your soaked entrance, smoothly thrusting in and out and curling up into your upper wall until he finds that soft spot inside you that has your voice shattering into shards of moans and staccato wails. he groans against you as he feels your walls clench, the pace of his fingers unforgiving as he coaxes another mind-shattering orgasm from your body. your fingers flutter around his walls, watery hiccups torn from your throat. this time, he slows down, helps you ride out your high, before he removes his fingers, licking his lips of your essence as he does. climbing onto the bed, he hovers over you, taking in your spit-slick lips and tear-lined eyes. he wipes the tears away with gentle motions, cooing when you whine. he sits there until you come back to him, lucidity shining in your eyes as you blink them open. smiling, you pull him in for a languid kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before he pulls away.

when he caresses your cheek with his thumb, asking you if you’re okay, you lean into his touch, “mhm, want you to fuck me.”

“i can do that,” he laughs, causing you to reciprocate. standing, he slips his jeans and boxers down his thighs until he’s left in nothing, hardened cock veiny and flushed an angry red. you think it’s an average length, on the thicker side, the girth causing your mouth to water. as he runs his hands up your thighs, he asks, “d’you have any condoms, love?”

while you’d rather him fuck you raw, you know it’s safer this way. you point towards your nightstand. “there.”

as he fetches one, you scoot into the middle of the bed, watching him roll it on before he returns between your thighs, pumping his cock once, twice, lining it up with your entrance. his free hand grips your waist, watching as you move your hips to try to slide him into you. smirking, he presses his hips forward, cockhead dipping past your entrance. both of you moan at the sensation. slowly, he works his cock into you, little rolls of his hips until he’s seated fully within you, hips flush against your pelvis.

“move,” you whine. “please move.” and that’s all it takes for him to swiftly pull out and slide back in again. as he thrusts into you again and again, his movements grow rougher, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot each time. moaning, you reach up towards him, forcing him to lean over you so you can kiss him again, swallowing each other’s sounds. he’s just as loud as you, praises falling naturally between his breathy moans.

“feel s’good, baby. so fuckin’ tight and wet f’me. so unreal. d’you feel good, too?” he coos against the shell of your ear, warm breath curling against your necks. your walls clench around him at his desperate sounds.

“s-so good, jjunie,” you hum, feeling your third high of the night approaching. the knot in your stomach grows tighter as his thrusts grow sloppy, chasing his high as much as you are. a thumb moves down to rub your sensitive clit, quick little circles against the bud until your limbs are locking up, quaking as you finally cum around him. a few seconds later, his high hits him as well, his hips quivering as he spills into the rubber with a loud groan.

slowly, he pulls out, ridding himself of the condom and soon returning to the bed to plop down next to you. arms pull you in close as you both pant and grin tiredly at each other, basking in the quiet that permeates the air, and he stares at you, dulcet eyes boring into yours.

“what’re you thinking about?” you decide to ask, poking the center of his sweat-beaded forehead. taking a moment to respond, he pulls you even closer so that your noses almost touch.

“it’s just— there’s this concept in korean — inyeon,” the timbre of his voice raises slightly as he switches to his native tongue, and lowers again when he switches back to english. “that, um, it means…”

his cheeks are growing the slightest bit pink, a shade that reflects the cotton candy clouds that float past your windows. squeezing his hand, you silently urge him to continue, soft gaze finding his own. a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, his jaw, naked skin pressed against naked skin. together, whole, one.

he starts again, “there’s no direct translation, but it basically is fate. strings of fate. i truly believe the universe has connected us in some way, whether it be through some invisible red string or another force. and i know, i know what you said about fate, but i can’t stop thinking about how we found each other. there’s something beautiful about starting off as strangers and getting here. i don’t know, i’m just rambling at this point,” he chuckles, burying his nose into the pillow under his head. “i’ve just never felt this way about someone before. i’m sorry.”

with a gentle hand, you cup the side of his face, forcing him to look back at you. “don’t be sorry, that’s beautiful, and i think—” you sigh, blinking back tears that threaten to fall. “i think you’ve changed my mind about fate. i’ve also never felt this way about someone before. i feel like you know me on some level that no one else does. you just. you just get it, and i—”

you don’t think this is quite love yet, but you believe what you’re feeling within your chest, tingling all over your body, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to it. he smiles, whispers a small, soft, “i know,” and lips find lips once more. hands find hands, and you feel alive. you feel like everything that you see is now in vivid technicolor, no longer masked by a veil of gray.

and when you wake up tomorrow, you think that you’re going to start a new painting.

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honeyedmiller · 5 months

Text

Law of Attraction—Chapter Four: Moth to A Flame

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: professor!joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel mid 40’s), no outbreak!joel, plus size!reader, consensual professor / student relations, so much fucking angst, lots and lots of emotions, talks of the struggles of being plus sized, smut (f oral receiving, unprotected piv), arguing, crying, mentions of a terrible past relationship, this chapter is just literal heartbreak. no description of reader other than being plus sized. mood board is for aesthetic purposes only.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: i gotta say, this chapter is kinda self indulgent. had a fwb for two whole years that literally made me go crazy emotionally and I finally willingly ended it this year… so a lot of this is kinda how i felt during my experience w this. also, huge shoutout to @party-hearses for literally holding my hand through this every step of the way. idk what i’d do without you, dude. love you to pieces.

chapter synopsis: there’s only so much you can do as your feelings for joel bubble to the surface.

It’d been around a month since Joel made you the offer.

The offer that made your stomach twist into knots every time you thought about it too much.

You’d pretended everything was fine and that you were okay with the whole ordeal, when in reality, you felt sick every time it crossed your mind.

You could’ve easily just told Joel you didn’t want to go through with it anymore. You knew that.

But something in your heart was tugging and pulling and hoping and fucking wishing he’d change his mind, say fuck the whole friends with benefits thing and just want to be with you.

You could’ve told him no more, but with the way he looked at you like you were the only woman in the world when you were completely vulnerable with him, slotting himself between your legs, pushing into you, an adoring stare with every drag of himself in and out of you—how could you confront him? How could you lose the one thing you had hoped for?

It sounded pathetic. Maybe it was.

There was no denying it anymore, though. You’d fallen hard for the very man that swept you off your feet. But, that’s also the problem—what goes up, must always come down. Your emotions were everywhere, and it wouldn’t be long before you knew you’d start spiraling.

You didn’t want to tell Adrienne how you felt, and it’s not because she’d ever tell you I told you so. No, it was more so the fact that you were too prideful and you didn’t want to show her how vulnerable this has made you—how vulnerable he’d made you.

This is not the woman you used to be.

Maybe there’s something sweet in being soft and allowing yourself to succumb to someone’s desires for you, but not like this. Not to you. You wanted Joel in a way you’re sure he could never accept, and that broke your heart into a million pieces.

To, dare you say, love someone who will never feel the same way was the most gut wrenching, grueling feeling.

You had to tuck away those feelings in a box that you’d shove under your bed and forget about, though, because graduation was coming up in just two days.

Your last finals were today, and despite your mess of emotions and feelings, you were excited to finally graduate. You were proud of yourself for sticking to your goals.

You stared up at the dress you got for graduation, now hanging up on your closet with your regalia. Finding a dress was so much harder than you anticipated, and it made the whole shopping experience miserable.

The only thing that kept you going during that whole try-on process was Joel’s words replaying in your head about how beautiful you were and how much he adored your curves.

While it was nice that he thought that of you, you became disappointed in yourself for allowing yourself to thrive off of his validation. You’d spent so long trying to build your confidence from the ground up to where you didn’t need validation from others to feel beautiful. You were never reliant on anyone to make you feel secure within yourself, and you sure as hell didn’t want to start now.

The drive to school was silent. Soft tunes of a Fleetwood Mac song played over your car speakers as you mindlessly drove to campus. Your first final was in Professor Sanchez’s class, and your last one was in Joel’s. You weren’t particularly looking forward to seeing him today.

You’d been feeling like shit about the whole situation since you both last fucked, which was a couple of days prior at his house. Instead of fucking in his office like usual, he’d invited you over for a drink, following up with mind-blowing sex in his king-sized bed.

You were surprised at first, thinking you’d never see inside the four walls of his sanctuary. It was a lot more homey than you’d anticipated it would be. Lots of family photos on the walls; cozy, worn-in furniture decorated the space in a way that flowed well; big stacks of books and a huge collection of DVDs that surrounded his TV. His neatly made bed was centered in his room, adorned by the ample amounts of the May sun that’d shone through his windows.

You only got to look around his bedroom for a few seconds before his lips were on yours, hands roaming your curves as he undressed you in record time. After he’d fucked you well, he pulled you into his side and caressed your body in a soothing, comforting way.

The sex part of it all wasn’t the complicated thing. No, it was the way he fucking looked at you after you both were catching your breaths, fucked-out, dopey smiles on your faces as you stared at each other. He looked at you with such sincerity and gentleness. There was a passion behind his eyes that sparked every time his eyes scanned your features.

A wanting desire. A carnal need far beyond something that was just friends with benefits. You saw it in his eyes.

This is why you were so back-and-forth with your emotions toward him and this whole situation. It was your way of justifying why you should stay and give this a chance. There was just that little sliver of hope, and that hope is what you clung on to as if your life depended on it. That hope was the only thing keeping you from completely breaking down.

You found yourself aimlessly walking into Professor Sanchez’s class. Everything was a blur. Taking your seat, receiving instructions for your final exam, taking said final exam. It was you simply going through the motions, barely even registering that you’d never step foot into his classroom again.

You had a twenty minute gap between Professor Sanchez’s class and Joel’s. You knew you should at least fuel your brain with a small snack before going into his class, but your stomach was in knots again.

Agreeing to be friends with benefits with Joel was a bad idea. You knew it, Adrienne knew it, and hell, even Joel knew it.

You knew you’d be the one to catch feelings and want more. You hated it. It sucked the fucking life out of you, leaving you a crying mess every night before you fell asleep.

You were so emotionally and mentally exhausted. You felt foolish for thinking even just for a second that you’d be able to change Joel’s mind about your relationship—if you want to even fucking call it that—with him.

You kept your head down when you entered Joel’s classroom. You were a couple of minutes early, but luckily, there were a few other students already seated. You felt Joel’s eyes burning holes into your head, and you shifted in your seat uncomfortably.

Please, for the love of god, stop staring at me.

That’s all that was racing through your mind. You felt your phone buzz, and when you saw Joel’s name on the screen, the knot moved from your stomach to your throat. You felt like you could barely breathe. You just wanted to take your final and get the fuck out of his classroom and away from him.

But then, realization dawned on you. He had no fucking idea how you felt, so you being so stand-offish toward him would only raise suspicion.

You looked at his text.

Everything alright?

You sigh and type back, trying so hard to swallow the goddamn knot in your throat that won’t seem to go away.

Everything’s fine.

Not even a minute later, your phone buzzed again.

Stay after class for a bit.

You wanted to scoff at his text. Sex was not going to fix how you felt. In fact, it would make things even worse.

Can’t. Going out with Adrienne tonight.

You couldn’t help but glance up at Joel, who was looking confusedly down at his phone. He sighed and set his phone down on his desk, chair scraping against the floor as he stood up. He went over the final and the rules, distributing the tests shortly after.

One thing you were grateful for in that moment was your ability to zero in on the test, feelings for Joel and his lingering stare set aside. You’ve come way too far and studied too hard to get distracted now.

You were one of the first few to finish, turning in your test onto his desk. He nearly reached out to grab your wrist to stop you from leaving. He’d seemed to have forgotten where you two were at the moment.

You gave him a warning glance as you slipped your hand abruptly back to your side. He played it off like he was reaching to grab the small stack of finished exams, eyes clouded with confusion as he looked up at you.

You mumbled a thanks, Professor Miller before walking out of his class, thankful to never have to step foot in there again.

You mindlessly swirled the amber liquor around the glass cup you were sipping out of. You truthfully didn’t feel like going out tonight, but Adrienne wanted to celebrate you finally finishing all of your coursework.

She wanted to stay by your side, but a cute man had come up to her and asked her to dance with him. You insisted she go, because you truthfully didn’t want to suck her cheerful mood into your misery.

You downed the rest of your drink and pushed yourself off of the barstool, needing to get out of the thick haze of smoke the bar was currently bathed in. You sent Adrienne a quick text telling her you were getting a breather just in case she came looking for you at the bar.

You rounded the corner of the bar and pressed your back against the cold wall, sending a chill down your spine. The mid-temp air swirled around your body, filling your lungs with gratitude for not having to breathe in machine fog for another second.

You watched as people passed by, laughing and carefree as they stumbled down the sidewalk with arms interlocked or shoving their friends playfully while boisterously laughing at a joke someone said.

You sighed as you felt tears stinging your eyes, wishing so badly you were able to feel their happiness in that moment. You felt like you couldn’t get your fucking emotions together for the life of you. Your pre-Joel self was dying to come out and feel an ounce of happiness again.

It’s like you were trying to constantly set a candle aflame, and he’d blow it out. Over, and over, and over again. A constant cycle that never ended. A moth drawn to a flame that ended up getting burned in the end because it couldn’t keep its yearning and curiosity and desire to itself.

It killed you inside knowing that you let this affect you so much. The part of you that screamed that you didn’t need Joel’s validation to feel seen and beautiful was being easily overpowered by the feeling that his validation was everything you need to thrive off of.

Being a plus sized girl most of your life came with many struggles—many of which you’ve overcome, but some still lingered like an annoying fucking cough not even medicine could get rid of. You’ve been told you’d never be the beauty standard, or that you’d look better if you were thinner, or you should work out and eat healthier because the way you looked seemed unhealthy.

You’d crumpled up those nasty words and stomped on them anyway, because at the end of the day, the people making those comments didn’t know a single goddamn thing about you or your life. You were just a random girl in their story; one whose presence had an affect on them so much so that they felt the need to make comments about your appearance.

But none of their fucking words mattered.

What mattered to you was that you’d spent years building up your confidence and self-love to get yourself in a good headspace about your appearance, finally in tune with your body and loving that it gave you life.

But, because of those mean words and terrible past dating antics, you’d built a wall up around yourself to protect yourself and your heart from getting hurt again. Allowing Joel to experience the vulnerability you kept locked away felt like a fucking punch of air out of your lungs.

Because, why the fuck would he not want to be in a relationship with you? Why would he offer to be friends with benefits when he was in his mid fucking forties? Were you not good enough? Was it because of the age difference?

You’ve tried to think of every possibility there might’ve been to conclude why Joel just simply didn’t want you like you wanted him, but you were drawing a blank.

You wiped the salty tears that streamed pathetically down your face, straightening up before taking a deep breath, walking back into the bar to order as many drinks as it took to simply just fucking forget.

The buzz and excitement for graduation shortly followed just two days after.

But, just like most things these days, it went by in a blur. It felt so liberating to walk across that stage; to have done something for yourself—something that was all yours. Your moment. Your success. Your absolute fucking willpower to see this through to the very end. You finally had your masters in criminal law.

Your mom and dad were proud of you. Your siblings were proud of you.

You were proud of yourself.

It’s a feeling that’d been foreign to you these days, hiding in the shadows of the carnal desire for something more with Joel.

You were never one to ask for much, but with him, all you could seem to want is more more more.

Was it greedy of you to want more than just a good fuck?

Maybe to him, it was.

The buzz quickly wore off with that thought constantly in the back of your mind, replaying like an old scratched record that was stuck on a song that could never seem to make it to the crescendo.

You found yourself in your favorite coffee shop just a few days after graduation, desperately applying to any jobs that were hiring a freshly graduated criminal law student.

Fixated too much on the screen of your laptop before you, you barely even paid any mind to the familiar person standing right across from you. It’s only when they cleared their throat that you looked up, surprise written over your features as you see Tess standing before you.

“Tess! What a lovely surprise.” You greet, the first genuine smile stretching over your lips in almost a week.

“Hi, sweetheart. Mind if I sit and keep you company?” Her voice is honeyed and kind, a hopeful glint flashing through her green eyes as she looks down at you.

“Not at all.” You gesture to the chair across from you, and she takes a seat.

“So I hear congratulations are in order.” She folds her hands around the perimeter of her coffee cup and purses her lips.

You grin and wave her off playfully. “Masters shmasters. No biggie.” You shrug, and she laughs at your nonchalance.

“Nonsense, darling girl, that’s a huge deal.”

You give her a small thank you in gratitude, closing your laptop so you could put your undivided attention on her. She nods her head toward your computer, eyebrows threading together.

“You applying for jobs?”

“Mhm. To just about every position I can find that I’m qualified for.” You take a sip of your iced coffee, wishing the espresso was just a tad stronger.

“Which field are you wanting to go into?”

“I was leaning more toward forensics.” And Tess quirks her brow at that.

“Y’know, I could get you in with the bureau. Misty and I know lots of people in forensics, and they’re always looking for people to join their division.”

“Oh, Tess – I – I couldn’t possibly – you’re Joel’s best friend and I’d feel awful–” You were stammering your words left and right, trying to find footing in what you wanted to say, but nothing seemed right.

She reached a warm hand out and clasped it over yours, immediately making your mouth clamp shut. You were honored that she’d even put in a good word for you, but she barely knew you. She’s Joel’s best friend.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t about Joel. This is about you and your future.”

She was right. Just because she was Joel’s best friend, didn’t mean her offering to put in a good word for you had jack shit to do with him. You were the one who worked hard to get to where you are, and hell, there was absolutely no harm in networking. That was what the criminal justice expo was all about a month back anyhow.

“Speaking of Joel,” She softly murmured, almost seemingly hesitant to ask. “Not to pry, but are you still, you know, seeing him?”

You felt your body heat up at her question, gaze averting to your iced coffee. You were suddenly transfixed on the sweat around the plastic cup, leaving its wake of water rings on the wooden table.

“Um, yeah. I haven’t talked to him much recently, though.”

It was true. You didn’t know how to face your feelings head-on for Joel. It was like a fucking beast in the wilderness that wanted – no, needed – to hunt you down and eat you alive.

And so you ran.

You ran without looking back, avoiding the devastating feeling at all costs.

“God, that man is such an idiot.” Tess mumbled under her breath, but the coffee shop was quiet enough to hear her words of disdain.

“Why do you say that?”

Tess’s eyes bore into yours, her hand reaching back out to yours to give it a squeeze – a warning.

“I’m gonna be truthful here with you, sweetheart, because you’re a good person and you deserve so much better.”

You nod your head in the slightest, willing her to continue.

“You see–” She pauses, trying to conjure up the right words she wants to say. “Joel’s a good person. He really is. Is he an idiot for asking you to be friends with benefits? Absolutely. Fucker’s too old for that shit.”

Tess rolls her eyes, and you chuckle softly at her small rant.

“But, truth be told, he has trust issues. He has a fear of getting hurt. He keeps his guard up because he knows that as soon as he lets it down, someone can walk into his life and worm their way into his heart. I think–”

She pauses, shaking her head subtly before sighing. “I think he’s afraid of falling again because of his last relationship. It didn’t end well. Left him heartbroken for nearly a year after that stupid bitch was caught with another man in their bed.”

You sat back, trying to process the information spewed at you.

It all makes so much fucking sense now.

“Christine is the reason for all this. If I could wring that bitch’s neck I would.”

“That bad, huh?” You ask.

Tess purses her lips and shakes her head.

“You have no idea. Joel was a mess. He wasn’t like himself – far off from the best friend I love and know. It was like he was a marionette and her cruel actions were the ones controlling his every move.”

And suddenly you felt so bad. You felt bad for being angry with Joel, but you know you shouldn’t feel bad.

You agreed to his offer, yes, but he was using you solely for the intimacy to fill a void in his life – that carnal need that tried to claw to the surface. The very void he was afraid would swallow him whole if he didn’t get his fix of you. The thing you saw in his eyes after every time you two fucked.

The very thing that felt like it was eating you alive.

You huff out a laugh through your nose, shaking your head with a sardonic smile across your lips.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m the marionette and Joel is the puppeteer.” You tap your nails on the table as a nervous habit, and Tess’s hands cover yours.

Her eyes held sympathy as she looked at you, probably because she’d chewed Joel out for the very thing that was making you fall apart at the seams.

“Well then, sweetheart, maybe it’s time you cut the strings.”

You carded your fingers through Joel’s graying hair as you tugged, moaning his name in desperation. His head was buried between your thighs, making your mind fuzzy and forgetful of everything you’ve been going through mentally the past month.

His skillful tongue catapulted you into your release, crumbling down as your thighs shook and your whine adorned the walls of your bedroom.

He trailed soft kisses up your thighs, fingers indenting into your flesh as he gripped onto you. The drag of his stubble against your skin sets it ablaze, making your eyes flutter open and look down at him.

His soft brown eyes met yours, something behind them you couldn’t exactly read. It was quickly masked with a cocky smirk stretching onto his plush lips, maneuvering upward so he was hovering over you. He moved down to kiss you hungrily, cupping your cheek gently before dipping his tongue into your mouth.

You could taste yourself, moaning against him as your hands glide down to his hips. The taut muscles of his thighs flexed underneath your fingertips as you pulled him closer, wanting to feel his bare chest on yours.

You couldn’t blame him for wanting the intimacy, because hell, it made you feel like you were floating on cloud nine.

It was addicting. Almost fulfilling. You wanted more. More of him, more of his beautiful mind, more of the sweet moments of the real Joel you got to see behind his unyielding exterior.

You wanted it all with him, and yet, he wanted none of it with you.

It fucking stung.

Maybe you were as naïve as you thought, way too over your head with this.

Joel pulled apart from you, gaze meeting yours as he softly smiled.

“You ready for me, darlin’?” His voice is soft, pulling you from your rather brooding thoughts.

You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He collects the slick that’s smeared through your folds, lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes into you slowly, and he chokes on a gasp from how tight you are. He suddenly realizes you’re tense, so he cradles your head before looking down at you.

“Y’gotta relax for me, honey.” He coos.

Honey. That’s a new one.

He moves up to leave a soft kiss on your forehead. You don’t know why, but the action makes you want to cry. You try to ignore it as he presses into you, praising into your ear about how much of a good girl you are for him.

You’re completely enveloped in everything Joel, the feeling of the drag of his heavy cock in and out of you searing itself into your mind. Your mind was swirling with all sorts of emotions again, and for the sake of your own sanity, you wish it would just fucking stop. You wish your mind could stray away from feeling everything all at once.

Joel felt good. He felt safe. He was broad and strong and handsome and generally kind – everything you want in a man.

His lips moved down to your neck, kissing the soft flesh generously. He managed to find your pulse point easily, causing you to elicit a breathy moan into his ear. You felt his smile on your neck as he began to suck on that spot that drove you crazy, and you gasped.

“Joel, you’re gonna leave–fuck, you’re gonna leave a mark.”

“You’re mine.”

Stop fucking saying that.

You’re not, and he made that very clear when he offered to just be friends with benefits.

Joel picked up his pace, and as much as your mind was distracted, it felt too good. You were nearing your end in a haste, and Joel followed right after you. He was out of breath as he pulled out and collapsed next to you, eyes screwed shut as he tossed his forearm over his eyes.

You got up to go to the bathroom so you could clean yourself up and use the restroom. You came back out, slipped your oversized t-shirt over your head and sat next to Joel’s limp body. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, tear after tear falling down your cheeks.

“I’m not her, you know.” Your voice came out shaky, but it got Joel’s attention.

“Who–?”

“Christine.” The name rolled off your tongue with a surprising bitterness. Joel moved his arm down and looked at you with furrowed brows and a dark stare.

Anger flashed across his eyes. The muscle in his jaw was ticking rapidly, completely irate.

“How the fuck do you know about her?” He spits, moving to stand up hastily. He puts his boxers back on, followed by his shorts.

“Does it fucking matter? I’m just telling you, Joel, I’m nothing like her. I wouldn’t fuck somebody else in the same bed we’d share. I don’t understand why you don’t want to be with me.”

“Don’t fucking talk about her again to me, ever. Not another fucking word.” He was avoiding your last words, a pang in his heart for what he felt for you, but he was seething. He hated that you knew the reason why he was so fucked up when it came to relationships. It felt like you had the upper hand, and he didn’t like it one bit.

You laugh and shake your head, tears continuing to wet your cheeks.

“You’ve made me feel more things for you in this past month than I have for any other person in my life…probably ever, Joel. What’s so bad about us being together?” You press again, because fuck, you really wanted an answer.

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Be fucking realistic here. It would never work out between us. You’re my student–”

“Was.” You interrupt.

“Was my student. But you’re too young. You don’t have your priorities straight, you’re freshly graduated. You’re too… inexperienced.” He tosses his shirt over his head and crosses his arms, the thin material stretching over his broad, tense shoulders.

“That’s genuinely just rich coming from you, Joel. You didn’t seem to have a problem with my age when you bent me over your desk, or fucked me in the hotel room, or your room, or ten fucking minutes ago. I’m nearly thirty, so don’t spew that bullshit about my age. You’re also really one to talk about me having my priorities straight,” You step around your bed to face him. “You’re in your mid forties and you wanted to be in a friends with benefits relationship, Joel. You’ve called me yours so many times, look at me like you feel something for me, and then expect me to go about as normal? What the fuck is that?”

He pauses for two seconds, nearly blacked-out irises staring into your own glossy and tired gaze.

“It’s not my fault I didn’t live up to the expectations of myself that you created in your head.”

You purse your lips into a thin line, taking a step back from him. He was right, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“I–I can’t fucking do this anymore with you, Joel. Please get out of my apartment.”

“So that’s it?” He tosses his hands up, looking at you in disbelief. He looked almost, dare you say, disappointed.

“Get out.” You whisper, more tears adorning your cheeks. He scoffs and brushes past you, letting himself out of your apartment with a slightly more forceful closing of the front door. You didn’t care how dramatic you might’ve been in this moment, but you sank to your knees and buried your face in your hands.

You cried and cried and cried, the pain in your heart something you’ve never quite felt before.

You wished nothing more in that moment than to be able to reverse time and make sure not to give in to temptation, because holy hell, she was the fucking devil.

The constant hurt in your heart was a reminder that this was very real, it happened, and you were stuck with the cruel aftermath of it all.

But, Tess was ultimately right.

You were Joel’s marionette no more.

tag list: @ilovepedro ; @nostalxgic ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @cool-iguana ; @untamedheart81 ; @nclgsticore ; @pamasaur

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: law of attraction #professor!joel #professor miller #plus size!reader #joel miller imagines #joel miller series #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller au #joel miller angst

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aemonds-fire · 5 days

Text

The Sapphire Spell Ghost Aemond x Female Reader Part Eight - A New Age - Conclusion

Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.

Dark Ghost Aemond x Female / Slow Build / Dark Romance

Word Count: 51118

Chapter Warnings: Minor Physical Confrontation

The Sapphire Spell Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

I hope you enjoyed this series. Comments and reblogs are always welcome!

You wake before the sun rises. Soreness when you try to move instantly reminds you of what occurred on your bed only a few hours ago. Glancing over your shoulder, you find that you are alone, with Aemond presumably having gone to his own bed while you slept. Deciding that your tumultuous mind will not allow you to go back to sleep, you choose to get up and take a hot bath, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort in your body.

After a long soak that eases your aches, you quietly don a black morning dress and go downstairs to make yourself tea. Content to remain in the kitchen at the old, worn table, you sip your hot drink as sunlight begins to stream through the window before impulsively deciding to go next door.

As you wander through the empty museum, you remember the stories your father told you about different artifacts and which ones were his favorites. Many of your fondest memories took place here, watching your father’s eyes gleam with excitement over an unusual or rare piece or telling an elaborate tale to a gathered crowd of patrons.

The museum and its collection were your grandfather’s idea and your father’s passion, and they are your inheritance. ‘And Aemond wants me to leave it all behind.’ you think to yourself.

Never in all of your life have you been more conflicted or more unsure of yourself. The comfortable and secure life you had feels out of control and fraught with uncertainty. You wonder if the happy, confident young lady you thought yourself to be is really just a naive girl who was sheltered by a loving father. The worst part is that you have never felt more alone than you do right now. You cannot even talk to anyone; the telling of the unbelievable events of the past few months would probably see you locked away in a madhouse.

You decide not to climb the staircase to the remnants of the Kinslayer display, thinking wryly that the main attraction is likely still sleeping in his room.

You truly never expected things to go as they did last night, and you’re not sure how you really feel about it. ‘Should I have stopped him before it went that far? Why didn’t you?’ You know you are infatuated with him, and he can exhilarate you in ways you didn’t think possible. But he can also frighten you a little. Not that you think he would hurt you, but Aemond is a force that you are no match for.

Sighing deeply, you rub your temples. You honestly don't know what you think or want right now. You just know that it’s too much and too quick for you. You don’t want to have to make decisions about Aemond or Old Valyria; you just miss your father and your old life.

A loud knock on the main entrance glass interrupts your internal pondering. You wonder who would be seeking entrance to the museum this early in the morning; besides, the museum has been closed since your father’s passing. As you approach the entrance, you see your father’s solicitor outside the main glass doors.

Perplexed as to why he would be here and why he did not inform you of an intended visit, you unlock one of the doors to greet him.

“Good morning, Miss. My apologies for coming by this early, unannounced,” he says, sounding a bit rushed. “I tried your residence next door, but there was no answer, and I thought I would try my luck here.”

Remembering your manners, you let him enter the museum. “It’s quite alright." You manage to smile pleasantly, though you really do not wish to have a visitor at this time. But you are also curious about what prompted this visit. “Is something wrong?”

His lips tighten momentarily. “I hope not, but I did hear something, and I felt I needed to speak with you right away.”

“What have you heard?”

He looks a bit uneasy but answers, “My wife was out yesterday, and she insists she saw you, not observing mourning customs, and in the company of a man. She described him as tall with very long white hair. She also said he wore an eye patch.” He looks at you curiously before continuing. “I insisted that it could not possibly be you. You would never disgrace your father with such scandalous behavior.”

You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions; your face is too transparent. His words are like a knife plunging into your heart, and you know your guilt shows. You cannot stop yourself from closing your eyes and taking a deep, anguished breath. An uncomfortable, pained silence follows, for you really have no words to defend your behavior.

“By the Seven, what were you thinking?” His voice is full of reproach, and his disapproval is clear on his face.

Tears begin to well in your eyes as you try to articulate an explanation. “I am sorry. It was…unavoidable.”

“It is scandalous and conduct unbecoming of a proper young lady; that’s what it is," he chides you as he runs his hand over his balding head.

Taking a deep breath, you try to steady your nerves. “Yes, I acted against my better judgment, but I had my reasons. I apologize, and it will not happen again.”

‘It most assuredly will not happen again,” he fumes at you. “I am not only the administrator of your father’s estate; the law also grants me guardianship over you and your affairs. Your actions also reflect on me.”

Your head snaps up at the mention of guardianship. “I am of age and my father’s only heir. Why would I need a guardian?”

“If you were male, no guardianship would be necessary, but the law applies to unmarried females differently,” he informs you, his voice condescending. “Your poor judgment demonstrates that you are clearly incapable of conducting yourself properly.”

Trying to hide your clenched fists in your skirts, you cannot help the anger that is building inside you. You brushed aside your concerns because you could not refuse Aemond, but you do not feel you deserve to have your character judged like this, mainly because you are a female. Gritting your teeth, you ask, “What will this guardianship entail and how long will it last?”

“Guardianship will last until you are married and your assets can be turned over to your husband,” he informs you sternly. In light of your behavior, I will immediately arrange for you to move in with a respectable family, who will act as your chaperones and assist you in finding a suitable husband once your mourning period is over.

Aghast that you are about to lose complete control of your life; you can no longer keep your voice down or your tone civil. “No, absolutely not! My father never pressed me regarding marriage, and he would not wish this for me,” you insist. “This is out of the question, and I will not leave my home and have my life run by strangers of your choosing.”

The solicitor scowls at you and says, “I always believed that your father indulged you too much.”

Advancing closer and angrily pointing his finger at you, he continues, “No court will side against me, and I warn you that your continued rebelliousness will cost you everything.”

“And I warn you against speaking to her in that manner,” interrupts Aemond, his tone low but controlled.

In your agitated state, you did not notice his arrival at the museum, but your head immediately turns to the sound of his voice, and a sense of relief courses through you at the sight of him confidently sauntering towards you. Even though he looks composed, you can feel his ire radiating from him.

With his silvery hair half pulled back in his favored style, a black eye patch, and his new long leather coat, he is an imposing figure. Every historical mention of his royal upbringing, his proud and intimidating manner, and his reputation as a fierce warrior are now on full display.

His eye never leaves your face, completely ignoring the presence of the other man as he comes to your side, taking hold of your hands that have been nervously twisting in front of you.

Leaning down closer to you, he whispers, “Everything will be alright. I need you to trust me.”

As reassuring as it is to have him by your side, you still worry. You are still torn over how you feel about him and the impact he is having on your life.

Only the outraged sputtering coming from the solicitor reminds you that he is still here, and if your stomach wasn’t tying itself in knots, you could laugh at the look on his face at the sight of Aemond.

The solicitor, finally overcoming his shock, demands, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Finally turning to acknowledge him, Aemond coolly replies, “I am Prince Aemond Targaryen."

“Prince Aemond?” he stammers, his face turning more red than it already is. “I don’t know who you are or what kind of hoax you are trying to perpetrate, but you need to leave immediately. I will not hesitate to summon the police if you do not.”

Neither his temper nor his threats have any effect on Aemond, who only side-eyes him with a disdainful smirk on his lips.

“As for you, young lady, go to your room and begin packing. You will stay with my wife and me if necessary until I can make arrangements,” the older man orders you.

Before you can utter a plea against this, Aemond responds, “I believe my lady made it clear she does not agree with your plans for her.”

Sneering at Aemond, he arrogantly holds his ground. “You are nothing but a fraud, a charlatan! I will have you arrested and locked away.”

The solicitor advances towards you, attempting to grab your arm. Aemond quickly extends his arm in front of you, guiding you behind him as he moves to confront the solicitor, forcefully shoving the man to the floor with one hand.

Towering over the fallen man, Aemond confidently declares, “I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, and soon everyone will acknowledge it."

You let out a startled cry and cling to Aemond’s arm, concerned by the sudden escalation to physical aggression. “Aemond, no! Do not hurt him, please.”

Looking down at the shocked man on the floor, you hastily advise, “You should leave now and do not return.” You try to reassure the solicitor, who is now slowly getting to his feet. “You do not need to worry about me. I will be fine, but you need to go.”

Aemond continues to loom imposingly, a cruel smile on his arched mouth and his eye dark with ruthless determination.

Now on his feet, but already backing away in fear, he stutters, “I will return with the authorities. Mark my words, you will soon be rotting in a cell where you belong.” Hurrying to the doors, he fumbles with the lock in his rush to leave the museum.

You hurry to the doors to redo the locks and pull the shades down to prevent anyone from looking in. The heaviness of your situation sinks in on you as you lean against the threshold of the museum with your eyes shut, trembling, and fighting back tears.

You hear Aemond say, “Do not cry,” as he wraps his arms around you and places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”

Instead of comforting you, his promise sparks a desperate anger in you. Tears now stream down your cheeks as you push against him, trying to escape from his embrace.

With only a brief hesitation, he lets you go. You can't resist lashing out at him as you step back. “Alright? Nothing is alright! My life is falling apart, and I’m losing everything!”

He shakes his head and tries to take your hand. “No, you will lose nothing. I won’t allow it,” he tries to calmly reassure you.

Snatching your hand away, you hiss, “You will be in a jail cell, and I will be at the mercy of the solicitor.” You briefly place your hands on your head in despair, then flee back to the safety of your room. You can hear his footsteps following behind you. Just before you reach the staircase, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“Please trust me,” he murmurs in your ear. This time, you surrender to his embrace, collapsing against his chest, inhaling his scent mingled with the leather of his coat, and succumbing to the sense of safety in his arms.

Aemond starts to wipe the tears from your face, his eye gazing affectionately at you. Struck by the caring look on his face, you can’t resist when he gently cups your face, placing his lips over yours, softly at first, then deepening his kiss passionately.

“I’m sorry. I should not have left you alone,” he tells you. "I thought you would be fine while I was out."

You look up at him curiously. “You went out? When I woke up and you were gone, I thought you went back to your room.”

He gently scoffs, “Why would I choose to sleep alone when I could have you beside me?” After claiming your lips for another kiss, he tells you, “We need to go; it is almost time.” Releasing you, he moves to grab your coat and hold it to help you put it on.

Your eyes widen in fear. “He will return with the authorities to have you arrested,” hesitating to put on the coat. “I could stay here and try to delay them to give you time.”

“I don’t care about him or the police,” he insists abruptly. “I need you to come with me now.”

Confused, you let him help you with the coat. “I don’t understand. Where are we going?”

Aemond ignores your questions as he takes your hand and leads you out the front door. He sets a quick pace that you struggle to keep up with. The early morning sunlight has disappeared behind darker clouds that threaten rain. Unlike other ladies, you are not properly attired; your hair remains undone, and your hat and gloves remain at home. He continues to lead you swiftly down the sidewalks and across the street, disregarding curious looks from passersby.

"Aemond, please slow down," you plead breathlessly, being no match for his long strides.

“We are almost there,” he assures you while crossing another street, glaring at a carriage driver who comes a bit close to hitting you. Finally, he begins to slow his pace as the two of you approach the park. Heading towards a bench along a row of high hedges at the outskirts of the park, he tells you, “Rest here.”

You sit on the bench, grateful for a chance to catch your breath. Aemond remains standing, looking in every direction.

Glancing around nervously, you notice the park is not as crowded as usual, and the darkening sky discourages most from enjoying the outdoors. You regret letting him rush you out of the house so quickly; your purse is still at home, you have no money with you, and you have no clue what you are going to do.

Seeing your worried look, he rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Do not worry; everything will be alright. Trust me, and you will understand soon.”

“Aemond, I don’t understand anything. Why are we here?”

A massive dark shadow passes overhead before he can respond, and a low rumble reverberates throughout the park. You think at first it must be thunder, given the clouds that have settled over the city, but something about the sound doesn’t seem right. Gazing up and expecting to feel raindrops at any moment, you are shocked when you think you see dark movement within the clouds. Thinking your eyes must be playing tricks on you, you are about to dismiss it when a much louder, more ominous sound is heard by all.

That was not thunder. You do not know what it was; it sounded like the roar of a great beast. You can also hear speculation and chatter from the small crowd of people gathered in the park. Looking around, you can see that everyone else is searching the sky for the sound source.

When you glance over to Aemond, you see that he too is fixed on the sky, but there is no concern on his face. He is smiling, an expression of rapt excitement on his chiseled features. You rise to your feet from the bench, clinging to his arm. Just when you are about to question him, the chatter around you turns to shouts and screams.

The mysterious shadow has broken below the clouds and taken on a clearer form. You can make out a massive creature with wings circling in the sky above the park. People are running, but you find yourself rooted to Aemond's side, too stunned to move, barely remembering to breathe.

“Aemond?” His name is all you can manage to utter, and his presence beside you is the only thing keeping you somewhat grounded as fear and panic spread as the beast descends lower, seemingly zeroing in on the park.

Aemond finally tears his eye from the sky to look at you intently. “The dragon will land in the park. Whatever happens, I want you to stay calm and do exactly as I tell you."

His words confirm what your mind refuses to accept: the first dragon seen in centuries is about to land in the city park. You can only stare at him blankly as he brings your hand to his lips, placing a quick kiss on your fingers. You can only nod slightly when he asks if you are listening to him and repeating his instructions to you.

He pulls you back against the hedges as the dragon lands inside the park. The ground shakes beneath your feet when the massive black dragon touches it, somehow managing to slow its momentum quickly before doing too much damage to the surrounding structures.

You hear Aemond murmur beside you, "He's almost as large as Vhagar."

As the dragon comes to a halt, you can now make out its features. The body is black with deep blue on the scales, horns, and wings. When the dragon turns its head, you gasp when you see that its eye is almost the same vibrant shade of blue as Aemond’s sapphire.

You feel Aemond release his hold on you, taking a step towards the dragon. Looking back at you, he instructs, “Stay here.” When you start to protest, he tells you, "I need to claim him." Now stay here and wait for me.”

Wide-eyed with apprehension, you watch him calmly approach the great dragon, speaking words in Valyrian to it. Your hand flies to your mouth when it opens its jaws, showing its huge teeth to Aemond. Holding your breath, you watch as Aemond doesn’t flinch, holding his ground and confidently repeating the Valyrian commands.

You know it only takes a few minutes, but it feels much longer as you watch Aemond patiently but masterfully handle the dragon. Soon he has his hands resting on the side of the dragon's huge head, speaking to it and keeping the giant beast calm.

Your breath catches, and you begin to tremble when Aemond turns away from the dragon to look in your direction, motioning for you to approach. When you hesitate, he begins walking towards you after issuing a command to the dragon in Valyrian.

“You have nothing to fear,” he calls out, encouraging you to join him.

Taking a deep breath to gather your courage, you find the will to move towards him, remembering his instructions to remain calm. Approaching the open space between you and Aemond, you realize that a stunned crowd of onlookers has gathered outside the park. Suddenly, you hear your name called out from the gathering. Turning around, you see two officers running towards you, and your solicitor is struggling to keep up, shouting for you to stop.

Suddenly, you find yourself surrounded. Aemond quickly sprints to your side, reaching you first and placing his body between you and the advancing men.

“Do you still think me a fraud?” Aemond smirks at the solicitor.

Huffing for breath, the solicitor and the officers halt a few feet away from you. “I don’t know who you really are, but leave her alone,” he implores. “Let me take her to safety.”

Aemond stands defiantly and says, “She is safe with me.”

The black dragon, sensing Aemond’s increasing agitation, takes a step forward and lets loose a menacing rumble. The men instinctively step back, paling in fear.

“Only I can control that dragon. Now do not interfere,” warns Aemond as he slowly starts to retreat back towards the giant, taking you with him.”

When the solicitor yells for the officers to do something, you impulsively call out from behind Aemond. “I’m fine. Please don’t interfere.”

The two of you draw closer to the dragon, with the other men wisely refusing to follow. The closer you get, the more heat and a pungent, smoky smell fill the air around you. This time, you are close enough to hear the Valyrian commands that Aemond gives.

“Lykirī! Dokimarvose! Rȳbās nyke!” (Calm! Focus! Obey me!)

Keeping a tight hold on you, he steadily calms the great dragon until he is close enough to place his hands on the behemoth’s head. Giving you a sly smile, he takes your trembling hand and places it on the blue-tinted scales, covering your hand with his own. Chuckling at your astonished expression as you try to comprehend that you are really touching a dragon, he continues to speak Valyrian.

As he rests his forehead against the dragon, he says, "Kirimvose." (Thank you.)

You haven’t seen him so at peace as he is now, as if a dragon was a missing part of him, and now he is complete. Right now, you are oblivious to the crowd anxiously gathered around the park. You, Aemond, and this dragon could be the only beings in the world right now.

Aemond turns to you with a look of calm happiness on his face and again speaks to the dragon. “Rhaenagon issa ābrazȳrys, issa dāria."

“You said some of those words last night; what do they mean?”

“I said, ‘Meet my wife, my queen.’” he answers with a smile.

His response immediately stirs a whirlwind of emotions within you. Your heart skips a beat, but you also feel a pang of apprehension. “Aemond, I’m not your wife, and I haven’t said that I would go to Valyria with you."

"I am the last of the blood of the dragon, the last dragonrider," he says, sighing. "My destiny is in Valyria.” He places his arm around your waist, pulling you close while pressing his large hand against your back. “I want you with me.”

“Aemond, you can’t truly know what you will find in Old Valyria,” you argue, still fearful of his plans.

“Yes, I do. Look over here,” he says as he points to the long, thick ropes hanging down from the dragon’s back. “The ropes are attached to a saddle. Who put the saddle on the dragon?"

In your amazement at the sight of this enormous beast, you failed to notice that it did indeed have a saddle on its back. As you struggle to make sense of it all, Aemond enthusiastically continues.

“There are people in Old Valyria, and some of them are dragon keepers; they tend the dragons,” he explains. “This dragon flew here and found me; they put the saddle on its back.”

You’ve read about legends of blood magic and dragons but never really believed them. You shake your head as you try to grasp the unbelievable, but you know Aemond’s conviction is unshakable, especially with the dragon here, and you cannot explain it away.

“I have done terrible things, some you know of and some you never will, for they are my burden to bear,” he appeals. “Having you by my side will make me a better man. Please, I need you.”

Gazing up at his face, you see nothing but sincerity. “I feel so guilty at the thought of abandoning the museum. My father put everything he had into it.”

“The museum will not be abandoned. You will instruct the solicitor to manage your property as if it were his own, and if he doesn't, I will feed him to this dragon."

Only the mischievous smile on his face reassures you that he is maybe half joking with his threat, and you can’t help a little chuckle and a slight roll of your eyes. He is gradually wearing you down, persuading you to abandon caution and join him.

“Avy jorrāelan. Ao ynoma dīnilūks?”

Arching your brow in curiosity, he doesn't make you wait for a translation.

“I love you. Will you marry me?” He asks, his voice soft and resonant with emotion.

Biting your lip for a second, you wonder if what you feel for him is love. But there is no denying that he makes you feel something extraordinary, something that you want to keep feeling. You can't help but feel the thrill rush through you as you gaze up at his eye. At this moment, he is the most handsome and enthralling man who has ever lived in your eyes. Your heart wants him, and you remember the night before; you know your body wants him as well. Accepting his proposal will be the biggest leap of faith you could make, but you cannot imagine your life without him anymore.

You don’t try to suppress the smile that curves your lips as you make your decision and answer, “Yes.”

With your answer, his lips claim yours with a kiss full of passion that sends tingles down to your toes. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you melt against him, never wanting this to end.

Only a low hiss from the dragon beside you persuades Aemond to reluctantly pull back. “I think someone is impatient to fly,” he murmurs against your cheek.

With a quick brush of your lips over his chin, you quip, "Or not very romantic."

You notice him taking a look around, taking in the crowd still keeping a safe distance, with numerous officers trying to keep everyone calm. Following his gaze, you can see the solicitor still arguing with an officer, seemingly trying to persuade them that you need saving. Turning to look the dragon in the eye, he asks, “Avy kipagon kosti?" A quick snort from the dragon was an answer. (Will you allow us to ride you?)

"Come, I need you to climb up to the saddle," he tells you as he leads you over the ropes that form a ladder. “I’ll be right behind to help you.”

Staring at him in shock, “What do you mean climb up? I can’t do that.”

“You will be perfectly safe with me, I promise,” he assures you. “I have to fly on the dragon to complete the bond between us, and I can’t leave you here alone.”

The look on his face tells you he will not back down on this, so with his help, you climb to the saddle. He helps you get settled in front of him, fastening chains over your lap. While he is doing this, you can hear shouts from the people watching.

“Are you ready?"

Even with Aemond's chest pressed against your back and his arms and safety chains around you, you still don't feel ready. But as you close your eyes and say a silent prayer, you give him a weak nod.

“Sōvēs!” (Fly!)

With that clear command from Aemond, the blue-black dragon maneuvers around to try and give himself room to take flight. With each step of its powerful legs, you are rocked in the saddle. Hanging on and keeping your eyes closed, you grip the handles as Aemond instructed you to do. Your stomach lurches a bit as you take to the air. As you climb higher and higher, you can hear the giant wings flapping steadily. After being encouraged to open your eyes, you marvel at the sights around you—the city getting smaller, the view of Blackwater Bay, and the clouds around you. Bright sunlight greets you as the dragon eventually breaks through the cloud cover.

“How do you like flying?” He asks as he nuzzles his face against your neck, sending little shivers through you with light kisses.

With your fear quickly disappearing, you can honestly answer, “It’s amazing!” And it is amazing with the wind against your face and his arm around your waist holding you tightly. “‘Good, get comfortable. It will be a long flight to Essos.”

Your head whips around as you look at him in surprise. “What do you mean? I thought we would go back to the city.”

“No, I cannot trust your solicitor or the police not to do something foolish. It is best if we go to Old Valyria,” he tells you firmly.

“Aemond, you should have told me that you had no intention of going back,” you exclaim petulantly, feeling angry and deceived.

“I know you are angry with me, but I will not put you at risk,” he argues. “I’m sorry I did not tell you, but I think it is best if we do not go back.”

Even though it is still morning, everything you have experienced leaves you in no mood to fight. While you may want him and think you love him, it is clear that he will not be the easiest man to deal with. But the feeling of being loved by him makes some of his more difficult qualities easier to bear.

After riding in silence for a while, Aemond asks, ”Have you forgiven me yet?”

Rolling your eyes and determined not to let him off easily, you curtly reply, “No.”

“Hmm, you know we have quite a bit of time before we reach Essos. I think you will forgive me by the time we land,” he breathes beside your ear. As he speaks, you can feel his hand gathering the hem of your skirts to reach underneath them.

Today…

The King's Landing Historical Museum proudly presents a special exhibition of historic royal pieces. The Museum would like to thank the Targaryen Royal Family for allowing many of the Valyrian Royal Jewels to be displayed.

The End

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honeystwiggypeach · 2 years

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hi i hope you dont mind but if you're not that busy is it okay if you write this? huhu thank you!

reader telling jjk men (geto, gojo, nanami, toji, choso) that they are preggo and they've been trying for a few years already and are already thinking of surrogacy. please please please this can be months after they have a miscarriage too!

a rainbow baby! 😭

Hi hon!!! Sorry this came so late I got a bit caught up with school than my mom and aunts wanted to have dinner so that’s what I did today! Tysm for the request! I try to remain as respectful as possible when I write requests like this or about sensitive topics so pls tell me if I misphrase or say anything poorly so I can correct it!!

Ps. I didn’t do choso because idk his personality well and I don’t know if I’m confident in writing him😭

Tw- mentions of past miscarriages, rainbow baby, infertility, surrogacy, anything mentioned in the request, grief, (in Geto’s people besides parents try and explain death and miscarriage to the twins so reader gets upset)in gojos the pregnancy is both unplanned and not known about, birth, pregnant reader if your uncomfortable with anything relating to loosing a child/pregnancy I advise that you do not read this one! Pls let me know if I missed anything!!

Geto

He took it hard, he loved the twins with his whole heart he truly did but he missed having babies to look after, maybe it was just baby fever but he felt like your little family wasn’t quite complete.

Unfortunately when you’d found the missing piece, it didn’t work out, unfortunately in your second trimester you had miscarried. You and Geto were both devastated, and everyone for a while everyone treated the two of you as ticking time bombs ready to explode at any moment.

The girls didn’t quite understand, they knew that they were supposed to have a sibling soon and now they weren’t going to but that was it, they couldn’t comprehend it yet and the amount of times you both had to stop people from explaining it to them horrified you.

This time when you’d fallen pregnant, you decided that maybe you two should keep this one a bit secret just in case, so when you’d first told Geto it was in the safety of your bedroom you’d sat beside him your hands behind your back before quickly pulling out the test.

“Are you serious” his voice is a bit quiet as it crackles.

You were his only weak spot, of course besides his children…but of course he would never let you know that…not like it was obvious or anything. He practically sobs when you give him a little nod, he lets out the same quiet muffled sobbing noise when he sees his son for the first time laid on your chest.

Gojo

Honestly it hurt you a lot. His family was really into the idea of you carrying a biological heir, but sometimes it felt like you just weren’t capable of doing so. Honestly you’d started to even look into surrogacy because you couldn’t handle all the unfortunate things that continued to happen every time you would even talk about pregnancy.

When you’d been getting intense abdominal cramps you decided maybe you shouldn’t test it and checked yourself into the hospital, where you found out you were in labour, within the hour Gojo had arrived to see you sat up in the hospital bed with the cutest little baby girl laid on your chest. You smile dazedly as he stares down at the two of you in wonder.

“She’s real” he whispers as he touches the little fluffy whisper of hair she has. His fingers just barely graze her scalp and she scrunches and thats what triggers his tears.

Nanami

It was just bad news after bad news, it was beginning to feel like maybe you shouldn’t have a baby at all. Of course when Nanami had heard you mutter this one night after you’d talked about trying for a baby again, he smiled guiltily, “if this doesn’t work there’s surrogacy or even adoption” he knows that you don’t want either of those, you want what everyone else is able to have, he can hear the way you cry in the bathroom after another negative test about how unfair it is and how cruel the world can be.

But this time there’s no crying no shouts of how unfair it is, there’s silence and Nanami at first thinks you’ve fallen and hurt yourself but when he hears your squeal he knows that isn’t the case.

He pushes the door open softly to see you holding the test you smile up at him as you show him the two little pink lines, “it’s positive” you tell him and it takes a moment to register but when it does he’s got a wide smile as he bends down softly peppering kisses along your face.

Toji

He was rather reserved already but after you’d lost the baby, it became worse. Toji not only was reserved but he was reclusive, not eating dinner with you and Megumi not even greeting you anymore.

He’d come out at night and creep around the house to avoid seeing you two, he didn’t understand how to process the loss and had resorted to cutting off the world while he grieved.

One of these nights however he’s not quiet enough and you flicker on the lights, Toji is stood over the sink as he chugs down tap water.

“Toji” you call out, “Will you come to bed?” And when he lays down beside you it feels like heaven. He’s wrapped in your warm embraces as you whisper soft reassurances he doesn’t tell you that your comfort and soft touch made him cry long after you fell asleep.

Almost a year after that, you’d fallen pregnant, and Megumi was the one to help you tell him as he pranced around the house all day in a tee shirt that said big brother on it.

Honestly it was adorable and you loved seeing little Megumi be so happy when his dad furrowed his brows holding his boy up by the armpits to get a good look at what his shirt said glancing down to your belly than back to Megumi before his eyes meet yours.

“You’re serious?” He asks still holding up Megumi.

You give him a little nod paired with a nervous giggle and he sets Megumi down softly going over to hug you as Megumi continues to stomp around the kitchen.

If anyone wants to see anything else pls let me know!! Omg guys!!! Do you want to see reader and maybe like teen Megumi?(reader is with Toji, but maybe like reader being a mom figure to Megumi and while he’s got a fever he unintentionally calls her mama, which he hadn’t done since he was really young?? And Toji like hugging reader a bit when she cries because she misses him being a baby and being affectionate???? I’m gonna sob someone request it pls???)

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Note

i think i found my fav arcana blog, i rlly love ur hcs and writings!!! (and i don't even usually read that much,,)

i wanna know how the m6 would react to mc, who does journaling but never had anyone read their journal, offering the m6 if they want to read their private journal

The Arcana HCs: M6 reading MC's journal

~ I kept a journal for several years until my siblings were old enough to decipher my handwriting and use it as blackmail lol. Thanks for the prompt anon, enjoy! - brainrot ~

Julian

Noticed you writing in it every day and has been dying of curiosity to know what you're writing about but respects your privacy too much to even bring it up

There have been one or two times when you left it on a table (not open) and he spent a good five minutes fixated on it from across the room, mind going crazy

You finally walk in on him one afternoon, draped across one side of the couch and twisting his gloves while staring holes into the notebook on the opposite armrest

So you sit down next to him and let him read it with you

Double checking multiple times that it's okay for him to be reading this - "are you sure that you're sure?"

Reading about himself from your perspective and how he makes your life better makes him so happy

He also notices how you've kept his love notes and flowers pressed between the pages and the sheer romance of it will make his brain melt

Blushing, stuttering mess

Now whenever he writes you something or picks a flower for you he's thinking about the best way to make it relevant years later, since he knows you'll save them

Asra

Journaling started for you as a daily exercise when you were relearning to write

It was Asra's way of giving you a piece of your life that you had total control of, and of encouraging you to chronicle your days to cope with your memory loss

Over time it also became a place to write down all the things you wanted to say to them while they were gone

So late one night, when you're stargazing together and you find you're on the second to last page of the notebook he gave you so long ago, you reread it with him

It's one of the most precious moments you'll ever share with them. No magic or adventure involved, just the sweetness of revisiting your history together

It also gives you the chance to let him read all the things you felt you couldn't tell him, which brings so much resolution

By the time you're finished reading and talking and snuggling the birds are starting to chirp and the sky is getting lighter

For them, reading about all the ways you noticed and thought about and loved them when there was so much distance between you two makes their heart so full it aches

Nadia

At first she assumed it was something like a planner, where you would write down leads and information and connections

But then she saw the different notebooks you kept for studying, and the system you had to keep track of your scheduled events

She was a little embarrassed at how long it took for her to realize that it was a journal

Once she knew, she was intrigued. She wasn't going to pressure you to show her at all, but she's certainly curious

One day you're flipping back through your entries and you begin to giggle. It's the last thing before she caves and asks

"MC, my darling, what's making you laugh?"

You're immediately scooting over to make space for her next to you and pointing to the right spot on the page

It's a small anecdote you had recorded of Natiqa pranking Nahara and Nazali when Nadia wasn't around

Once you two start reading together she doesn't stop. With your permission, you spend the next two hours reminiscing

You write about her like she's the most important, wise, and confident person in the world, and it fills her with humble gratitude

Muriel

Noticed on the trip south. Wasn't curious. Didn't ask.

Now its been months, you two live like an old married couple in the woods, and he has no idea how to bring it up this late in the getting-to-know-you game

Practices the possible words to ask you in the early mornings while he's feeding the chickens and you're still asleep

The chickens don't have much feedback

You, on the other hand, have mistaken his stoicism for disinterest, so you haven't taken any initiative to let him know that you're open to talking about it

Inanna gets fed up one day and grabs your journal in her mouth, leading you on a chase through the woods, right to where Muriel is fishing

Casually drops it as soon as he tells her to, right into his lap, and heads away for a nap

You sit down next to him and check for torn pages. As soon as you feel his interested gaze, you're offering to read it to him while he waits for the fish to bite

He's not ready for how often he features in your stories, but hearing the way you describe him as safe and gentle and precious makes him feel so fuzzy inside

Portia

The first time she sees you writing she's already asking what it's for

As soon as you tell her it's a journal, she's asking you to let her read it. If it's written by someone as mysterious and exciting as you, it has to be good!

At this point you've known her for all of two days, so you say no

Disappointed but understanding. She doesn't pester you about it, but she makes sure to let you know that she's very interested if you ever feel like sharing

You take your time, but one evening after dinner while you're snuggled up by the fire you'll pull it out and start reading to her

The best audience you've ever had. She is honed in, hanging onto every word while she covers a very happy Pepi in scritches

As someone who fell in love with novels because they whisked her away into adventures she didn't feel important enough for otherwise, hearing you recount your shared story like this tugs on all of her heartstrings

She'll laugh and cry and gasp at all the right moments. From now on, she treats your journal like a sacred thing. After all, it's the most important story in the world

Lucio

He was already sneaking peeks over your shoulder when he was stuck to you as a not-ghost. Man has 0 concept of privacy

You knew he was looking because he was commenting on your handwriting and gossiping about any tidbits he thought were juicy

Considering how you barely knew him at that point, you didn't write in front of him again for a very, very long time

It actually created a lovely habit - at some point during the day, you'll take half an hour to yourself and journal

It's been months now and you've forgotten why you had the habit in the first place, so when it's raining one evening you just stay in the inn and write next to the fire

The difference in Lucio's approach speaks volumes. He asks what you're doing, and when you tell him, he asks if he can hear some of it

He makes no move to get up from where he's polishing his sword (it got wet)

He listens while you read, interjecting with a comment or two, perfectly content

He's a bit sheepish about what you had to write about him in the beginning, but hearing how much he's changed fills him with healthy pride. Oh, he adores you

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Note

I’m currently in my first watch through of one piece and got to /that part/ in marineford with Ace 😢💔 I’m heartbroken! Could I request some Ace fluff please? Maybe Ace finding out his crush actually likes him back? He talks about not deserving love/to even be born but that man deserves the world! I love him so much 😫

A/N: I remember almost a year ago my best friend told me she was finally starting her One Piece journey and after I think the first month or so I asked her who was her favorite so far and she said Ace and I immediately laughed….good times. ANYWAYS THO—Enjoy!

Ace Finding Out You Like Him Back(FLUFF)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

WC: 1.2k

CW: Very Fluff, Confessing, Kissing, Not proofread yet

He has had a crush on you since the day y’all met , but he didn’t realize how much he liked you until Marco pointed it out

“I DO NOT?!”

“Then why do you blush so much when you talk about her?”

He wanted to be in denial about it so much solely because he knew you couldn’t like him back. He never had much luck with ladies in his life.

Sure they flirted with him, and he had his small fair share of one night stands, but he never felt satisfied. He was curious at one point what it would be like to be with a partner that would love him for him, but alas he just pushed those feelings aside until he met you

You were so funny, and charming, and sweet to those around you. You even were like a mother/big sister to those you barely met when you both were out adventuring together.

You two became as thick as thieves, where ever you were he was and vice versa.

Ace developed feelings for you a few months after getting to know you, but it wasn’t until it got outted by his big brother that now he’s very awkward around you.

Ace became difficult to act normal around you and as much as he hated it he wanted to prevent you from finding out his feelings towards you

It’s been 2 weeks he has been trying to keep distance and you immediately noticed. You both now eat at different times. Ace is gone when you’re awake and there on w the ship while you sleep. It sucked because you assumed you probably made him mad somehow

Marco (and everybody on the MD) notices your slump mood and asks what’s wrong. You of course only confide to your big brother and Marco slaps the hell out of Ace for it because wtf is his problem ignoring you for almost a whole month for no reason

“GO TALK TO HER, MAN? She is miserable without you!”

Hearing the bad news about how his actions effected you made his heart sink. He would never EVER try to purposely hurt you, he didn’t really know how to properly express himself and just tell you the truth so here is now, in front of your room door pacing back and fourth fiddling his fingers.

“I like you, Y/n’— no that’s too direct—‘We should go out sometime’—-too desperate….—‘You’re so beautiful let’s date.’…..maybe—-“

His thoughts were thrown out when you opened the door, you must have been napping because you looked drowsy, you were wearing some shorts and one of his old shirts hanging off your shoulder.

“Oh…hey Ace…” you yawned wiping your eyes, you always looked so cute and cuddly to him when you first wake up.

He missed you so much and didn’t even realize it until he seen you again.

“Come in…it’s cold…” You moved back to let him enter, he took off his hat and inched his way inside as you closed the door, biting his lip contemplating what he should say next,

“What um—-“

“I’m sorry!” Was all Ace could muster up as he bowed in front of you, “ I’m so sorry I’ve been avoiding you! I didn’t realize how badly I was treating you until Marco told me. I’m…Y/N I’m so sorry…”

You were startled at the sudden apology from him, it’s not like you were mad at him, but you’d be lying to say it didn’t hurt you a little you both weren’t hanging out as much anymore. You seen his troubled face still bowing and you walk over to him to grab and hug around his neck, you missed his smell and warmth so much.

“Y/n—“

“I missed you, dummy…”

Ace’s eyes grew wide, hearing those sincere words come from you made him blush, and his heart pound. “Now,” He thought, “Tell her now…”

“You’re okay though right? You didn’t avoid me because I made you mad?”

“No!” He immediately shook his head looking down at you, fisting your his shirt tightly. “No you could never make me mad Y/N! You—you um…fuck…”

Ace was defeated he pulled away scratching his head to sit on the edge of your bed, you were confused. What’s up with him? You sat beside him, he looked as deflated as he was when you first met him,

You and Marco seen him sitting on the MB crouched down with his face in his knees after being thrown by WB all day once again.

“Y/N…I been avoiding you because…I…”

Ace grown frustrated with himself, you pretty eyes not leaving his when you speak, the amount of worry in your face, you were so beautiful in his eyes, it crushed his pride knowing he couldn’t speak to you so carefree anymore, because he knew if you rejected him. There would be no way he could rekindle your friendship with him.

“Ace..” you pulled his cheeks to look back at you, your thumb rubbed over his small freckles on his face, leaning into your touch like a cat you smile warmly at him. “Talk to me….what’s been going on?”

He sighs, grabbing your wrist to lower them he mutters, “Hypothetically speaking… Have you ever liked someone Y/N?”

“Oh…um…yeah I have.”

“Do you like someone now?….hypothetically…”

“Well hypothetically …Yeah. I do.”

Ace heart sank. Of course you do. You noticed his face frowning and you giggle to Ace’s dismay he’s a bit annoyed by it.

“What’s funny?”

“You, dummy.”

“How?”

“Because…hypothetically speaking ….what if I told you I liked…a guy…and he was very sweet…strong…funny…Lowkey a hot head….can’t express his feelings for crap…oh…and he’s my best friend.”

“You like your best friend?! Who is that?!”

Your lit up eyes lowered to dumbfounded, you tilt your head and scoff playfully.

“Ace be so forreal right now…”

“I AM WH—OH!”

“OH!” You mocked and laugh. “You dummy. Or are we not best friends?!”

“NO NO WE ARE WE ARE —I—I um…I didn’t know you felt that way….why?”

“What you mean why? You’re Ace! I adore you! You get me! You’re …you’re like…I don’t know…I just…really like you… probably even more than that…”

Ace couldn’t even begin to believe what he was hearing, maybe you were playing a prank because he hurt your feelings, “No seriously, Y/n..”

“I am serious! Ace I know…I know…about…not feeling worthy of love…but…if anybody else besides your brothers don’t show you it…I will…because I do love you….Ace…”

You could see his eyes gloss with tears, cheeks red as his necklace, as much as you could tease him instead you pull him by his neck to peck his lips lightly,

“I do love you, Ace.” You repeat on his lips to make sure he knows. The last thing you would ever do it play with his emotions like that.

Ace let out an airy chuckle before kissing you again, this time more firmly, holding you close as if your were ganna disappear in thin air.

“I…I love you, too….I’m sorry I—“

“Mmmhm NO more apologies just kiss me your lips are very soft and warm.”

Ace laughed at your kisses, pulling you on top of him not wanting to let go. His heart felt so warm feeling you, this was probably the first time in a long time he had a genuine smile across his face.

“Thank you for loving me, y/n..”

“Thank you allowing me to love you.”

#one piece #TimikosAce #one piece headcanons #black reader #one piece x female reader #one piece x black!reader #one piece x reader #ace x reader #ace x female reader #ace x y/n #ace fluff #ace scenario #ace imagine #ace one piece #one piece ace

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ftm-radio · 21 days

Text

My gender is 4 years old

...and four days, as of April 15th. This post is a bit late. 😅

Four years ago, all the confusing little puzzle pieces I'd been collecting came together in a genuine eureka! moment and I realized I was transgender. It was exhilarating and terrifying and it undeniably changed my life for the better.

The last few years have felt pretty damn slow and I've had to scramble over a few frustrating obstacles (never changing my name AGAIN, lmao, that was annoying as fuck) but it's all been worth it and now it feels like I'm really making headway.

I started testosterone this past year! I did that! I'm almost 7 months on T now! Currently on a dose of two pumps of gel, which I have only missed applying once in all that time because I was literally sick. The changes are gradual but they are real and they have already brought me so much joy and made me so much happier in my humble flesh prison. 💗

The most anticipated change for me (and for a lot of transmasc folks, I imagine) is my voice, and BOY (heh) am I happy to share this data comparison with you:

[ LEFT: A screenshot from the Voice Pitch Analyzer app, dated November 3rd, 2021. It shows that OP's voice registers fully within the female voice range. RIGHT: Another screenshot from the app, dated April 12th, 2024. This one shows that OP's voice registers mostly between the Androgynous and Male voice ranges. ]

My voice is so different now. It sounds different, it feels different, and in just the last week or so I swear it has gotten a little rougher and raspier and I am LIVING. I could not be happier!!!

...okay, fine, I could be happier lmao.

I'm adjusting to my deeper voice and still learning how to use it in a way I like & that feels best to me, so I'm starting to do some casual at-home voice training again after basically forgetting about the concept completely since 2021. (Whoops.) But I am already so much happier and more content with my voice than I have ever been in my life, so it's only getting better from here, lads. <3

I've also had to go to a lot of appointments and answer a ton of phone calls about said appts recently because I kinda fucked up my eyeball (it's better now, don't worry! and be gentle to your eyes, they are delicate and eye drops are so fucking annoying when you're doing them seven times a day, jfc) and my voice has reached a point where I was a lot more comfortable interacting with strangers and I also didn't notice any surprise or confusion when I introduced myself with a male name! It was kind of amazing.

Also singing is even more fun now. I love love LOVE singing along with a male vocalist and feeling the way my voice kinda rumbles through my chest. 10/10 sensory experience.

Other changes aren't nearly as exciting or obvious as my voice, but here's a quick (?) rundown, for those who are curious:

Mood — Gotta be honest, I don't think I've really noticed any significant change in my day-to-day mood, though I may not be the best judge for this because I have trouble figuring out what/how I'm feeling in general, tbh. But I think I have certainly gotten more comfortable and content with myself and I'd even go so far as to say I feel a little more confident these days. It's nice, I appreciate it.

Acne — I definitely noticed a change in how my acne presents itself on my face. I wouldn't say it's worse than before (I've had very bad acne since I was a young teenager and only got medication for it like, last year which has helped immensely) but I think it's different. More little red spots and roughness than the unpleasant and painful pimples I'm used to. I don't even mind it, really. Oddly affirming.

Facial Hair — I've got facial hair. I really do!!! Not clickbait!!! It's not much, not enough for me to be brave and take my dad up on his offer of shaving lessons quite yet, but it has grown in enough that I don't feel silly including it in self portraits! 🤭🧔🏻 Got a little bit of a mustache happening, a little bit at the sides of my face, some fuzz on my chin (with one LONG hair that I can only assume has been greedy and stealing his brothers' growth), and a frankly surprising lil patch of hair under my jaw. On a semi-related note, not sure if my brows have gotten much darker/thicker. They might have? idk.

my new discord icon, hehe... 👁💜🪓

Body Hair — I have gotten a little more hair on my forearms, and it may have gotten a little darker too! I have a tattoo on my arm just below my left wrist and it's been surprisingly helpful for measuring arm hair growth because for years my tattoo was not covered by hair at all but the left side of it's a little fuzzy now... 😏 I've gotten more noticeable hair growth on my upper arms, which were basically hairless before (free gender euphoria every time I put on my T) and on my thighs. Don't think my lower legs have gotten much hairier, and I'm a little impatient about it lmao. I want to get hairy enough to rival my brother.

Energy/Appetite — Can't say I've really noticed any differences here? I am not a very active person and I already struggled with appetite and getting myself to eat before I started T (thank you adhd & poor eating habits 🥲💀), so I can't quite tell if I'm ignoring more hunger signals than usual. 😅 I am hoping to get more active and start doing more physical activity now that it's starting to get warmer outside again, so hopefully that will help me see these sorts of changes and also get me into some better eating habits as I expend more energy and work up a proper appetite! (Also, since we're on the topic... a reminder for all of us that taking care of yourself and feeding the body you live in is a million times more important than aesthetics and numbers on a scale. ❤)

Menstruation — I am still getting my period right on schedule, but I am happy to say it is considerably lighter than it was before I started testosterone! My period has begun getting shorter, too. It lasted for roughly 7–9 days before, but I was bleeding for exactly 7 days last month, and only 6 days this month. I'm not sure if this trend will continue at such a dramatic rate, but if my next round is only 5 days I will be very excited about it, lol. My uterus can retire any day now, please...

Bottom Growth — if any of my friends read this part, don't speak to me about it lmao — Yeah... there's a little bit of something happening down there. Not a lot, and I haven't really noticed any pain or sensitivity, but there's a Difference. Aaaaand I like it. 😌 I am looking forward to any and all future developments. 😏👉🏻👉🏻

Okay! I think that's it, really.

I know I haven't been super active on this blog for quite a while now (I have really gotten into fandom blogging on my main lmao, and also discord is my favorite thing right now, it's where 90% of my friends live) so I hope this nice, long, ramble-y post makes up for that a little bit. <3

Not gonna make any promises that I'll post here more often, but y'know. I might. It could happen. Definitely not leaving this blog to sit and gather dust, that's for sure. I'll still be reblogging stuff semi-frequently, even if I'm not writing up my own posts.

So goodbye for now, and thanks for tuning in! 👋🏻📻💖💙✨️

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akumicchi · 22 days

Text

𝔗𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡.

112 prayers

A hopeful message with no destination.

You will never be too heavy for me.

Content: angst, breakdown, hints of depression. Suguru's POV. OC appearance.

I smelled it before I saw it. I felt it before I heard it; the presence, the humming. I had never entertained the idea of time travel. No one could actually predict a forced turn in the highway of time, even if Back to the Future made it look so comical. Despite that, I found myself basking in that presence, in that humming, and let it drive me off to when I was a child: innocent and safe.

“Mom?”, hoarse. Silence. A knot of guilt tightened itself up inside my chest. ‘Don’t go’.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”, there weren't the walls of my room around me, no posters, no bookshelves nor pictures. In fact, there was no room at all. Just an open field I didn't know, somewhere I couldn't remember. I wasn't curled against my mother either. It was just Hogo, and it made me more at ease than expected.

Not being alert in a strange place was a punch to my instincts, but I couldn't bring myself to care aside from a simple:

“Where are we?”

“We’re at school. I carried you here, remember?”, oh yes. She and her stupidly strong arms. “You fell asleep though, so you probably don't”.

I did remember not wanting to come, earlier that day. The air had felt like lead for the entire … month?, weighing heavy on my lungs with each breath. Every layer of clothing was a tight rope made of rubber. It didn't matter how much I tried to fight the dark clouds, they only grew thicker and tighter. It was exhausting. It'd be way easier to just give into the misery. ‘Ah… everyone would be so disappointed to see me like this, choosing the easy way. But I can't carry this and pretend anymore’. So I hid from sewing fake smiles on my face. I just wanted to drown in the pain without witnesses.

Despite that, I let her in.

“C'mon, I want to show you something.”

“I don't really feel like walking anywhere right now”, it had been four days since Tsukumo Yuki talked to me on that very bench, and left me with more thoughts than I could manage. I needed quiet. “Maybe next time”.

Hogo crouched in front of me. Her voice was soft, the one she used when talking to kids. “Please, it won't be long, I promise. We go and then we come back. You will like it”, her eyes were clouded with worry, she looked pretty like that too, “You don't even have to walk if you don't want to”.

“Hmm? How come? You can teleport now, too?”, I cocked a brow, feeling the slight tug of a smile against my will. ‘The things she makes me do’. Her hands closed and opened for a second. She wanted to hug me, and the realization of this loud and clumsy girl being so mindful around me made my chest ache.

“Well, I'll show you if you agree to come with me”, she sang quietly with a spray of confidence.

I was so eager to get an answer to these haunting questions. Haibara’s response was as simple as his own mind. Tsukumo Yuki’s, on the other hand… It was complicated. Or maybe it wasn't? Maybe I had made my choice? But what if I was wrong? How could I know? What would she say? I wanted her thoughts, a piece of her mind to tell me…anything.

‘But not now’. The scent from her neck lulled my senses quiet. The tree leaves above our heads were kind enough to shield us from the summer afternoon. Hogo’s hand traced my skin, untangling my worries stroke by stroke. My legs were folded on her lap, and the vague memory of being cradled this way made me feel so innocent. Too warm to think. Too soft. Too comfortable.

She had a book propped up against my thigh. It was open roughly around the middle.

“What are you reading?”

“112 prayers at midnight”, she hummed, eyes not leaving the pages.

“That's an odd number of prayers”.

“Yeah. It's a story about a non-believer trapped in a time loop trying to save his loved ones after losing them to a mistake… He prays every time for the loop to restart.”

“For a non believer he surrendered fast… At least he has a second chance”.

Silence settled between us. A few seconds later she spoke again.

“Hum, I thought about that too, ‘To pray for time to go back, it's so unfair’. But as twisted as it is, I just can't stop reading. Maybe I'll be surprised”.

“Who’s that god that answers at the first call? That's a real surprise. I'd like to meet him”, that was a slip. My throat tightened and by no means I expected how broken I actually sounded.

Her arms held me closer. When she pressed her lips against my forehead, a sob almost broke through every wall I had built.

“Me too”.

Stop being like this. Don't hold me, don't carry me somewhere calm, don't kiss me so softly. Stop making me feel so small! I don't want the sun, I don't want the breeze, I don't want clouds, or words, or songs, or flowers; I don't want any of it!!

“Shh… it's okay, I've got you”.

#jjk x reader #jjk geto #jjk suguru #jjk fanfic #jjk geto suguru #jjk suguru geto #jjk angst #jjk #jujutsu geto #jujutsu suguru #jujutsu angst #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen comfort #tw depressing thoughts

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whumpzone · 2 years

Text

Linden and Colton Interval: Beach Day

this is my first ever shorter piece not done from an ask!

please have a sweet beach day, about a year into Linden and Col's story. Col's a lot more confident here :-)

CW: pet whump, that's it!

Master gripped the rolled up picnic blanket in his hands and flicked his wrists, letting is unfurl elegantly. Colton took the other end, like they’d practised, and held on as the two of them laid it across the sand.

It was quiet- just before the summer holidays. Master had led them down the stone steps that were cut into the sea wall, and then along the beach so it felt like there was no one else there at all.

Master had brought two bags- one with snacks, one with swimming gear. He put them at opposite ends, to hold the blanket down. He’s so smart, Col mused.

“You can get comfortable, sweet.”

Col obliged immediately, sinking to his knees.

“You can sit properly, if you’d like to. It’ll keep you cooler.”

It was one of Master’s softer ways of giving orders, but they were orders nonetheless. Awkwardly, he stretched one leg out after the other, glancing back to check if he’d done it right. Master gave him a smile and a nod, sitting down in the same position.

“Just going to take my shirt off. I’m getting hot already. Is that okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Colton had never, not in all these months, seen his Master without a shirt. He’d barely seen his legs, either. But as he glanced over, his vision caught on something and stayed there.

Scars. Long, deliberate ones, stretching lengthways across his chest. From his angle, Col couldn’t tell if it was one continuous cut or two shorter ones.

As usual, Master caught him looking. This time the usual thrill of fear didn’t strike quite as deep. It was still there in his mind, the fact that he should be in trouble, but Master had never punished him for it before. Colton thought he might never.

“Wh- oh! My scars.”

Master looked down at his chest, flipping some strands of hair over his shoulder ungraciously to get a better view.

"I'm transgender. Trans," he said clearly, but without much emotion attached to it. "Do you know what that means?"

Col nodded and Master gave him a little smile.

That weird urge to speak for the sake of speaking took hold of him again. Conversations weren't for pets, and yet... Col liked it when his Master talked to him. Replying was a sure-fire way of generating that.

"I've never met a transgender person before, Sir."

"I suppose they hadn’t been invented in your part of Wales yet, huh?" Master joked.

Col smiled. He wanted to laugh back, but maybe that was too far.

"You could well have met a few, you just didn’t realise. But anyway- now you know. We've both got scars."

"You have burns too… on your thighs, Sir."

"Oh, please try not to worry about that. I know you feel bad, but I've forgotten about it now. Truly. Want to go for a swim?"

Colton immediately turned to look out at the water, rolling in gently. A little way down the beach he saw a family setting up camp with their towels and bags. They had a toddler in a wetsuit, and the parents were looking after her closely as she splashed at the water’s edge, kicking her feet up in delight.

“It looks lush, right now,” Master murmured, lying down and putting an arm over his eyes. “I checked the tide times. They were written on a wall, near the car park.”

“What did they say, Sir?”

“High tide is in an hour. Means the beach has been exposed to the sun all day, heating up. If we go for a swim now, the sea will be coming in over warm sand. Have you… can you swim? Does being on the beach feel familiar?”

Colton took another risk. He waited to reply. He gave himself time to actually think. His old master would have beaten him black and blue.

There was sand between his toes, funny but not unpleasant. The smell of the sea water was delicious. Fresh, and sharp, and inviting.

He realised that he didn’t feel the need to ask if it was safe. It was. He wouldn’t go too far out, and he was a good enough swimmer. How did he know that he could swim?

How did he know that he could swim?

“It does feel familiar, Sir.”

. . .

Another small piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Linden smiled with all the warmth of the sun and more.

“You’ll have to put some sun cream on, though,” he said, eyeing Colton’s pale skin.

Col nodded obediently. “Yes, Sir.”

“I brought you a rash vest you can wear, if you want. That way your back will be covered, and everywhere else that needs sun cream you can reach yourself.”

Linden wasn’t about to make Col lean forward and present his back to his owner. Or rub his hands along any part of Col’s body, really. Plus, his tall charge definitely looked like the type to burn easily. A rash vest would not go amiss.

Col put his hands together and dipped his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Sir. You didn’t have to waste that on your pet.”

“Nothing’s wasted if it’s for you, sweet,” Linden said, busying himself with the bag of swimming stuff to hopefully stop the situation becoming too serious. He was itching for a swim himself.

Handing Colton the sun cream with a smile, Linden took a sip of water and closed his eyes. This was nice.

“Sir?” came Col’s meek voice soon after. “I’m done. Thank you for letting me use it.”

“Yeah? Great stuff. I’ll just put some on and then we’ll be good to go.”

He opened his eyes as Col gasped.

“Sir, you needed to use it too? Wh-what, I would never have used it first if I’d known, I’m so sorry, Sir!”

“Hey,” Linden said, laughing gently. Not letting it get too serious, okay… “it’s fine, it doesn’t matter. It only takes five seconds, anyway. You’re not in any trouble, I promise, Col.”

Col held it out shakily, practically thrusting it into Linden’s palm. “I’m sorry, I would have been faster, Sir…”

“Thank you for the sun cream,” was all Linden said. Col watched him, waiting for something else. He wasn’t used to being thanked, like an equal.

The sea glittered as the gentle waves caught the sun. Endless rolling jewels just a few steps from them. Linden stood and Col followed close behind, avoiding the sparse bits of driftwood or sharp crab shells to make it to the water’s edge.

“What’s the best way to go into the sea, Col?”

“Huh? I don’t know, Sir, I don’t know anything…”

“I bet you do. You know lots of things.”

Colton didn’t look at him. He was transfixed by the sea, unblinking, unmoving. The ocean breeze ruffled his hair.

“Slowly but surely, Sir. I think.”

His accent seemed a bit stronger there, Linden thought. Like the words came straight from home.

“Ready to take the first step?”

Col looked at him and nodded, a wistful look on his face.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Neither man flinched as they stepped into the cold water. It was a sweet relief from the hot sand. As the water crept up to his waist, Linden couldn’t help but pull his hands up, holding them by his head as he laughed and jumped to avoid the larger waves.

“How you holding up?” he asked, looking over at Colton, and actually shouting when he saw him further out, neck-deep and swimming. “What? Already? You’re so good! Well done!”

Colton smiled, looking down at his hand beneath the water. “Thank you for bringing me here, Sir. The water is amazing. I know I don’t deserve it. It’s just… it’s amazing.”

“You do deserve it. Thank you for coming with me.”

Linden took his time getting in, letting Colton swim ahead. His house guest was truly free. He was exercising and happy, enjoying one of life’s pleasures, drifting back to wherever he came from. Did he swim often? Did his whole family join him, or did he go with his friends? It was so hard not to dwell on the infinite unanswerable questions.

The sea could never be restrained, not truly. One could isolate it or shrink it down, but give it any opportunity and it would swell up again. Full of stories and possibilities. Linden looked at Col, and the sea surrounding him, and saw how they were one and the same.

taglist part 1:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captain-seconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonwardsworld @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @the-monarch-whumperfly @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914

#linden and colton #pet whump #fluff #comfort #i love the sea. so much. can you tell?#its truly my happy place #words cant even describe #i love it more than anything #the sea is beautiful and wild

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arcielee · 1 year

Text

Interview With a Writer

Here is part 3 of my Interview With a Writer series. You can go to this post to review the other amazing authors I have spoken with ♥ Just a BTS of some of the talented minds on Tumblr and ao3.

Name: inthedayswhenlandswerefew

Story: North to the Future

Paring: modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Rating/Warning: Sexual themes, substance abuse, acts of violence, and there is a serial killer, so murder.

So when did you start writing? I can remember working on pieces of stories as far back as elementary school, but I never thought of myself as wanting to be a writer. Then in 2010, when I was 15, I got my first vivid, all-consuming, lightning bolt of an idea. It took over my life in the best possible way and I wrote a novel over 9 months.

Now, to be clear, the novel was very bad. But you have to read a lot and write a lot before you start getting good at it, and that experience was absolutely transformative for me.

I had a lot of chaotic life situations and a bit of a crisis of confidence, and I wrote only sporadically during college and for several years afterwards. Then in 2018, I saw Bohemian Rhapsody and it became my only personality trait for a while.

As I was reblogging a million gifsets on Tumblr, I stumbled across fanfiction for the first time, and I was like…wait…other people make up self-insert stories every time they get obsessed with a movie/show too?! It was so exciting, I finally felt like I had an outlet to put my ideas and characters out into the world. I’ve been writing pretty consistently since February 2019, and I would consider that the point when I really became a writer.

I think it is safe to say every writer has that first, all-consuming novel. Does it still exist? Oh yeah, it definitely still exists! I have a Word Doc, and also a paper copy that I had printed and bound at Staples back in the day. It’s a dystopian story about a man who has to pretend to be a true believer in an oppressive regime in order to rise to the top and change it from within, but by the end of the journey he’s become sort of genuinely evil. I keep the paper copy in a box under my bed. Poor quality notwithstanding, it has a lot of sentimental value.

Okay, where did the plot for North to the Future come from? What inspired the story? Towards the end of writing my Aemond fic—Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep?—I started feeling this fascination with Aegon as a character, and I could kind of sense that there was a story about him ready to be excavated from wherever ideas wait to be discovered.

I kept picturing him in an unassuming little bar filled with Christmas lights as snow fell outside: sad, drunk, wearing all black. But I didn’t have a story yet, just a vision. And the songs I kept hearing when I thought about this tortured modern Aegon were 90s songs: Everlong, A Long December, Drive.

Then one day out of nowhere, the plot showed up.

The first real idea I get for a story is always the very end, and I saw Aegon and the protagonist barreling down the Pacific Coast Highway in a red convertible. I knew that Aegon was sober and going back home to face some terrible past, and that the girl he loved was experiencing California for the first time, and that they were both finally free of demons they’d been running from their whole lives. Once I knew the ending, the rest of the details started falling into place, and within a few days I had an outline and chapter list.

Explain your interpretation of Aegon. What drives him? Why is he the way he is in NttF? Aegon is a talented and intuitive person, but he’s clearly not suited for running a venture capital empire or corporate work in general. So his earliest, most formative memories are of his parents (and grandfather) being disappointed in him. He experienced abuse, both emotional and physical, and developed extremely harmful coping mechanisms that at a certain point he no longer knew how to function without. He was suicidal in part because of his self-loathing and the futility of his situation, but also because the only time he received even vague compassion from his parents was after he had swallowed a bottle of pills or stabbed himself with four of his mother’s EpiPens.

Of course what Aegon overlooked was that he did have people back in Miami who cared about and wanted to help him, although they were too young to effectively communicate it: Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron.

After the accident that claimed Aemond’s eye and three innocent lives, Aegon can’t cope with reminders of what he’s done because he’s fundamentally not someone who ever wants to hurt others. He directs his destructiveness inwards, not outwards, and even when striking out in self-defense he runs away as soon as the opportunity presents itself. That’s the real difference between Aegon and Jesse. When Dadtini talks about Jesse, he mentions bruises and kicked down doors. That’s not Aegon. Jesse gives bruises, Aegon gets them.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal? I didn’t consciously have anyone in mind when I was writing Appletini, but most of my Readers tend to be snarky, studious, and guarded (yet reluctantly hopeful), so that’s probably my own personality bleeding into the characters! I envisioned someone who was well-intentioned and ostensibly responsible, yet under the surface struggling in a way that she felt she couldn’t share with anybody else. I think most people have felt like that at some point in their lives, so it’s just a matter of being able to take the essence of that feeling and shape it to fit with the story’s narrative. Honestly, the most difficult part of writing Appletini was her relationship with her extremely supportive and functional parents, as that’s not something I have much experience with. I was really relieved when people connected with Momtini and Dadtini as characters because I wasn’t sure if I was doing them justice. In what ways do you feel your Reader compliments Aegon? The defining characteristic of the Aegon/Appletini relationship is that she wants him to become the best version of himself, and truly believes that he has the capacity to if he’ll work for it. She knows he’s brilliant, she knows he’s a genuinely good person under all of his issues and mistakes, she knows he’s fine af, and she knows she loves him. But none of that is enough if he’s not sober.

Someone like Heather or Joyce wouldn’t see value in Aegon, and someone like Kimmie wouldn’t push him to change. The story is in the war that Appletini fights to prove that Aegon can and should conquer his demons. Similarly, Aegon wants Appletini to break free of her suffocating obligations in Juneau, and it causes him genuine pain to see her not living the life she wants. They really want the best for each other, even in their worst moments.

Was there another character (OC or canon) in your story you enjoyed portraying? (And why?) Firstly, I really enjoyed writing Kimmie because she’s a twist on the trope of the attractive, overtly-sexual, not terribly intellectual girl always getting killed in horror movies. Kimmie is the “hot friend” and she loves to party, but she’s also deeply loyal and affectionate, and she notices certain things that other people don’t. I wanted the readers to underestimate her, and then hate her, and then come back to realizing that she wasn’t a villain after all. She could use a better sense of boundaries, but she’s a good person. I feel like by the end of NTTF, it’s clear why Heather, Joyce, and Appletini are friends with Kimmie despite all her…peculiarities.

Secondly, Trent was a super fun character to write, because he’s unnerving without being completely unrealistic. He reminds me of a lot of the frat boys I went to college with…superficially pleasant yet entitled, less malicious than willfully ignorant about anything that doesn’t fit with what he wants in life. He’s a product of the “boys will be boys” era that he grew up in, especially with Alaska being more old-fashioned than the rest of the country, so the 1990s there feel like the 1960s or 70s in some ways. Also, I can’t lie, I loved all the dumb horse boi jokes.

Finally, I absolutely adored Aemond as a character and I was just as impatient as the readers were for him to finally show up in Chapter 11. He’s so stoic and fierce, but he has a tremendous amount of love for Aegon and this blind faith in his ability to change for the better. Aemond’s personality is a lot like Appletini’s, which is why they end up having this tacit respect for each other. I think they end up as close friends eventually, probably even closer than Aemond and Aegon.

Was there an OC character that reflects the author? Out of all the NTTF characters, I am definitely the most like Heather! I’m that friend who is snarky and judgmental on the surface, but also ferociously protective…which can be tough when you’re watching your friends make questionable decisions, like our poor beloved Heather was forced to throughout the series. I know she was thrilled to see that everyone ended up happy. That’s all we really want, us Heathers of the world.

You mentioned your retirement from fan fiction, so what is next? What’s next is writing a novel, which I am super excited about! I’ve had the plot figured out for a few years now and have written bits and pieces of it already, but now I’m determined to dive in without any creative detours and get it written, hopefully within a year.

I do have some trepidation about the project—What if the idea isn’t good? What if I can’t do it justice? What if I can’t keep to a schedule now that I don’t have an amazingly wonderful audience expecting weekly updates?—but I’ve come to realize that if I never try to be a “real” writer, I’m going to regret it my whole life. I’m trying to be logical about it and tell myself that even if my first book isn’t perfect, I can always write others, so it’s not like my whole future is contingent upon this one project. I’ve had the idea for so long that the characters feel real to me, and I just want to tell their story well.

#interview with a writer #iwaw3 #bts #of their brilliant writing #i hope you all enjoy #♥#aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #biiiiiiitch

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

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You make me breathe

AN: My first fic about Woozi would have this much drama lmao. I'm strongly considering turning this into a series because I have a tonne of ideas floating around in my mind of where I'd like to take this. Shoutout to Breathe by GOT7 for the title.

Synopsis: Jihoon is utterly in love with you. Too bad you're into his friend Soonyoung, and he's too much of a coward to ever tell you how he feels. He's happy to take his feelings to the grave but soon finds that his body doesn't agree with his decision.

Heads up: Lee Jihoon x Fem! Reader, Kwon Soonyoung x Fem! Reader (but, not actually), assumed unrequited love, a tonne of angst and pining on Woozi's end, Hanahaki disease AU, Non-Idol AU, mentions of crying and coughing up blood.

I will block you if you are minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Jihoon watches you talk to Soonyoung with what he hopes is nonchalance. Something awful constricts in his chest when he notices your hand rest on his arm, and you laugh particularly hard at whatever his friend says. Usually Jihoon wouldn't be this overly analytical about anyone's movements, but he just can't seem to help himself when it comes to you.

His eyes always find you without fail. You draw him like a magnet. Jihoon isn't sure when he fell for you. When he looks back on the progression of his feelings, he thinks it happened gradually. One day you were just a friend Seungkwan introduced to the group, and the next thing he knew, he was irrevocably in love with you. He's been too much of a coward to ever broach his feelings with you these past few months, and now he sees you slipping through his fingers.

You and Soonyoung have always been close. Your personalities simply clicked. There wasn't much else to it, so you were always practically attached at the hip. He just understood you better. Soonyoung is loud and confident and funny and affectionate, so many things Jihoon is not and will likely never be. Maybe that's why you seem to like him so much. More than anyone else in their friend group.

Jihoon finds it increasingly difficult to breathe when he notices you cuddling into Soonyoung's side, your boisterous conversation turning to hushed whispers that scream closeness and intimacy.

He knew his insecurities were getting the best of him. You spoke to Jihoon often, sometimes the two of you would spend hours alone in his studio simply talking. Occasionally he'd show you what he was working on and privately preen at your praise and carefully consider any criticism you offer up as well. Those were some of his most treasured moments with you.

You weren't his. You weren't in a relationship with him. He had no right to feel envious of Soonyoung, especially when he has never even tried to tell you how he feels. Still, feelings are irrational, and Jihoon cannot help his.

He fails to notice your eyes focusing on him when he excuses himself for the night, your brow furrowed in concern as you watch him hurriedly make his way to his room for the night.

Jihoon swallows down the tears and tries to remind himself to breathe when he's finally in the safety of bedroom, hurling himself on his bed. He was being overdramatic, he knew that, but he still couldn't bite back the tears as they fall down on his cheeks and begin to dot his pillow. He's pathetic.

It was getting difficult to breathe.

He felt like his insides were being shred into pieces as he laid here, wallowing in self-pity and self-deprecation. The feeling of his lungs constricting returns, more severe than last time. More determined to be felt by him.

He rushes to his bathroom, urgency leaving him without the presence of mind to even turn on the light. He nearly hits his head with how hurriedly he kneels over his toilet, clutching it desperately as he tries his best to get whatever is currently burning his insides out of his system.

This doesn't feel normally. Jihoon has thrown up before, and it's never felt like this.

It's never hurt like this.

Tears cascade down his face as he finally manages to get... whatever is causing this out of his body, the metallic tang of blood assaulting his taste buds. He coughs violently, worse than he's ever recalled doing in his life.

When the violent coughing fit subsides, Jihoon manages to open his bleary eyes to examine what the fuck just came out of him. He's stunned to see what he thinks are white chrysanthemum petals covered in his blood floating in the water below.

#lee jihoon angst #jihoon angst #seventeen angst #woozi angst #lee jihoon fic #jihoon fic #seventeen fic #woozi fic

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javier-pena · 2 years

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observance

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: In the quietness of a cooling summer evening, you see something you shouldn't have.

Warnings: voyeurism | masturbation (m) | a bit of swearing | reader is not a virgin but quite inexperienced

Notes: I was actually planning on posting this as part of Kinktober this year, but since I've decided to focus my time and attention more on my novel and a bit less on fics, I won't be doing Kinktober after all. However, I already finished some fics for it, and I have a few more ideas which I want to write as well. Anyway, this fic is about a young Arthur Morgan trying his luck as a farmhand.

***

He started to work at the ranch about a month ago. Mr. Sedgwick introduced him to everyone as “Mr. Arthur Morgan”. And everyone took a shine to him immediately. The other two girls in the kitchen can’t talk about anything else. The ranchers talk about his skills with horses in awe. Mrs. Sedgwick watches him from the window sometimes but closes the curtains when he looks her way. And Miss Sedgwick tries to get his attention any way she can, acting dumber around the animals than she is.

You’re quite indifferent to Mr. Morgan. He’s a hardworking man, ready to assist whenever you need help, never complains, and doesn’t let all the attention he’s getting get to his head. Whenever you two run into each other somewhere around the ranch, he tips his hat to you and greets you with a friendly, “ma’am”. When he works with the horses, you like to stand near the fence, because you love to see how gentle he is with them – gentle yet firm, and so very patient. Sometimes, when you’re alone with a dull, repetitive task, you allow your mind to wander to a memory of him astride a horse, firm thighs pressed tightly into its sides. Or you think about how he helped build the newest paddock, how he lifted up the wooden pillars, how you could see the muscles in his neck and back strain because it had been a hot day and he had taken off his shirt. You like how he uses his body with such confidence, always jumping right into a task without hesitation, and you like how he always tips his hat to you – even when he’s panting, covered in sweat and dirt, he always shoots a smile your way.

You’re not indifferent to Mr. Morgan at all, but Mr. Sedgwick has very strict rules regarding relations between his employees. He only employs single men, and only allows the women to marry farm hands from another ranch. You’re very aware nothing can ever happen between the two of you, at least nothing that God would approve of. But that doesn’t stop you from entertaining romantic notions and it most definitely doesn’t stop you from looking at him.

You have never quite felt about any man like you feel about Mr. Morgan. Growing up with three older brothers you know how crude men can often be, especially when they are talking about women. And you’ve noticed it with the other men on the ranch, you’ve seen how they look at Mr. Sedgwick’s daughter, you’ve heard them talk about his wife like she was a prized stallion waiting to be broken in by them. But Mr. Morgan is nothing but respectful toward you and the other women on the ranch. He even got in a fistfight once with one of the men who had made a particularly lewd comment about the daughter.

Today, though, is a quiet day. Mr. Sedgwick took his wife and daughter into town, and you had been given half a day off. You’d used this time to visit the horses in the stable and to watch three men try to recapture a bullock who had escaped. After dinner, you had given everyone on the farm a piece of huckleberry pie that you had baked in the morning. Mr. Morgan, of course, had accepted his slice with the usual tip of his hat and a mumbled, “Thank you, ma’am”.

And now, while the sun is slowly setting and the air is cooling down, and the other two women you share a cabin with are too loud and excited after having so much sugar, you’re using the remainder of your spare time for a brief walk around the ranch and the forest bordering it. Between the trees and the branches and the high grass, you can be yourself. No one owns you here, no one can tell you what to do, no one bothers you. You carve out these little pockets of solitude for yourself, a treat, just like the pie had been a treat for all the others. The evening light, the soft tones and long shadows, bring you relief from the busy ranch life and give you some time for quiet thinking and breathing.

Mr. Sedgwick’s property is big, and you’ve all been told not to stray too far away from its borders because most of the land beyond it is untamed, full of bears and cougars and dangerous men. But you like walking just behind the fence, between the trees where you can’t be spotted by anyone but can observe everyone else. When Mr. Sedgwick hired some new hands (Mr. Morgan included), he had them build a few more cabins some yards behind the tree line, expanding his property. It is less dangerous out here now, but it still makes you feel like you’re all alone in the world.

The new cabins are solid shadows between the trunks, dark and quiet. The men are still at the ranch, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine, the last few moments of freedom. You’ve never seen the cabins up close because there is no reason for you to come back here, so this is your chance. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to have a look around, just briefly, before anyone comes back.

Some clothes hang on a line stretched between two cabins, work shirts and trousers drying in the cooling air. The porches are kept clean, although you do spot an empty whiskey bottle under one of them, and some cigarette butts on the steps of another. Wondering about what the inside looks like, how the men you’ve only interacted with briefly so far live, you make your way over to one of the windows and glance inside.

A table, some chairs, a few unmade beds – with a disappointed sigh, you turn toward the next cabin. You don’t really know what you were expecting, but it’s not this. Their lodgings don’t look any different than those you share with the other two girls who work in the kitchen. You approach the other cabin from the back, hoping to get a closer look at one of the beds and maybe some more interesting sights to observe. Do these men read? Do they have any hobbies? Will it just be more dirty clothes and unmade beds?

The darkness descends rapidly here between the trees as you approach, a small shadow melting into a much bigger one. You don’t watch your step because there is no one around, no one you need to hide from. And when you spot a window that’s cracked open, you consider, for one wild moment, to climb in and have a look around.

That is until you hear a strangled moan.

Instead of making you freeze, it makes you hurry up – someone could be in danger or trapped and you could be the only person who is able to get help and save them. You glance in through the window, into a dim cabin, and are met with the sight of the bare back of a man, sitting on his bed, hunched over. Before you can make sense of that sight, before you can even make out who he is, you hear the sound again, less breathy now, deeper, more unrestrained – a moan of pleasure.

Your face heats up and you duck, just below the window, trembling body pressing against the sturdy wood. You’ve heard those sounds before, you know what they mean, and you definitely shouldn’t be here to hear them. And yet you cannot move, pinned in place by ragged bursts of breath and faint, wet sounds.

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as you slowly stand back up again, trembling limbs almost giving way. The right thing to do would be to leave, to forget about what you saw and heard, but you cannot stop yourself from glancing back in through the window. It’s wrong, you know that, and you promise yourself you’ll leave as soon as possible, but another look won’t hurt.

His back is still turned toward the window – you can see the muscles flexing in the low light, can see the strain in his arm. You swallow drily as you feel your body react to the sight in front of you, a dull ache in the pit of your stomach, an insistent pressure between your legs. You ball your hands into fists, dig your nails into your palms, to distract yourself, to get some other sensations under your skin.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere, even though it’s deeper than normal, strained, choked. You’ve heard it used to calm an anxious horse countless of times, to tell someone off for misplacing a rope, to laugh at a joke. And suddenly leaving is the last thing on your mind.

Arthur leans back then and you flinch away from the window, trying to become one with the shadows. His movements and yours, both your shifting positions, help you get a better look at him as he puts his weight on his left elbow, stretching his back, opening his chest. His eyes are closed in pure bliss, and it takes you a while to let your gaze wander down his chest because you’ve never seen him look so relaxed before. But when you do, you find yourself transfixed by the sight of his hand wrapped around his cock, lazily pumping himself, his hips thrusting up into his fist from time to time. You cannot take your eyes off his length, thick and swollen, shiny at the tip. You clench your fingers again, imagining it was your hand around his cock, your tight grip giving him pleasure.

“Yes, just like that.”

Those words take your breath away. You know he has no idea you’re watching him, he can’t have, but he’s only fueling your fantasy. Every tremble that wrecks through his body you feel too; your legs are shaking just as much as his naked thighs. You’re panting, dryly, painfully fast. And you know he’s thinking about someone, he has to be, and you allow yourself to imagine that he’s thinking about you, a harmless thought to indulge in.

With a deep rumble, he folds, and you see the muscles on his stomach jump and flinch impatiently. Your hands are clawing at your skirts now, gripping the fabric so tightly you doubt you’ll ever be able to let go. His thrusts are becoming desperate as he lets go of whatever restraints were still holding him back. With one final thrust, one final twist of his wrist, he comes, coating his thighs and stomach in thick, white ropes.

Everything is too tight – your dress, your skin, the air around you. Go, go, go, you urge yourself, and yet you stay, watch as he collapses on his back on the bed, eyes slowly opening to stare up at the ceiling. You shouldn’t be here, should never have stopped to watch, but you still can’t take your eyes off him, off his glistening skin, off the evidence of his pleasure.

His voice is still thick with arousal when he speaks again, yet he sounds calm and collected. “I know you’re there.”

***

arthur morgan taglist: @arsonhotchner | @cjillian97 | @imaginativefanatic | @misspearly1 | @tortor-mcgee

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #i just love mr morgan so there's that

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megidoreyn · 3 months

Note

Heyyy it's about the art questions

I would like to know your answer in 18 (the purpose) and 22 (artspiration).

I would also ask 3 but I'd completely understand if you prefer not to answer

The rest are already answered

Hope you have a great month. ;D

Hey there! Thanks for the questions!

⭐️3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand

→ It was a real trip down memory lane to look back on some of these, but here's a sample of some old things from 2021-early 2022! (Prior to posting on social media in Aug 2022) Back then, I didn't have any real incentive to improve my art outside of drawing quick sketches like the pictures above. I had issues being cleanly (due to lack of motivation), committing to learning character details, and more LOL. →Fun fact, I drew on a very tiny 11 inch screen 4GB RAM laptop with horrible color calibration for about 3 years until finally getting something better in early 2022 too LOL. It might be noticeable in some of the above pictures with the color choices being a little too light or too saturated, LOL.

→As also seen at the bottom of this post, It might come as a surprise that I also draw fanart for my favorite assorted fandoms outside of megaten too, LOL. I just never post it in public since they're meant as warm-up doodles!

To be honest, 2020 thru late 2022 was a very low point in my life. I had given up on all creative endeavors at the time due to: My career, being diagnosed with a bodily issue of which the effects I still deal with even today, and other personal issues.

It truly wasn't until late 2022 (when I started posting online) that I truly felt confident picking up my tablet pen again and view art in a more positive light…!

NGL I had written out my entire life story here but ended up deleting it--it would have made this post terribly long regardless LOL💦 Perhaps it'll be a story for another time, though!!🙏 And it absolutely has to do with why the Samurai husbands mean lot to me!

⭐️18. What is your purpose for drawing?

→ That's a good question! For me, (especially due to my visual agnosia) it'd have to be the ability to draw whatever comes to mind with skill and precision. To not hold back and draw whatever comes into your mind's eye without fear or hesitation from others (or your own critical inner voice)… And to be able to properly convey the meaningful themes of your work as clearly as they come into your mind... That, to me, is true freedom.

➡️As for BL content: Despite not posting much of it in public (yet), my purpose in drawing BL (or OTP content in general) is to transmit feelings of love + warmth in my art! To depict tenderness, warmth, and love with affectionate, natural-looking body language to make it as believable + realistic as possible...That's always been my goal! →The world is a scary place out there. Though, if my OTP content can make someone feel a slight glimmer of peace, tranquility, or even hope to keep moving forward...then I'll be incredibly happy!🙏💕 It's always my intention to convey nothing but sweet wholesome vibes and warmth with my pictures, and I truly hope that feeling comes across too. ➡️I'll be super candid and say I actually really enjoy angst and raunchy content as much as everyone else! But drawing wholesome + sweet characters in love just comes much sooo much easier and naturally as breathing to me, LOL. Just because I don't post angst or raunchy things, doesn't mean I dislike it! ☝️

⭐️22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

→ I tend to gravitate towards professional artists with thick painting (厚塗り) coloring styles, dynamic illustrations, and artists that have a strong grasp of anatomy, character design and storytelling! It's hard to pick just one, so here's a brief selection of ones that come up at the top of my head right now!

Thanks again for the questions! Have a wonderful January and rest of your 2024 as well!✨🌟

#askbox #walterjonathan #ワルヨナ #rare SMT1 waruo/yoshio content too LOL #trust me when I say that's only a mere fraction of what's locked away in the Vaults (tm) of old art #I will always be an old man who is always long winded and has a LOT to say about everything ever LOOOL #but I appreciate anyone who takes the time to read this nonetheless! I hope everyone also has a great 2024!

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justicerikai · 1 year

Text

graduation

In Japan, when one decides to move onto greener pastures or simply quit the current job they have been doing for quite a while, that is referred to as graduation.

And thus, I too, will be graduating from translating Charisma House.

Earlier this month (May 2023) I decided to go on a break due some medical and personal issues I had to deal with. No thinking about translating at all, just doing what I want and what I like. It's been roughly two weeks now and for someone who is doing things all the time, it was more than enough to decide where I want to keep going with translating.

Of course, this isn't a spontaneous decision. It's something that weighed in the back of my mind for a bit- can I handle all of this? I love translating, but can I handle all of it? No, I cannot. I need to know my limits.

But most importantly, know what's fun.

Charisma House was very novel for me. I had to learn to understand the humor, grasp what's being implied, the nuances of the jokes that can be easily misunderstood if not read properly. It was a challenge that definitely pushed me beyond anything else ever could. And yet, that honeymoon phase of grasping something so novel, so different, has come to an end.

I still love Charisma House, and always will. I actively keep up and peruse the interwebs for fun theories and content. Yet with the direction of Season 2, I have noticed... translating it no longer sparks joy as it once did. It is still good content, but not the one that made me lose my marbles, or perhaps I have simply gotten used to it?

Or perhaps, I simply just... lost the spark and drive I once had for it. And that is fine. Such is the beauty of what's fleeting, 物の哀れ if you will.

Translating Charisma House was, and will always, be a fun experience for me. I'm happy I took the risk, a mere amateur like I, to still translate it. I learned a lot, I laughed a lot, I shared a lot. I never thought I would translate drama tracks, or even still try with song lyrics (which I did give up on but alas). Besides this, I have also dabbled in subbing anime, I have even attempted manga translating. But at the end of the day I realized that what truly sparks joy, what actually is fun for me, for me is visual novel type content.

Not only that, I also want to translate because... I want to. Not because it is an obligation to give the people content. A few weeks ago, my favourite mobile game released an event with my two fave characters and I had so much fun working on it. I felt so excited with each phrase I translated, I couldn't wait to show this to people.

Even when I am thinking of an other mobile game that's coming out soon, all I can think of is "God, I cannot wait to share this with the masses! I have to! It's my duty as a human being!"

That feeling is, alas, what I have been lacking with Charisma House for a while. And that is when I should know better, and draw the line.

As I said, it is no longer fun.

Is it that serious? That I'm dropping a series that I have translated? No, probably not. Happens all the time, I'm sure there are others waiting in line to continue what I was doing, or maybe not. Who knows.

But to me, it is, and that's why I wanted to convey it in a long hefty post.

As closure, I will share some words of one of my favourite manga. Something I live by, and will for as long as possible.

"The world is filled to the brim with nice things... and all of them are carrying someone's intentions and feelings.

When those feelings get across and manage to make someone happy... I gain little pieces of confidence,

that I'll gather together and carry with me as I move on."

And I believe something like that, is only achievable when you do something that is fun, to you.

Thank you for reading, this post, and my translations. Thank you for being able to find enjoyment in Charisma House through my translations. This blog is not going anywhere and will stay up, of course. You will probably still see me around on my other ventures, just not here.

And never forget,

Rikai-kun is cute and he will always be.

Sayonara

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wyvin666 · 2 years

Text

Tattoo Trouble

Eddie Munson X reader (they/them)

Request: Can you write one where Eddie has a crush on his tattoo artist and gets tattoos in the most painful spots to impress them, but this time he smoked before he got it and is getting a tattoo on his neck, and instantly regrets everything

a/n: defo not my best work but as a tattoo enthusiast this req goes hard. I might make a part two at some point but i just needed to finish something so my executive disfunction stops being a bitch

2.9k words

Eddie had a bit of a problem. When he had initially started getting tattoos at the only shop in Hawkins it was no big deal. The artist was this older dude named Chris who was sweet if a bit gruff, the problem was his apprentice. About a year and a half ago Chris had taken on an apprentice and immediately Eddie was smitten. He had been a test canvas for them multiple times and now that they were fully trained he almost exclusively worked with them.

For all his bravado Eddie was never very good at flirting when he actually cared. He had started getting tattoos in more and more painful spots in an attempt to impress them, it was a solid step one he had reasoned, never mind that it had been almost a year and while he had become friends with the young tattoo artist he was no closer to making a move. Currently he was getting ready for yet another tattoo appointment. For being as broke, it was kinda impressive he kept pulling together the money for new ink. He was supposed to be getting a spiderweb tattooed across the front of his throat. He and y/n had been hanging out about a month ago when he had said he was thinking of getting a neck piece. They had immediately began talking excitedly about this spiderweb design they had been toying with and how could he not get it.

Eddie scrunched up his face in the mirror as he tried to fix his hair. He thought back to his last appointment, when he’d gotten his chest piece done. The way they had leaned over his chest as they worked on the final white highlights. He remembered swearing but remaining still as they had gone over a spot on his collar bone, the smile that had curled on they’re face as they told him he was being so good for them, if he didn’t have a praise kink before he certainly had one now. His eyes flicked over to his nightstand where his joint case sat. surely it wouldn’t hurt to smoke a little, in fact maybe it would help him get the confidence to flirt, he had the time before his appointment. Grabbing the case and making sure his lighter was in his pocket he headed over to a little clearing in the woods behind the trailer park for a quick sesh.

By the time he had biked over to the tattoo parlor he was definitely nicely high, he wasn’t absolutely zooted or anything but he definitely had a bit of warm fuzziness in his head and his eyes felt just a little heavy. Walking in he made small talk with Chris as he filled out his paperwork and then headed back to y/n’s room. He had always liked the way Neurotic Needles was laid out so that each of the 3 artists and the piercer had their own little rooms, even with the windows in the wall it gave just a bit of privacy that was always nice.

“Eds!!!” y/n stopped cleaning and ran over to give him a hug, “Sorry i’m running a bit behind today have a seat in the corner chair, you know the one, and I’ll be ready in just a sec! How’ve you been?” Eddie flopped into the chair by the boor and watched as y/n finished spraying everything down with alcohol and began cling wrapping the tattoo chair.

“Good, good. I finished the campaign last week with hellfire and everyones pretty excited for the next arch but we decided to take a week off, some of the kids are going to visit a friend in california and I figured it would be best to do a session zero when everyone was here” Y/n looked up from filling the squirt bottle of green soap

“I thought you were gonna keep the same party”

“We are but uh, we had a few casualties so quite a few of them are rolling up new characters.”

“Lolth too strong for them?”

“Nah I balanced the encounter right, I wanted to get some new PCs, things were getting a bit stale” that made them laugh as they pulled off their gloves, he felt like he was flying.

“Cold”

“Ice” he smiled.

“Alright!” They pulled on a new set of gloves and motioned him over. “Let's get you stenciled!” They shot some green soap onto a paper towel and disinfected the area. “Ok… you look nicely shaved so I wont go over that again… thanks for making my job easier!” they winked.

“But of course, only the best for you.” he watched them stifle a smile as they rolled over to their bench to grab the stencil and balm. Scooping out a small amount of stencil solution with a tongue depressor they smoothed it over the area.

“Now tilt your head back… Perfect! Now keep still for me.”

“You got it.” a moment of silence as they held the stencil over his neck adjusting ever so slightly and then the lightest touch on his throat followed by a soft smoothing and the crinkle of paper. He felt them gently tap around the stencil making sure it was flush and then slowly peeled away the paper.

“Ok,” they held up a mirror, “whaddaya think?” Eddie admired the indigo web in the mirror for a second, it was perfectly centered and had a tiny strand going down in the middle with a spider dangling on the end.

“Another perfect design”

“Shut up”

“I mean it, save some talent for the rest of us, damm.” Y/n was definitely flustered, the weed was definitely a good idea. Normally, them being flustered would make him flustered and he would freeze up but now all he could think was how nice they looked, he would say just about anything to keep the flushed look on their face. “Seriously! Talented, gorgeous, and sweet? You've got it all sweetheart.”

“Flattery won't knock your price Munson.” he couldn't help the dopey grin that spread on his face.

“Just tellin you the truth.”

“Ok pretty boy you ready to start.” he nodded and watched as they adjusted the power on their machine until it was the speed they wanted. “Let me know if you need a break at any point or if you wanna finish another day.”

“I’ll be fine, you know I sit well.”

“Yeah yeah yeah tell me again after we start.”

As soon as the needles touched his skin he knew he had fucked up. Tattoos always hurt, a slight burning sensation and an ache bit with his heightened senses it felt like a hot poker was being shoved into his throat. He tried desperately to keep his composure but couldn't hold back a whimper or pain. Y/n, focused on pulling the line, didn't look up but he almost wished they had because maybe they would have stopped. It felt like years as they traced the line down the center or his throat and onto his chest and as soon as they pulled back the machine from his skin he was trying desperately to breath before they went back in. As they outlined the spider on his clavicle every line felt like it was burning into his actual bones. He was desperately trying to blink back tears when they finally pulled the machine away again, wiping off the area they had just gone over, not dry thank goodness. The third time y/n went in he couldn’t help but let out a very choked fuck and they looked up and immediately looked concerned.

“Edds are you ok?” he tried his best to smile reassuringly but it must not have been convincing because y/n looked even more concerned. “I’ve been tattooing you for over a year now and I've never seen you react like this, what's up?” Eddie considered lying but between being stoned, being in pain, and being in the presence of the person he had a massive crush on made that seem like maybe not the best course of action.

“I may have maybe smoked a joint before coming and maybe it upped my pain perception and I might be regretting all of my choices right now.” y/n sighed and pulled off their gloves.

“You beautiful idiot.” They grabbed more green soap and began cleaning up the single line and spider outline he’d managed to stomach. “Lucky you, you were my only client today so we're gonna clean up, go get some lunch, and talk schedules and I'll finish you up later.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I'm not dealing with your squirmy high ass while I try to pull a bunch of straight lines on incredibly malleable skin.” He would have been more hurt if there wasn’t such a smile behind those words. It also probably helped that all his stoned brain could think about was how pretty y/n’s hair was falling and that he was about to get lunch with them. Which is like almost a date. If you squint. And ignore that they went to get lunch together all the time.

“Thanks y/n you're a god.” They walked over with a freshly cut piece of saniderm, tilted his head up and coveted the fresh ink.

“Oh I know, you absolutely owe me a joint though I’m not hanging out with you high while I'm sober, not this time anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

“I rented Clue yesterday so we could just order dinner and watch that?” They motioned him out of the chair so they could pull off the cling film.

“Shit, I forgot that family video got that in.”

“I had Robin call me when they got it, perks of having friends that work there.” They crumpled up the ball of cling film and tossed it into the trash with the ink cap and machine grip and cover. “And my parents are out of town so we can smoke at my place. You have your j case on you?”

“Always.”

“Right then go wait outside and I’ll tell Chris I’m leaving.” They tossed Eddie their keys. “I assume you biked over?” He nodden. “You can go put your bike in my car then.”

As Eddie headed over to the car he had to restrain himself from jumping like an idiot. It's not like he had never been to y/n’s house before, in fact stoned movie nights were a staple of their friendship but as he was now realizing he had perhaps smoked more than he meant to and was definitely more intoxicated than he had intended on being but hey, more time with y/n was always a win. A few moments later y/n flopped in the car next to him.

“Keys?” he motioned to the cup holder. “Alright munson buckle up.” he rolled his eyes but obliged. “So… do we order pizza or do we stop at the diner and pick up burgers?”

“I’d vote pizza. If we get burgers the fries’ll be cold by the time we eat them and I'd rather die than eat cold fries.”

“Fair point, dramatic but fair, pizza it is then.”

“Yay!”

Pulling up to y/n house Eddie hoped out of the car and ran around to open the door.

“And they say chivalry is dead.”

“Not as long as i'm around.”

“Oh fair sir Munson, thank you for saving me from the trouble of opening my door, my poor weak hands could never have done it without you!”

“Shut up, I’m just trying to be nice.” y/n laughed as they walked ahead and opened the door.

“Ok Munson lets go.” Eddie couldn’t help but practically skip into the house. This was gonna be a good night and who knows, maybe he’d even confess, only time would tell.

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #x reader #tattoo artist!reader #kinda shit but oh well

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