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ressyfaerie · 3 years

Note

Fic suggestion; 2/3 years post canon where they're in their respective colleges/universities. Kai happens to be passing through & finds out that Tyson is struggling to fit in due to relentless bullying. Kai decides to confront the bully(es). Afterwards Tyson wonders what made Kai be so protective & out slips an accidental because I love you? hehehe

This sounds CUTE! And Also reminds me of when I wrote something similar in my long slow burn fic (its a bit of a long story)... but this sounds SUPER FUN. Big fan, here we gooo

“So I hear the world champion still can’t integrate into society?”

“Shut up, Kai.”

The phone connection crackled as Tyson put Kai on speakerphone.

“Where are you right now?”

“Walking in the park to get back to the dojo, how about you?”

“Studying back at my apartment, is it dark? Be careful.”

“I know how to walk, Kai. It’s not that dark, there's lots of streetlamps. So why are you phoning me?”

“I need a reason to phone my best friend?”

“You always have a reason.”

“Alright, you caught me.”

“I knew it, you know you’re not that sneaky, Kai.”

“Whatever. Ray told me you were having troubles at school—”

“I’m fine, Kai.”

“Is it studying? I can help again—”

“No it’s not that, everything’s fine, okay? Can you drop it?”

“It doesn’t sound like everything’s fine.”

He heard Tyson sigh on the other end of the line.

“Bye, Kai.”

*beep*

“Tyson? Tyson!?”

Kai threw the phone down on his open textbook.

That bastard hung up on me!?

Kai had just finished texting Ray about Tyson’s troubles at school. This time it wasn’t the studying, girl or boy problems, friend problems, family problems… The list of Tyson’s issues that Kai was forced to deal with since he started university was overwhelming. Not that he was forced to deal with them… They kept getting shuffled down until Kai was the closest person to deal with it. Tyson didn’t accept help easily, but Kai could tell when he needed it.

Kai found he was worried about Tyson constantly.

And he had every reason to be.

Kai attended a prestigious university, while Tyson decided to enroll in one closer to the dojo. Kai got used to university life fast, Tyson lagged behind. Tyson was hit with a brick wall. University wasn’t highschool, or a tournament, it wasn’t traveling the world. It was a whole other realm that really didn’t suit Tyson at all. Kai watched from afar as Tyson struggled through the everyday, he made friends easily but everything else was ten times harder.

And now, it seemed that Tyson had yet another problem he wasn’t sharing.

The tip of Kai’s mechanical pencil broke.

He decided he’d go to Tyson’s school tomorrow to check up on him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Kai mimicked Tyson’s anger.

“Checking up on you.”

Kai leaned on the hood of his Mercedes, wearing casual clothes and a hand in his pocket.

“If you show up looking like that talking to me like this, people are going to think you're my boyfriend.”

Kai laughed, “what’s wrong with that?”

Tyson stuttered but didn’t manage to answer.

“What’s wrong?”

Kai’s words cut through the world, forcing it to stop moving and stay stationary for just a moment.

“Nothing is wrong.” Tyson turned on his heel, but Kai was too fast.

He grasped his arm pulling him back.

“Kai, what the hell!?”

Tyson angrily twirled backwards, trying to push him off.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Kai felt his heart rise in his chest when he saw the purple bruise on his cheek.

“Hurt it doing kendo, can you stop? Get off me!”

With force Kai pulled Tyson into him, observing his face.

“Stop looking at me!” Tyson used both his arms to push him away.

Kai had slipped off the curb he was on and fell into his car, leaving a small dent near the hood.

Tyson’s face read pure panic, “I’m sorry! I never meant to push you that hard!”

“Well you did.” Kai rubbed his forehead with his forearm, “clearly something is going on, you wanna share with the class?” A dangerous scowl grew on Kai’s face.

“I’ll tell you, but I don’t want your help okay?”

Kai nodded.

“Some guy has been picking on me—we got in a fight, but it's under control.”

Tyson sent him a broken smile and Kai felt a burning rage in his chest.

“What’s this guy’s name?” Kai wore the same scowl from before.

“You don’t need to know, because I don’t need your help.” Tyson stated matter-of-factly.

“Did you at least beat the shit out of him?”

Tyson bit his lip while looking in the opposite direction.

“Don’t you know a shit ton of martial arts? You’re telling me you didn’t kick his ass?”

Kai kept his voice from rising, but it was shaking. The rage was hard to keep under control the more he imagined someone hurting Tyson.

“There… might have been more than one guy.” Tyson trailed off.

“They ganged up on you?” Kai’s mind was now filled with a murderous rage, “why?”

“Dunno, jealous maybe? World champion, bluh bluh bluh…” Tyson yawned “well, time to get back home, huh?”

Kai locked his eye’s on Tyson’s.

“Call me if they try anything.”

“They won’t. I’m sure it was a one time thing. Plus I was stronger than they thought I’d be…”

“I don’t care.” Kai’s voice was serious. “Call me.”

Days later Tyson wasn’t returning Kai’s calls. He texted him asking why he wasn’t answering, he got simple short messages, busy or sorry can’t talk right now. It pissed Kai off. He hoped their interaction hadn’t damaged their friendship. He valued any relationship with Tyson, any excuse to be close to him really. He really hoped he hadn’t screwed this up.

Almost two weeks later Kai was at his desk studying. His regular nightly routine. His phone buzzed, a phone call.

From Tyson?

He dropped his pencil and reached for his phone so fast he became worried how obsessed he was with this boy.

He dropped the phone.

No doubt it was Tyson missing him, apologizing and begging to talk to Kai again.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Maybe I should give it a few minutes.

He put the phone on silent. And left it by his side for less than a minute. When he looked back he had a text as well. He rolled his eyes.

1 missed call.

2 texts.

He opened the text box.

Park.

Help.

Before Kai could process what was happening he was in his car speeding down the highway.

He almost sped past the park, slamming on the breaks he just managed to make out a dark group of boys huddled away from the streetlamps by a tree. He had no time to observe, only to assume.

He accelerated, jumping the curb into the grass and tearing up dirt.

He kicked open his car door and slammed it closed.

“Where is Tyson?” He said in the boy's direction.

A member of the group broke away, advancing on Kai, he mumbled something about ‘minding your business’ before launching a fist towards Kai’s face.

He expertly dodged with an instinct he forgot he had.

He grabbed the boy’s fist in midair and landed his elbow in the boy’s forearm sending him crumbling to the ground screaming.

Two more from the group branched off towards Kai.

Kai clenched his teeth. It had been years since he actually fought, he forgot how it felt. One of the boys tried to punch him identical to how the last one tried. Kai bent his knees landing a punch to the boy's gut, knocking the air out of him. Now he could focus on the other one, who was trying to land a kick by his ear.

Kai fell on his back, feeling the air brush past his face, the boy now had the advantage, but kai was fast. Using his knees and all the momentum he had he launched himself off the ground to his feet.

“The fuc!?—”

The boy didn’t have the time to finish his sentence before Kai jabbed the edge of his palm into his throat.

Kai turned around directing his attention to the center of the group, one boy standing over a black mass.

Kai cracked his knuckles, “if that’s Tyson, you understand I will kill you?”

The boy wore a devious smirk. Kai shook his head.

The black mass on the ground managed to mumble, “Kai…”

That was Tyson’s voice.

Kai slowly blinked. His face showed only pure white anger.

“I’ll kill you.”

The boy held his ground as Kai threw his body full force towards him. He was bigger than Kai, he blocked his first hit, throwing Kai back.

This guy is a tank… I have to be careful.

I need to finish this fast. I need to help Tyson.

Kai fixed his stance, grounding himself expertely. The boy grabbed for his shirt, he used both his palms to push him away. The boy kept trying again and again, Kai finally attempted to land a punch, but this guy was strong. He pushed Kai’s fist away and grasped the collar of his shirt, then threw him to the ground.

Kai felt the ground quake under him as he lost the ability to breathe.

The boy punched him, and then again.

He felt no pain, only fear for what had happened to Tyson before this. The world around him flung side to side, then suddenly, the boy stopped.

WACK.

Above him the boy was motionless, and fell to the side near Kai limply.

Tyson took the boy’s place. He was holding a heavy stick. He dropped it on the ground.

They were both covered in blood and bruises.

“I told you I'd be just fine.” Tyson grinned.

Kai tried to laugh but still didn’t have his breath back. He managed to groan, then inhale sharply.

“Why didn’t you call somebody to come help? Is your car okay?”

“Because…” Kai managed to moan weakly.

“Cause?” Tyson asked in a hoarse voice.

“I love you.”

Kai held his side, unaware of the words he whispered to the dark.

Tyson held his hand out to his best friend.

“Come on sourpuss, let's get to a hospital.”

#ressyfaerie #asks #fic #request #tyka #WHEN TYSON CALLS KAI SOURPUSS #AAAHAHAHAHA

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samwrights · 4 years

Text

Pining After You pt. 4 [hc]

Yall really love these?! 🥺 y’all are incredible. This one was requested by @xhanjisungiex thank you for challenging me out of my comfort zone and I hope you like it bb! 🖤

Kinda warning?: Semi is aged up so mentions of alcohol consumption!

Goshiki;

Oh this poor confused boy.

If y’all already thought he kinda acted a fool before meeting you, you can imagine how he is after he decides that his other life goal is to date you.

Obtaining that was the issue.

Shirabu lowkey thought he was pathetic that he couLDN’T TALK TO A GIRL IN HIS CLASS.

But it seemed his typical tactics of trying to be the center of attention just wasn’t working—no matter how many times he raised his hand to answer a question just to get you to look his way or trying to be lab partners.

All your friends snatched you up, proving to make the task more difficult.

So for now, he continues to just admire from afar. He paid attention to the way you interacted with your friends very closing, noticing you were a very physical person; touching people when you laughed or patting them on the head in mock comfort. Goshiki wondered how you would interact with him if ever given the chance.

He noticed little details like the way you would drum your favorite colored mechanical pencil against textbooks, drumming to an imaginary song or beat while moving your lips to sing lyrics that weren’t there.

Goshiki noticed when you weren’t your normal self. You would cross your legs at the knee from time to time, rather than resting them flat on the ground, when you were tense in your desk. There was no drumming or rapidly swinging your pencil between your fingers. Just arms folded over your chest as you stared out the window.

In second year, he noticed that the happy, touchy girl that he had found himself unabashedly staring at for a third of his day wasn’t herself anymore.

The bright shine of your hair had dulled and thinned, and your lab partner was no longer any of your friends, but a boy you had started dating at the end of first year.

Goshiki would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine punching the dude once a week.

Your smile no longer squished your cheeks towards your eyes—it was no longer genuine. Your legs were now always crossed at knee, no longer relaxing with your feet flat on the floor.

There was no more drumming or lip syncing to imaginary music, and your eyes had harrowed in more. It broke his heart to think that the girl he had initially fallen for no longer existed.

When you return from winter break, Goshiki notices that while your physical features had remained the same, you and your lab partner boyfriend no longer speak to each other if necessary. Perhaps a break up? He could only hope.

Or so he thought until he heard the venom in his voice when he spoke to you. You had miscalculated the needed elements in your current lab experiment, causing the contents in the beaker to boil over and release a foul order. “This is why I fucking dumped you.” Goshiki heard the boy snarl as he began cleaning up.

You tried not to cry.

That was it, that was all that Goshiki could take. He approached your work station, eyes locking with the boy. “Excuse me, I’m Goshiki Tsutomu. Would you like to switch lab partners?”

“Dude it’s the end of the year, little late for that.”

“I don’t care.” Goshiki snapped before turning to you, the look in his eyes softening by the slightest calibre. “My partner would like to switch places with you. Would you be okay with that?” Who was this angel swooping in time save you??

The science teacher actually approved the switch, considering your grades were not exactly where they used to be. Maybe Goshiki could help bring your grade up by the end of the year.

On the first day of the two of you being lab partners, you thanked him profusely for rescuing you from the situation, which made his swell immensely.

He still may be a ways away from succeeding in his goal to date you, but having to interact with you for the rest of the year was a step in the right direction.

But more importantly, he had come to terms with the fact that while you dating him may never happen, Goshiki finally got to see your trademark smile return to your features, your cheeks squeezing shut slightly at the genuine gesture. Your feet were planted on the ground.

He would be okay with whatever happens, as long as you never lost that smile.

Semi;

I totally should have used Semi for my Punk!AU series that I’m writing 🥴 Hindsight is 20/20

SO we’re gonna go a little left field with this one, bare with me friends.

You and Semi are in a band together—with Semi Semi as your drummer and you as the vocalist.

While you two don’t hate each other, you have a strange rivalry over trivial things. Your band HATED it because they really just wanted you two to get over the sexual tension and bang.

He had to better than you at everything else besides singing.

You shotgunned a beer? Semi’s gonna do two in a row.

You got a high score in guitar hero? He was gonna play the same song and break the record.

Y’all went out to a buffet as a band and you cleared 5 plates? He was gonna have 7.

You get the point.

He would never admit to being in love with you first—it was the one thing did he didn’t want to beat you in.

But there were nights when it took everything in him walk away from his drum set in the middle of a show or practice, grab you by the waist and just give you a big ol’ smooch for hitting that high note that you had been struggling with.

Sure, he was in absolute denial about his feelings, but he could never not watch you, especially during shows.

The way you would sway around and move on the stage, the smallest wriggle of your hips, or the way you would stand back to back with your guitarist as the two of you harmonized. Made him regret offering to be the drummer when he could play guitar just as well.

He definitely imagined fucking you on his drum set

Band practice was always at his house due to the fact that he had his drum kit there and it was a pain in the ass to transport. Some days, you’d show up to Semi’s house before everyone else just to have some peace and quiet while also having access to multiple instruments.

Today was one of those days, but you were early. Like by hours. For a minute, Semi thought someone broke into his house until he heard your voice accompanying a soft ballad he had never heard before.

Quietly, he tiptoes down the steps in hopes the stairs don’t creak and give away his position. Despite the genre in which you guys were classified, your voice was the most hypnotizing thing to Semi.

You’re still lost in song when he joins on the couch, cautious so as not to disturb you while you concentrated. When you finished playing, he reached for the guitar, already memorizing the simple chords you strummed.

“Do it like this.” Semi’s voice was soft as he nestled the body between his chest and leg as he strummed the same chords, but with a half-step difference. He nodded towards you to sing, before he joined in harmonizing. By now, you were somehow in harmony with two completely different lines overlapping, his words a product of his own creativity.

As the song ended, the two of you just stared at each other, knowing full well your feelings were intertwined with every word.

He couldn’t fucking take this anymore—he had to kiss you, had to let you know that despite the petty competitions, he was in love with you.

But you let it happen with ease, allowing Semi to set the guitar down before cupping your cheeks to pull you on top of him. “You lose.” You tease when you pulled away for a breath.

“Nah, I win. I’m not in denial anymore.”

“No, I win. I never was.”

Futakuchi;

When Futakuchi became captain, he really regretted how much of a dick he was when he was “younger”.

Included in his list of regrets was how he treated you back when you used to come watch matches for Moniwa.

As the captains best friend, Futakuchi used to treat you like the team lackey.

“[name], why don’t you go be useful instead of gawking at Moniwa and fill up our water bottles?”

“[name], instead of just standing there, you could help us clean up the gym.” Etc. Even if he was technically your kouhai, he literally could not stop himself.

But when you stopped coming around, thanks to the third year’s retirements, Futakuchi realized he missed the one sided banter.

He supposed he missed it because you never gave in to his coaxing, only fueling him to try harder to bait you to fight back. All he wanted was to see you get flustered and red because of him.

Why, he didn’t know but all he did know was that he wanted to see your perfect skin covered in warmth and embarrassment. Ofc he knows why

“Maybe she stopped coming because she didn’t want to see you anymore.” Aone had told him once when it was just the two of them cleaning up after practice.

“No, her friends aren’t here anymore. Why would she come here when she has no reason to?” Was he trying to bait Aone or himself? He was unsure.

“You’re an idiot.” Was all he said in response.

During the spring high preliminaries, you decided to join your retired third year pals to watch the tournament. “Y’all really decided to give the team to Fukatuchi?” You asked in surprise.

“As shocking as it is, he’s actually doing quite well.” Moniwa says from beside you. While you hadn’t seen Fukatuchi since your friends’ retirement, you had a tough time believing his word.

After the loss to Aoba Johsai, you joined the other third years in saying hello to the team, though you would have been fine if you could have avoided the new captain.

You take the time to introduce yourself to the first year, Koganegawa, encouraging him that he did well despite being new and made sure to congratulate Aone as well. You did always like him.

“Oh? What about me?” Fukatuchi said from behind you, for which you were grateful because you were free to roll your eyes without him seeing. With the fakest smile you could muster, you turned around to greet the new captain.

As you opened your mouth, finally ready to give him a piece of your mind since Moniwa technically no longer needed to deal with him, you stopped when you noticed the serious expression on his face. “I’m sorry.” Was all he said.

“W-what?” Fukatuchi looks to his team and they all seemed to understand what he was silently telling them: leave.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you used to come and watch.” What. WhaT. You.exe program not responding.

The two of you are just awkwardly standing there, alone, with the sounds of the current match running somewhere in the distance. Fukatuchi is unsure if he continue what he intiallity prepared himself to say. Biting the bullet, he caves and continues speaking. “You never took my hooks. They’re the only way I know how to pull people in.”

“Fukatuchi, that’s so stupid.”

“Wow thanks, [name].” Was all he could reply with a grimace.

“What else am I supposed to say? ‘I miss you picking on me—‘“

Fukatuchi used Kiss. It was super effective!

“Ah, so that’s how I’m supposed to get you all hot and bothered.” He smirks, noticing the blushing cascading up your neck. He may have apologized, and he may have missed throwing little quips your way.

But now that he had finally seen the way you looked when you’re embarrassed, it was his end game to see it over and over—prompting him to kiss you again. “What the hell was that even for?! You’re so confusing!”

“Aw come on, you know how the saying goes. Boys pick on the girl they like.”

Wanna see a specific character? Or a different head cannon? Want to see a whole story?

Send in requests!

#haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #shiratorizawa #goshiki tsutomu #goshiki x reader #haikyuu goshiki #semi eita #semi semi #semi haikyuu #eita semi #semi x reader #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi x reader #why do i make these so long #i’m sorry

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noctuascion · 4 years

Note

cryptage can have a little angst "i need to cry but i don't think i can." AND a little fluff "you didn't have to do that for me." as a treat :D

They can have a little angst. As a treat. Also I'm sorry if I mess up somewhere I'm awful with keeping to the prompts fnsns

The sickening crunch of bones being crushed between mechanical fingers seemed to echo for miles around. Everything had gone mute, like sound was sapped from the land around him. There was no gunfire, no battle cries or orders shouted; there was deafening silence that haunted the Legend, paralyzed with a familiar sensation of fear.

A yellow clad corpse was tossed effortlessly aside, like he weighed nothing, like he was nothing. Wide hazel optics followed every movement the body made, falling bonelessly to the ground. The man's body eventually faded to be replaced by a death box, like this was just a game—and it was a game, just a bloodsport; no one died and no one got hurt.

But the information couldn't reach the shaken hacker's mind, frozen body refusing to move even as the simulacrum slowly approached, glowing amber optics focusing on his prey.

"Skinsuits are fragile little things, aren't they?" Revenant said, raising his gun toward Park's prone form, aimed for his head. "Don't worry. It'll only hurt a little."

The hacker hadn't even had the chance to properly process everything before a Peacekeeper shot was heart. However, Revenant had been holding a Flatline, not any shotgun, and the simulacrum was actually now dead on the ground. Reality came crashing back in the form of Makoa Gibraltar, their other teammate. The normally smiling visage was replaced with a look of worry, knelt down beside Park and the hand not wielding the Peacekeeper placed upon his back.

"'Ey, ya okay there? Not like ya ta sit there like a chihuahua," the shielded fortress spoke, and it had just barely reached Park's auditory processors.

Park didn't fear death, and he certainly didn't fear the bucket of bolts now laying dead on the ground, just a death box. He just didn't think he would have to watch Elliott, of all people, he finished off by this creep, didn't have to see his neck get snapped so easily, covered in scarlet and bullet wounds and choking on his own blood.

He's watched Elliott die plenty of times. It was a plethora of ways, of continuous deaths that were always met with very little malice (aside from Alexander and Revenant, of course), but there was something different this time. There was something terrifying about the aspect of Elliott dying in front of him, an assassin completely capable of killing him whenever he wanted being the one to end it, no qualms against it whatsoever.

He shuddered at the thought.

"Hey," Makoa fried again, this time his voice softer. Park's head turned to meet gazes with him. "Ya got this, brudda'. Gotta be brave and get goin'. Revenant's squad is all gone, and he ain't comin' back anytime soon." He delivered a pat to the hacker's back. "I'm gonna grab Mirage's banner. You take a sec to breathe, okay? You're safe and he's safe. Ya got that?"

Park's head nodded, which was enough for Makoa.

"Good! Up 'n at 'em!"

Suddenly, the surveillance expert was being lifted into the air, shocking but not too unexpected, and placed back on the ground gently, like he was some distressed kitten. Makoa flashed him another smile before hurrying over to Elliott's box and fetching his banner. Park, meanwhile, did as Makoa suggested.

He breathed.

— ;

The match afterwards had gone fairly well. Park was still a bit shaken up, but, after seeing Elliott's smiling visage, blood absent from his apparel and body, he calmed down rather quickly and was able to participate in the match with his usual competence. They didn't win, but it was still a good match overall.

Elliott just wasn't fond of the earlier part of the match, having his throat crushed by Revenant. There was a phantom pain where those deadly fingers wrapped around his throat, but, frankly, he, much like everyone else, was far too accustomed to Revenant's and Alexander's methods of killing to be too bothered anymore (Park especially; the killing machine seemed to have some strange fondness for killing him).

After the match, the trickster headed over to his boyfriend's room, the man in question having immediately made a beeline for his quarters and having not been seen since. He missed lunch, and he missed hanging with Ajay and him, so there was likely something wrong. Makoa had mentioned he was shaken up after Revenant had taken him out, and he's worried that Park's beating himself up over it—or worse.

He raised a hand to knock, waiting for the inevitable bout of silence, before, shockingly, he heard a quiet, nearly inaudible, "come in."

Pushing the door open, Elliott was met by darkness. That didn't come as a surprise; Park's room was only illuminated by computer monitors most of the time, and they were currently off (which was an immediate means for concern). The light emitting from the open door allowed Elliott to spot Park's location: curled up on his bed, back against the wall, and eyes focused solemnly on the trickster that had entered his room.

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and once again enveloping the room in darkness. Carefully, he maneuvered his way through Park's room, careful not to trip on any wires, and found his bed. He moved to sit on it, reached over to his nightstand, and flicked the small lamp on. It was still relatively dark, but it was enough to Illuminate the hacker's dour visage.

"Let there be light," Elliott said, hoping to lighten the mood; alas, Park's gloomy demeanor remained. "Okay. What's up, sweetheart? You're depressed, but not usually this bad. You skipped lunch!"

A shrug was his response, a delicate raise of shoulders that could've easily been missed.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, baby."

Further silence from the smaller promoted a sigh from the trickster. He moved to sit beside Park instead, his own back pressed against the wall. The hacker remained still, quiet, and, for a moment, so, too, did Elliott. He wasn't one for quiet, however, and began speaking again within moments.

"is it about what happened with Revenant?" he asked, his normally bright and chipper tone replaced with something quiet, almost forlorn. "You don't have to beat yourself up over that, honey bear. You didn't have a weapon, and he's kinda just—a literal weapon."

"… I watched you die…" spoke the other after an elongated silence, Elliott's head snapping to look at the other. He looked ready to start sobbing. "I sat there, frozen in fear, as he broke your neck…"

"Hyeon—"

"He killed you, and it could happen at any moment again…!" the other cried, knees curled tight against his chest, head held within his hands, fingers gripping tightly at raven locks. "And I want to cry. I can feel my eyes stinging because of it, but I just… I just can't…" A deep, shuddering breath was taken, his grip tightening on his hair.

For a moment, silence was once again stifling the air, the only sound being Park's labored breathing. For a moment, Elliott was merely staring, merely watching as his lover came undone before his very eyes. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to comfort someone who had just watched him die.

"… When I was a kid," Elliott began, Park's head moving to look up at him, curious, "my brothers and I… We were all pretty stupid."

He… never talks about his brothers… Park thought, frowning. Why…?

"One time, we got lost in a crowd. My mom kept shouting for us, kept calling out our names. I couldn't find her or my brothers, and I ended up crying. A lady found me and tried helping me find them. We did find each other, but we all got scolded… a-and that day kinda just sucked in general. I scraped my knee, I didn't get the toy I wanted, I lost my favorite pencil—it just sucked.

"But I remember everyone smiling a lot during that day. I remember the relieved smiles, the laughter, and the warmth. I remember thinking that I could've lost them, so I needed to—to treasure them more, live life knowing I made good memories with my family." A bitter chuckle left him, head moving to lean back against the wall and eyes focusing on the ceiling. "I'm glad I did."

Immediately, Elliott felt arms wrap around his neck, yank him down, and felt his nose press against the other's bony shoulder. Park was shaking, and Elliott couldn't tell if he was crying or not, but he sure as hell was. He could feel the warm liquid trail down his cheek, soak into the hoodie the other was donning. His own arms wrapped around his lover's midsection, pulled him as close as physically possible, and then there was nothing. There were no words uttered, no hysterical sobs nor cries of agony. There was just silence, only healing.

Eventually, Park pulled away enough to look into Elliott's eyes, a half-synthetic hand reaching up to gently brush away a tear. His own eyes were red and puffy, only confirming Elliott suspicions.

"No one's ever taking me away from you," he said, confidence in the statement. "I don't care who they are. I'm not leaving you 'till you physically pry me off yourself." A hand left Park's waist, placing itself upon his cheek, and gently pressing their foreheads together. "I dunno if I'll ever lose you, but everyday's gonna be the day I treasure every moment we're together, every conversation we have. Gonna make you feel like I'll never forget you if you're gone. Gonna make you feel loved and make it known I'll be a fucking wreck if I lose you. I'll kick my own ass for letting someone like you slip away."

Park could feel himself choking on his own words, reduced to nothing but tears by the confession, pouring from his eyes without any sign of stopping. All he could do was press his lips against Elliott's, convey through contact his desperation and adoration, the love he feels and the connection that he refuses to ever let be severed. There was so much pouring out of his heart that, by the end of the kiss, when they broke apart to breathe, he felt like he left a piece of his heart to the other.

It was where it belonged anyway.

"Thank you," the hacker whispered, trying to calm his hiccups, calm the shaking. "You… You didn't need to…"

"I know." Elliott smiled with sadness in his eyes. "But… you're a part of me. Telling you that story… s'just like I'm telling it to myself. I'm visiting memories with the only person I'd ever let see them." Another kiss was pressed to Park's nose this time, a simple way of showing his affection. "I love you so much, darling. Never leaving you alone. I'm here to give you that happily ever after you seem so convinced you're never getting."

Park allowed a smile to replace the look of sadness constantly worn by the man. There was joy in his eyes, endearment swirling with the hazel optics. It was like watching a fire: so enrapturing, so warm and beautiful, dangerous but healing. He was falling in love all over again.

"I love you as well, Elliott."

#apex legends #crypto #tae joon park #mirage #elliott witt #cryptage #lenardo does a write #i may have cried #but you didn't hear that from me #anyway i hope you enjoyed reading !!#i needed some angsty boys jdjsjw #chini always coming in with the requests #making me feel good #tysm ily

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howrry · 5 years

Text

when you need me pt.2

a/n: its 4 am, i just got back from a SUPER lit house party, i'm lowkey dying, here’s part 2 of wynm. part 1 here. don't think i can write anymore of this because it just makes me hate y/n more. also this is my 10th piece yaaay! enjoy <3

w/c: 3.4k

warnings: smuuut, mild dub con

***

Lit homework had to be one of the biggest wastes of time Harry’s ever partaken in.

He’s a psychology major, for crying out loud! Why does blocking and typecasting and the use of the Stanislavsky system matter to him? It doesn’t! But his uni required him to take the class, and if nothing else, he could appreciate it for being a GPA booster.

The only sound in his dorm was the squeaking of his mechanical pencil on the homework and his roommate Ashton’s music softly beating out of his Alexa. He was playing some soft XXXtentacion, which repulsed Harry. Just because his songs were good doesn’t mean it excused the rapper’s behavior—but he digressed.

God, Harry and Ashton were so different, it’s insane how his school’s roommate matching algorithm put them together. At this point, he wonders if he’s even enrolled in the university—he’s never seen him study or go to a class. It’s not like Harry’s a purist or anything; he loves a party and a good beer like any other college student, but Ashton was just buck wild. He even tried to hit on Gemma when she visited for a weekend, but that was shut down when H threatened to castrate him.

"I'm going out," Ashton announced on his way to the door, checking in the hall mirror to see if his hair was up to snuff and fluffing out the collar of his coat.

Shocker. This didn’t even warrant a glance up from the homework. "Where?" Harry didn't really care, but it wouldn't hurt to pretend he did.

"Y'know Meghan from Kappa?" Ashton asked, twirling his keyring around his fingers.

"Yeah?"

"I'll be at her place," he explained simply.

This got Harry’s attention. "But isn't she dating that rugby player? Matthew, or whatever?"

Ashton laughed and clicked his tongue. "So naive! Cheat or be cheated on, Styles. What's that phrase about not hating the player?" He shot finger guns at his roommate and bounced, slamming the door behind him without turning off the music.

Gross.

“Alexa, turn that shit off,” H mumbled, and the robot obeyed, not bothered by the profanity.

So that's how Harry ended up in his dorm alone for the night. Once he was finished up with his lit homework, the raw boredom really kicked in. He supposed he could go out, but he wasn't really the solo type and finding someone to go with him was more trouble than it was worth. At one point he even eyed the Tijuana cigar box Ashton kept under its bed, thinking that he could probably raid its contents for a night and Ash wouldn't notice, but the risk of an RA busting him wasn't super appealing.

He accepted defeat, and decided to simply call it an early night. He changed into flannel pants to sleep in and was brushing his teeth when his phone started buzzing. It was Y/N.

Questions started flying through his brain. Why was she calling him? And at this hour? His anxious side flared up as a million nightmare scenarios flooded his thoughts. Once he’d rinsed the toothpaste out of his mouth, Harry scrambled to swipe his finger across the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"Y/N?" he tried to hide the urgency in his voice.

"Harry!" she blurted.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, not waiting for her to explain herself.

"Fuck, Harry I'm sorry," she started, "this is so weird to ask of you but I need your help."

A pit formed in his stomach. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in your city right now and my car broke down. Triple A is on their way and they're gonna fix it up tomorrow, but I totally don't have a place to stay. Can I crash at your place?"

Relief washed over him. Yeah, this wasn't exactly an ideal situation for her, but it was better than the kidnapping and murder scenarios he'd already painted in his head. "Of course. Y'know how to get to campus?"

"I've got a phone, don't I?"

Harry's eyebrow shot up involuntarily. Okay, bold. "Settle down, pet. I live in Taylor Hall, room 208."

"Taylor, 208," Y/N echoed. "Thank you so much, H. You're a lifesaver. I'll be there in 15 or so." She hung up without waiting for his goodbye, and Harry was left in his now-uncomfortably quiet room.

He scrambled around the dorm trying to hide any evidence that two boys lived there. Ashton was a bit of a disaster, but fortunately had an aversion to mold and other gross things so it was more about tidyingthe room than it was cleaning. Harry shoved dirty laundry into Ashton's closet and struggled to close the door on it before making both of their beds. He figured he could muss up the sheets after she left in the morning to avoid any taunting from his roommate. He practically broke a sweat struggling to make the room presentable, and managed to finish just in time before two solid knocks landed on his door.

"Harry! Long time no see!" She wasted no time stepping up and throwing her arms around his neck. He was taken aback by her affection, and paused for a minute before snaking his hands around her waist. "You sure look a lot better than the last time I saw you," she cheekily noted once she pulled back.

"Probably because m’not runnin’ around getting my arse kicked anymore," he bantered nervously. She looked great as well. Her face was a bit pink from the weather, and she seemed so much older despite it only being a year since he'd last seen her. Her black trench coat cinched gracefully at her waist and her jeans were tucked into also-black heeled boots. In all the years he'd known her, he couldn't think of one time she wore heels before now. What's changed?

Fortunately, she laughed at his awkwardness. (Since when did he feel so apprehensive around her?) "That's probably it." Y/N shrugged off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks by the door, leaving her in a plain red t-shirt. She fluffed her hair out and turned to him. "I thought ahead and grabbed some pajama shorts out of my car before the insurance people took it to the mechanic. Now I don't have to sleep in jeans." Sure enough, she pulled thin pair of shorts out of one of the coat pockets.

"Yeh just keep pajama shorts in your car?" he asked dubiously, sitting on his desk chair and rubbing his cold hands on his thighs.

"Yes! I keep plenty of spare clothes in my car for a situation just like this one!" she defended. "I'm gonna change real quick." She dipped into the bathroom and emerged shortly after wearing the shorts. Judging by the ball of clothing she haphazardly tossed in the corner, she'd taken off her bra, too.

Harry eyed her from his spot at the desk as she comfortably moved around the room, like she’d been there a hundred times. "Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, making her jump a little.

Her arms lifted to tie her hair up. "Have you already forgotten? You're a real nut, H. Car troubles? Ringing any bells?"

"No, no," he rubbed a hand down his face. "Why are yeh not at your own uni? Why are yeh in my city?"

"Oh." She hesitated before answering, climbing into his bed. "I'll be honest, it was a booty call. I called the other guy first when my car started acting up, but another girl answered. Figured he must have accidentally overbooked his evening and I remembered you go here, so here I am." Y/N sat cross legged and rested her chin in her palm, dazedly staring at Harry.

"Oh, wow. Sorry to hear that," he awkwardly mumbled.

She snorted. "I'll be okay. S'not like I had feelings for him."

This made something twist in Harry's stomach for some reason. Quiet, sweet Y/N that he'd known for years was just looking to get fucked and didn't care about feelings. This was a totally different person from the girl he grew up next door to. Who was she?!

"Either way, I really owe you one. I'll buy you a meal in the morning, but for right now, I'm exhausted." Y/N stood up and stretched an arm over her head. "Do you want me to take that bed?" She pointed towards Ashton's only recently made bed.

"No!" Harry barked suddenly and her eyes widened. "God only knows what's livin' in those sheets. I worry about what m’roommate does there when I'm not layin' in the same room next t'him."

"Gross," she responded around a laugh.

"My thoughts exactly. You can have my bed, and I'll just sleep on the floor," he decided, going to look for another blanket to lay on the ground.

Y/N scoffed. "You'd rather sleep on the ground than get in your roommate's bed?" Harry simply raised an eyebrow at her as an answer. "Again, gross. I wouldn't feel right kicking you to the floor. Are you trying to avoid sleeping with me?"

The wording threw Harry off, and he unfortunately stammered over his response. “I—no! I just—”

“Then we can share a bed.” She was matter-of-fact and didn't seem like she'd take no for an answer. It's not like he would've declined anyways, but she didn't even give him a chance before making herself right at home in his bed and patting the space next to her for him to join. He chortled and shut off the lamp, making his way in between his sheets by the light of the moon.

"Oh, and I'm a bit of a cuddler. Warning you now," she whispered with a wink before nuzzling into the pillow and falling fast asleep.

He couldn't complain.

***

Harry woke up in the middle of the night from the discomfort of not being alone.

It wasn't that Y/N was a bad person to sleep with, of course. He just was used to having the whole bed to himself and having a second human in his space made it hard to totally expand and take over the whole surface. Once he remembered specifically whowas with him, though, he didn't feel as bothered about not being asleep.

Y/N was tucked up closely to him, clearly having no problem making herself comfortable. He laid on his back, and she was on her stomach halfway on top of him. Her cheek was comfortably nestled on his chest, and her hand softly rested a few inches from her face. One of her legs was thrown over his own, and her mouth was popped open just a bit, breath fanning across his body. The two were laid up like they’d done it a million times. He smiled a little at how cute she was when she was sleeping; he couldn't help but gently rub a hand up and down her back. He was so cozy, he probably could've slipped right back into his doze if it weren't for her starting to talk.

Yes. Sleep talk.

"Harry," she drawled, almost whispering the name.

In his sleepy state it took a few seconds to make the connection that she was actuallydreamingabout Harry. In her defense, she was in his bed and called him for help after a mildly stressful situation, so it wasn’t totally weird that he’d be paying her a visit in her REM cycle. Regardless, a strange feeling swirled in his stomach at the mere thought of what was happening.

His ears were pricked up on full alert and his eyes snapped open to stare at the ceiling fan. He was too afraid to reply, and thus waited for her to say something else before he even dared breathing. "Let's... go," she finally finished.

He chuckled, chest rising a bit but not letting his gaze move from the fan. "Go where?" he whispered, humoring her sleep talk.

"I... I don't know. Wanna..." followed by a deep exhale.

Harry found this quite endearing. He allowed her to continue softly babbling little snippets of sentences, trying and failing to piece them together into coherent thoughts. Again, he almost let himself drift off again until one of her words had much more conviction than before.

"Please."

He could feel her lips ghosting across his body where her head lay. This felt different than her previous mumbling-- she knew what she was trying to say in her dream.

"Yes, Y/N?" Harry got out softly, eyes fixed steadily on the ceiling.

"I need--" She's still not super great at finishing her sentences while sleeping, apparently. "Harry, please."

Then talking just wasn't enough for her- she started to move. First her fingers dug into his chest a bit, nails intending to grip him but not quite enough to be felt through the cotton of his shirt. Then her lower body shifted where the apex of her legs was pressed against his hip, moving up and down ever so slightly without ever losing contact. Her breathing became heavier until it turned into an unabashed, shameless moan. A moan!

That's when it clicked. She was grinding on him, and the spot where the two of them were connected sent sparks through his entire body. "I-- Y/N, are you having a dirty dream about me?" he asked dumbfounded, even though he already knew the answer.

She let out a whine at the sound of his voice. "I need you," she said, dragging her nails down into his skin even harder than before. Her pathetic hip movements sped up as well. "Please touch me."

What the fuck? Is… Does… Would this even be ethical? She’s asleep! Can she even give consent? Does it matter if she’d already started grinding on him? Was this something she really wanted or was it just a snippet of her dream making its way into reality?

"I-I can't," he confessed. What the hell was he supposed to do? Not only did their relationship go too far back for this to not be weird, but his mum once told him something about not waking someone while they sleep walk or talk or it might give them sleep paralysis. He chose to stay stone fucking still, simply lying there and watching one of his childhood friends using his hip to make herself cum.

It was sloppy and desperate, her hips rocking against him. She stopped scratching to brush her hands against the swell of his chest muscles, separated only by the thin t-shirt. "P-pull my hair," she begged.

And he was fucking torn. Of coursehe wanted to give into her request, but what if he woke her up? How could he explain what he was doing, or the hard-on he was sporting? His lip was trapped between his teeth, gnawing away as he thought it over.

Screw it-- he could pretend to be asleep if she stirred. Harry creeped his hand up and threaded his hand into her hair, tugging at the roots and almost lifting her head. "Like that, baby?" he cooed. A porn star moan slipped from her lips and her movements faltered for a second. He feared he'd pulled too hard and stayed completely still, leaving his fingers bunched up until she slowly got back into the swing of her pitiful thrusts.

"Fuck… me harder," she whimpered, and Harry thought he was going to fucking die.

Honestly, he was a little pissed. Where the hell did she get off thinking she could kick him out of her home after kissing her, only to show up at his doorstep a year later and dry fuck his leg in her sleep? The audacity!

His thoughts were interrupted by her choking out a "g'na cum," and he pulled at her hair again. Oh right, this is where she got off.

"Yeah pet? G'na make a mess for me?" he spurred on. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, and he’d probably feel like garbage about it in the morning, but that sounded like a problem for morning Harry. He had to see what she looked like when she finally got her release.

She lost her smooth rhythm again and was now scrambling to hit her high—all he could do was watch. When she finally did cum, it was mesmerizing. She cried out his name before cutting herself off and freezing for a moment. Once the peak hit, her legs trembled as she continued dry humping him until she'd fully ridden out everything.

It was, without a doubt, one of the hottest fucking things Harry had ever seen. Her nails dug into him once more as she let her heart rate settle down. Eventually, she sighed and nuzzled her cheek into his body.

As if all of that wasn't torturous enough, she had to top that entire performance by mumbling out a soft, "Thank you... daddy," and Harry almost let out a fucking groan. Her breathing soon evened out as she drifted back into a dreamless sleep, and he guessed there wouldn't be any more speaking for the night.

So much for falling back asleep.

***

The next morning, Harry was perfectly content with pretending that the events from previous night had never happened.

By the time he’d woken up, Y/N had retreated to her side (well, not really her side—it was a twin sized bed, so more like her “corner”) and was facing the wall. She wasn’t asleep for much longer than that, as she soon stirred and moved to climb over Harry.

When she was fully straddling him, he froze and made awkward eye contact with her. “Settle down, tiger, I’m just getting up.” He almost laughed at the irony. If only she had any idea what she put him through the night before.

Y/N changed back into her jeans in the bathroom and swished some of Ashton’s mouthwash. Harry watched her fluff her hair in the mirror with his arm tucked behind his head.

“I want pancakes, thoughts?” she suggested, coming back in the room and plopping down on his desk chair.

Oh right. She’d offered to buy him breakfast last night. Harry wasn’t sure he could be around her any longer without things become suffocatingly awkward. “Oh, yeh don’t have to do tha’ for me,” he countered, shaking his head and getting out of bed.

She watched him scramble about the room, focusing on everything except her. Her eyebrows shot up when he shamelessly dropped his flannel pants to the ground and shoved on some dark jeans from his drawers. He couldn’t care less, though; the events from the night before had erased any modesty he may have felt in her presence. “Really? You’re gonna give up free breakfast just to kick me out?”

“I’m not kicking you out!” he protested, though she had no room to talk. Their last encounter ended with her literally slamming a door in his face. Before he could even argue with her, he was interrupted by keys in the lock. Fuck.

Ashton sauntered in with the confidence of a king, hair mussed and shirt obviously on backwards. “Hello, London, how are we doing this fine mor—” he stopped his weird greeting (a la Harry’s accent) when he realized his room had more occupants than just his roommate.

Harry wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Ash’s eyes drifted from Y/N in the chair, to Harry untimely zipping up his pants, to his own made-up bed, and everything clicked in his mind. The pieces didn’t go together but they made a puzzle nonetheless. A slow smile curled up on his face as he made a beeline for her and stuck out his hand. “Well hello, I’m Ashton, Harry’s roommate.”

“Y/N, charmed,” she deadpanned, extending out her own hand and grinning at Harry when Ashton kissed it. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” he returned, making Harry snort.

Y/N stood up and retrieved her coat from the hooks near the door. She shrugged it on and tossed the hair that got stuck under the collar. “I’ll catch up with you later, H. It was nice meeting you, Ash.” She politely nodded to the boys and was out before Ashton could say a “likewise”.

The second the door slammed, the onslaught started. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Styles. I was almost starting to think you were a eunuch or something, but apparently not! She’s cute too, is she blind? Or did you pay her to come here?” Ashton poked and prodded at H as he undressed and went to take a shower.

Harry’s phone buzzed, and the text he received made his roommate’s taunts sound like rushing water in his ears. It was from Y/N.

Next time, don’t pull so hard.

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles masterlist #permanentcross #majorharry #jawllines #harryforvogue #haroldloverboy #:~))

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godrics · 5 years

Text

back to you

pairing mark lee x gender neutral reader

summary part 2 to eyes closed.

genre & theme angst, fluff ig

warnings none

authors note I realize I change past tense to present tense so like don't bother me abt that k also idk if the ending makes sense bc i really don't like it but yall really wanted a happy ending soooo here.

part one | part two

The world was out to get you, you were sure of it.

Everywhere you went, he was there. Going to the library to study? Sorry, he’s there studying, too! Going to class? He’s in the same hall at his locker/friend’s locker. Want a new pair of jeans? He’s there too, shopping for Christmas gifts for his family. Want some chicken? He’s there getting food for a party.

To say the least, you were pretty pissed about it.

Storming into your last class of the day, you went all the way to the back of the classroom -- avoiding your boy’s stare on you, but he didn’t follow you to your new seat. You dropped your backpack on the floor and sat down, putting your head on the desk, covering your eyes. You’d just seen him in the hall, and you knew he had the same class at this time, but it still pissed you off.

Why the fuck couldn’t Mark Lee and his perfect face stay away from you?

You vaguely heard the bell ring, but you didn’t lift your head from your desk as your teacher started to talk about the new Spanish work you had for today, slowly falling asleep until the door slammed open. Jumping, you and the rest of your classmates looked to the door, only to find Mark Lee looking sheepish.

“Sorry, Miss,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to open it that much.” Rolling your eyes, you slumped in your seat, crossing your arms.

Your teacher sighed, “It’s fine. Take a seat, Mark.” You couldn’t see what Mark did, looking up at the ceiling before you realized what the teacher just said. Your head snapped back to the front, scanning the room and with horror, you realized the only free seat was beside you.

“No,” you whispered as you watched Mark’s legs move towards you. “Crap, crap.” Sliding down in your seat, you avoided eye contact and stared at your empty desk. This couldn’t be happening.

Mark slid into the seat on your right and you closed your eyes, feeling your heart beat faster. You continued to stare at your desk and didn’t look at him when he whispered to you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered. Oh God, why was he talking to you? Didn’t he think just his presence was enough? “How are you?”

Jesus. “Fine.” You stiffly whispered, not looking at him.

“That’s good, so, uh, do you have a pencil I could borrow?”

Huffing, you leaned to the side and got a pencil for him, holding it out for him. You stiffened as you felt his hand touch yours, grabbing the pencil. Oh God, oh God. Why was this happening to you? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

Wait, was this because of that one time you didn’t give Sally Stewart her mechanical pencil back in fifth grade?

When the bell rang, you got your backpack and ran out of the classroom, pushing past people to get outside. Taking a fresh breath of air, you sighed in relief. God, it was suffocating you to be near Mark Lee.

Swallowing, you realized just how much it hurt to be up close to the perfectness that was Mark Lee. You had a boyfriend, he was to help you get over Mark. Then why the hell was your heart still fluttering from him being so close?

“Y/N!” You froze, immediately recognizing the voice. Mark. You didn’t turn your full body but you twisted your head to show you heard him. “Hey,” he sent you a smile that knocked the breath out of you. Damnit. “You left this,” he held out the pencil you had lent him.

“Just keep it,” you shook your head, waving your hand.

“No, I’ll buy some tonight,” he put it closer to you and you sighed, knowing he wouldn’t stop until you took it. You grabbed the pencil, ignoring the shiver that went down your spine at the contact your hands mine. You shoved it into your backpack as he continued, “So, uh … Do you want to hangout sometime? This weekend, maybe?”

Closing your eyes, you willed yourself not to do anything irrational -- like cry in front of him. Why was the world doing this to you? What’d you do to deserve this? Because Mark was the one to break off your relationship.

“Mark, please don’t start,” you whispered, shaking your head and opened your eyes to see him look at you in confusion.

“Start what?”

“This,” you gestured between the two of you. “I’m not sure what you’re playing, but please don’t do it to me. You’re the one who broke it off, not me. So, just … stop, okay?” You don’t look to see the hurt in his eyes and instead walk away, meeting up with your boyfriend who smiled as soon as he saw you and gave you a hug and kiss.

You do not see Mark Lee everywhere.

You do not see him when you go to the library to study. You do not see him in the same hall anymore. You do not see him shopping anymore. You do not see him when you go to get chicken. You see him twice a day, once in English class and the second time in your last class of the day.

To say the least, you were unsure why this bothered you.

Quietly walking into your last class of the day, he is sat the farthest away from you and your boyfriend, who you sit down by. He doesn’t look at you, instead silently staring at the teacher’s desk -- who hadn’t arrived yet. He can feel your stare, you know it -- but he doesn’t look at you.

Getting your attention, your boyfriend grabs your shoulder. Turning to him, you stare at him expectantly and he smiles a bit awkwardly, asking, “Are you okay? You keep staring over at Mark Lee.”

Your mouth drops open a little, gaze switching between your boyfriend and Mark, who is still staring at the teacher’s desk, and smile. “I’m okay. And, I’m not.”

Your boyfriend’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t push. “Okay.”

You smile convincingly and he grins back at you, forgetting the topic moments before as the teacher walks in the room, putting down her stuff. Letting out a small breath, your gaze turns back to Mark, and that’s where it stays for the rest of the class until the bell rings.

Mark is the first one out of the classroom and you make a split second decision, hurryingly grabbing your things before following after him. “Mark!” He almost trips at the sound of your voice, and stops himself in his tracks. “Hey,” you breathe when you get to him.

“Hi,” he’s staring down at the ground as students walk past you two. “What do you need?”

“Um,” your mouth grows dry. You hadn’t thought this far. “I-I just …” Your voice trails off. You didn’t have an excuse to talk to him. But you wanted to.

“Look, Y/N,” he seems to get exactly what is happening. Your heart hurts, he always knew you well. But then why did he break up with you? “You … You can’t be mad that I tried to talk to you a few days ago, and then when I don't, you come to me.” He shakes his head, turning his eyes up to look at you. “Make up your mind, and choose.”

“Choose what?”

“Whether you want me in your life or out of it.”

You inhale, eyes closing briefly. “I-I-” You don’t know what to say. “Mark, I want to know why you broke up with me.”

Mark stares down at his shoes again, “You were moving. I thought it’d be the best.”

“Long distance relationship would work,” you remind him. “As long as I was with you, it’d work. I didn’t care, Mark.”

“But I did,” he says. “I couldn’t think about being with you when you’re far away from me, and near so many other guys who I knew one would catch your attention. And from what I know, it seems like it happened. We just weren’t together.”

“Mark …” You whisper his name. You realize that you were never really pissed about him showing up everywhere, you were just upset because everything reminded you of him. “I got with him to forget about you. Looks like that didn’t really work so well, because here we are, seven months later, and I’m still so hopelessly in love with you.”

Mark’s head snaps up to you, “Really?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, “Really.” His lips turn into a grin and you smile before looking around. “So, where … where does this leave us?”

“Whatever you want,” he shrugs. “We can start off new, if you want.”

“Maybe,” you hum. “But … do you really want to be with me?” You whisper, eyes darting down to the ground. After Mark had broke up with you, insecurity grew -- like, why did he break up with you? Was it because you were ugly? Because you didn’t do something? Because you did do something?

“I always have,” he sighs. “But my insecurity grew over my want and so --” he stops himself from talking. “Yes, I do want to be with you.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Well … Before anything happens, I think I should talk to him.” He doesn’t question you on who him is, he already knows.

Mark nods in agreement, “Okay.” He smiles slightly. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” your lips twitch up. “Is your number still the same?”

“You still have my number?” He grins.

“Yes,” you roll your eyes, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll text you later, Mark. Don’t get run over on your way home.”

“Don’t die,” he calls back to you as you walk away from him, on your way to your soon to be ex boyfriend. You smile.

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obsidiancorner · 5 years

Note

I have a question!!! How long have you been drawing and how long have you been doing digital art? Was it difficult to start with? I'm looking at learning to draw, but I'm not sure if I want to start traditional or if I want to get a tablet. TELL ME!!!

Hey there! Sorry this took me a full day to get to. I wanted to make sure I had time to properly search/attach links and whatnot. Then I had to contend with bath and bedtime for Kiddo. I literally started this post at 7pm... It’s now almost 11.

I have been drawing in traditional mediums since I was a LITTLE kid. Really little. Before I was in Kindergarten. I broke away from it after I graduated high school but came back to it after I moved to Florida. Chibi Cullen was my first digital piece, though. So... technically since October of 2017. I got my tablet at Christmas 2017 and that is when I REALLY got into it.

To answer what you should learn on: That’s largely a personal decision and not one I can really help you with outside of giving you some info and some links to help get you started.

Bare bones basic info:

Traditional is cheaper but you can play and learn without restraint on digital. It’s just that the tablet is going to be a MUCH bigger deposit. To get started in traditional art supplies, you can get away with approximately $20. A tablet is going to run you at least $50, likely more.

Keep in mind: expensive equipment does not a better artist make. A graphics tablet will not make drawing easier. Sure it has tools to help, like line stabilizers and such... but only practice will truly make you better.

I expand on this stuff below but first, my opinion.

My humble opinion:

If you want to just dabble and see how you get on: go traditional.

If you absolutely positively KNOW art is a skill you WANT to pursue no matter the degree of difficulty it is for you, that’s when you can begin to entertain the idea of a getting a tablet, but make sure you weigh everything out.

I don’t want to see anyone shell out that kind of money and have it be used once. I cannot stress enough to make sure you know your heart before sinking in on an expensive piece of equipment like a graphics tablet.

The rest is under the cut because this is a long post and I don’t want people to hate me.

Digital

If money isn’t an issue and you have a decent computer, you can consider going digital.

FireAlpaca, Krita, and MediBang are all free to download digital painting software. I, personally, have FireAlpaca and I love it. But I have also been toying around with trying Krita out. However, all of these programs are good enough that I don’t think you’d miss not having PaintTool SAI or Photoshop.

I will sing the praises of my Huion graphic tablet until my dying day because it will honestly probably last me that long if I don’t upgrade to a more advanced one sometime down the line.

Seriously. The one I have right now has already been dropped (because I’m clumsy as fuck), thrown (courtesy of a melting down kiddo), peed on and subsequently washed and sanitized (courtesy of an asshole cat), and stepped on (because my guy tripped over the asshole cat and knocked a whole bunch of shit off my desk in the process). The thing still works. They ARE built to last.

The version I have is the H610 Pro which costs about $80.00. There is some hand/eye coordination that needs to be learned because you will be drawing on the tablet but the image will be on your screen. That can take some time to get acclimated to.

My H610 is not the cheapest tablet they offer... I know that much but I haven’t really done a deep dive into Huion’s selection. But there are other types of tablets as well. Wacom, Yiynova, Lenovo, Microsoft, Apple, and Samsung all have tablets for artists.

If you want to talk tablets with monitors that allow you to see what you are drawing where you are actually drawing, you’re gonna be looking at throwing down a hefty chunk of cheddar (a couple hundred at least). For Huion products, that’s the Kamvas series of tablets.

I have had my tablet for 14 months already and I use it All. The. Time. I tell you that to tell you this: I have not yet replaced the nib on my pen and don’t anticipate having to change the nib for another year at MINIMUM. The tablet comes with four backup nibs. So, at almost daily use, you can easily get a decade worth of art out of the set they give you out the gate.

Traditional

To just do some light sketch stuff while you are getting used to drawing, it’s cheapest to just get some cheap mechanical pencils or drawing pencils and some simple printer paper. If you want a sketchbook, go cheap.

Once you get into your groove and want to start branching out, by all means, buy more expensive supplies if that suits your fancy. But to just get started on basics: Go. Cheap!!! There is no reason to spend more than $20 (and that’s being exceptionally liberal) at Walmart or the local dollar store.

I cannot stress enough that to just start out you don’t need pro quality anything. Crayola or RoseArt is what every. single. artist. started on because most of us started in school and just kept going from there. Those companies are still around because they are the building blocks every artist started on (at least in the USA... I don’t know about foreign markets). Guaranteed.

I still, to this day, use Crayola colored pencils. Two reasons: 1. I’m incredibly cheap and, most importantly, 2. they work just fine.

Conclusion (at last, amiright?) and Affirmation

I know I sold my Huion tablet pretty hard in the digital section but that’s ONLY because there is more information needed to make an informed decision (like sturdiness, brands, etc.). There is a lot less to discuss for basic supplies to just get started.

I will suggest traditional more often than I will suggest spending boatloads of cash for a beginner.

The choice between digital and traditional largely boils down to two things:

Cost

Drive / ambition / want / dedication

For the average person/household, cost effectiveness is critical in this economy. Even if you know in your heart of hearts digital art is a skill set you want to achieve, if you can’t afford a tablet, go traditional at first and gradually save up for a tablet. If you aren’t sure you will like drawing enough to sink in AT LEAST $50- and that is a fairly low-balled price tag- go traditional.

I will only ever recommend a tablet as a starting point to those who know with 100% certainty that drawing/digital painting is a hobby/skill they WANT to pursue.

I know I cannot tell people what to do because, ultimately, the choice is theirs. All I can offer is my opinion and some words of wisdom and caution.

I will say this, though:

Art is a skill, just as much as writing, sewing, knitting, and so on. ANYONE can learn this skill. Some advance faster than others due to natural aptitude but anyone can do it. You just have to dedicate time and patience to learning it.

Every artist started with stick figures. ;)

Remember that.

Every single one of us started by drawing stick figures.

That’s not to say that’s where you will begin, but an affirmation that literally EVERYONE, including commissioned artists, starts in the same place. Stick figures in crayon when we were kids. We all evolved from there.

Do NOT under ANY circumstances beat yourself up if you set out to draw a cat and it looks like Ditto with whiskers. (It’s happened to me. Literally that exact scenario. It’s okay to laugh. I sure did.) This is a Ditto, in case Pokemon isn’t your thing:

Keep at it and you will improve. I promise. Regardless of which way you go. Keep. At. It. and you will improve.

Drawing/painting is a constant evolution, regardless of medium, be it digital or a traditional one. Once you get the basics down, you begin to develop your own style. And even your own style changes as you progress. Look at mine. I’ve drawn two things for you. Hannah and Satinalia Cullen. Both mine but the styles are lightyears apart because I worked and evolved.

Studies in anatomy, color theory, light theory, and the like will be your best friends. Good reference photos will be your best friends.

And always remember: art is 150% subjective. Look at Picasso and Jackson Pollock. They are nothing like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, or Georgia O’Keefe. All of it is art.

Abstract, Renaissance, Nuveau, Deco, Modernism, Fauvism, Pointilism, Impressionism and the rest... All art. All very different styles.

All. Are. Valid.

All started with stick figures somewhere in their history. You gotta start somewhere but keep at it and you will succeed.

#art tips #digital versus traditional art #getting started #links and info #kagetsukai

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kuromantic · 6 years

Text

Whumptober Day 3: Insomnia

Matsukawa sat slouched in his seat, biting his lip compulsively to keep himself awake. He couldn’t miss another lecture by snoring through it, when he’d already succeeded in passing out like that four times. On days he didn’t fall asleep in class, he sometimes couldn’t go altogether. He was dangerously close to failing with the sheer lack of participation.

A mechanical pencil poked his back. It was Oikawa, peering into him with the same concerned face since high school. “Mattsun, you okay? Want me to call Hanamaki?” He whispered, placing his palm on either side of his mouth.

Matsukawa shook his head to signify a definitive no. He couldn’t bother Hanamaki for the third time this week, when he had stayed with him through the sleepless nights until he could exhaust himself long enough to pass out. He’d decided to power through the pain on his own.

His tender spots throbbed with each passing second. It was the only thing keeping him awake, but also the reason he was in the verge of fainting. His energy had been sapped until he was nothing but a shell of what he used to be in high school, the chronic pain taking away his ability to lead a normal, functioning college life.

Instead of attending parties and looking for a part-time job, Matsukawa spent his evenings curled up on a soft surface in pain or staring at the ceiling counting the sleepless seconds as his eyes burned into his head. And Hanamaki often stayed by his side, comforting him through every painful and ugly moment. A plethora of problems came with his initial condition, some of them being very unpleasant to experience and discuss.

Matsukawa’s brain was engulfed in a thick cloud of mist, and his joins roared with pain as minutes passed. A bead of sweat travelled down his back as he counted down the seconds until class would be over. He couldn’t deal with the pain and drowsiness for long, and he’d completely given up on writing his sloppy notes halfway through.

It took too long for the bell to start ringing. Matsukawa waited until a good portion of his class had already left before he even attempted to stand up, knowing he could make a show of himself if he tried to stand up all of a sudden. He kept a hard grip on the table, lifting himself into a standing position before Oikawa could offer to help.

“Thank you, goodbye.” Matsukawa muttered as he left the classroom for common decency’s sake, avoiding all eye contact with his professor. He knew how some people looked at him, and he preferred not to take it all in when his entire body screamed at him to lie down. He knew that many of his classmates and professors judged him for hardly being able to attend classes, no matter what his friends did to help the cause.

It wasn’t like he could help feeling sick all the time. He was the most bitter about the whole situation. He didn’t ask for a chronic illness that leeched the life out of him. He wanted to study nutrition and graduate with a decent enough grade to get his dream job. He wanted to return to the days when he had his life together.

“Issei, hey.” Hanamaki gently wrapped an arm around him from behind, as he walked down the hallway. He remembered to avoid his tender spots, as always. Hanamaki never blamed Matsukawa for having a health condition that he couldn’t control. He always calmed him down after he broke down crying or had an angry outburst because of the amount of pain he couldn’t escape from. He never complained about losing sleep or his limited free time. As selfish as it made him felt, Matsukawa wanted more people like Hanamaki in his life.

Matsukawa nodded at Hanamaki, lifting his hand slightly to attempt a wave. He couldn’t lift his arm all the way, but Hanamaki recognised his gesture straight away. “How’s today been treating you?” Hanamaki asked, whipping out a few coins to buy a drink from the vending machine. “I’m assuming you want the green tea.” He waited a beat to let Matsukawa protest his order, and pressed the button on the vending machine when Matsukawa said nothing.

“Thanks, Hiro.” Matsukawa grinned in satisfaction, affection outweighing the pain for a brief moment before the throbbing in his body came back again. Hanamaki loosened the bottle cap before handing the green tea to him, while he bought his own matcha au lait. “You’re the best boyfriend I can ever-“ he paused, wincing as spots started appearing in the side of his vision.

“Bad pain day?” Hanamaki said, without missing a beat. Matsukawa shrugged, but it really meant a yes. He did have worse days, but almost passing out during a lecture was definitely bad. Hanamaki immediately got his cues, taking a glorious sip of his drink. “Let’s go home. Does that sound good?”

“Oh, it sounds absolutely amazing.” Matsukawa sighed with a hint of happiness. Walking hurt, but he could make it to Hanamaki’s car if he could bear with it for a few minutes. He’d stopped using public transport after he threw up in a train one night.

Matsukawa leaned his weight into Hanamaki as they trudged over to the car, attempting to mask the effects of pain on his body. It exhausted him to know that people stared at him when he walked that way and tripped over his own feet, so he stared at his shoes tagging behind Hanamaki’s until he reached the door.

“You hungry, or just tired?” Hanamaki draped a blanket over Matsukawa’s shoulders as he started the engine and placed his matcha in the drink holder. Matsukawa shivered, gripping the warm fabric tightly and pressing it against his eyes. His head was starting to pound, indicating the beginning of a migraine.

“I just wan’ sleep,” Matsukawa muttered, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the light coming beyond his eyelids. It did little to help the pain, but he knew it was so much worse when he didn’t do anything about the outside stimulus. “M’sorry, Hiro.”

Hanamaki ruffled Matsukawa’s matted hair. “Now, don’t be saying that. You’re not feeling well, so you should be resting up.” He kissed the top of Matsukawa’s head, tenderly. “I love you, illness or no illness.”

Matsukawa buried his face into Hanamaki’s shoulder as soon as he stepped out of the car, only lifting his head when they were both inside the building. Their flat wasn’t too big, but cosy to sleep in and watch Netflix when Matsukawa was able for it. “Want me to get a heat pack?” Matsukawa groaned in response, holding up a shaky thumbs up.

He pushed himself under the covers desperately, pressing his face into his pillow. All of his pain spots thrummed, and his migraine had reached its peak. His sleep schedule was messed up, but he needed to take the rest before he became physically incapable of it.

When Matsukawa woke up, it was too dark to make out anything but sounds and textures. His side was slightly warm, from where he had presumably rolled onto the heat pack while he was asleep. He had no recollection of Hanamaki bringing it to him, but he had to thank him later.

About fifteen seconds of relief lasted, until his upper body started to burn intensely. He ripped off the covers that made the burning worse, hot tears welling up in his eyes. “Hiro,” he called out instinctively to the person that gave him peace, but he wasn’t beside him on the bed. Panic seeped into his skin, eliciting a sob out of him.

“It hurts,” Matsukawa gave a whimper, opening his mouth to let out a pained cry. What came out was more than he expected. A splash of tea and bile dripped from his hands that flew up last minute to contain the mess, and onto the bedsheets. The burn spread to his throat, scorching hot and dripping.

The light flickered on, and the sudden light made Matsukawa gag again. “Issei, shit!” Hanamaki was beside him as quickly as he appeared, pulling him away from the soiled blankets. “Breathe in, two, three, four. You’re okay.” Matsukawa sucked in a breath, then started to cry harder. “I’m sorry for not noticing for so long.”

“I threw up on our sheets. Again.” Matsukawa sighed in his self-defeating tone. He felt disgusting, no matter how many times Hanamaki would assure him it wasn’t his fault.

Hanamaki shrugged, rubbing his back sympathetically. “They were ugly anyway. You can take the couch, if you think you can sleep.” He handed Matsukawa a new t-shirt and shorts, helping him out of his stained ones. “Is the pain still really bothersome?”

“It’s been hurting all this week,” Matsukawa said bitterly. “I just want to sleep, Takahiro. I’m just so fucking tired, it’s killing me…!” He broke into a round of sobbing, cursing his uncooperative body to hell. The only escape from constant pain was sleeping, but he couldn’t keep his eyes closed when his body hurt so much.

“God, I’m so sorry Issei. I’d make it all go away if I could. You don’t deserve any of this,” Hanamaki whispered, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend tentatively. “I’ll stay with you until you can sleep. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“You’re my boyfriend, Hiro. You should be having fun with me, not staying at home because my body’s being a dick.”

“Especially because I’m your boyfriend.” Hanamaki pecked Matsukawa’s cheek, handing him another heat pack. “Come on. Let’s try the sleeping thing again, yeah?”

#whump #Whumptober #matsuhana #matsukawa issei #Hanamaki takahiro #insomnia

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kalopsius · 6 years

Text

if only i could go back in time, part one.

.part one -> part two -> part three

kim jungwoo and you were from two different worlds.

soulmate au, fluffyish angst // 1.9K words

author’s note: apologies for my long hiatus!! < 3 i noticed that my bud, kim jungwoo didn’t have many stories about him and i had an idea in mind that i thought would fit perfectly for him. it will be three parts! updates will come pretty quickly since they are already all written. < 3 please enjoy!

to any normal person, a thirty-minute bus ride to university would an unwanted annoyance in one's day, but to kim jungwoo, it was a cherished time. as much as he loved the loud and never-ending chatter of his friends, debating on whether wooden pencils were better than mechanical (he would argue the former) and the mellow voices of his professors lecturing on the history of art and as much as he hated the bumpiness of the roads ruining the chances of him drawing or the occasional screaming baby that the mother could not seem to console, it was a time that he could escape the reality of real life and be in his own world: staring at the swirls of buildings and life that passed back while soaking into the music that came through the wires of his phone. occasionally, If he felt it was safe, his sketchbook would be in his hand and, pencils would be balanced on whatever he thought would be stable.

and there was you, a kind distraction to the stresses in his life. you always sat in the second left row with earbuds in your ears and notebook and pencil in hand: always black and white, his favorite color. your blue backpack was leaned against the window, making soft thuds against the pane at every bump of the road. the tip of your pencil never seemed to leave the surface of the paper, always writing about something. You would always get on a stop after his and would be still on the bus when he left for university. It wasn't because of some huge event that jungwoo started to notice you, just the fact that he would see a familiar looking person on the bus. Over time, you had been a silent yet comforting companion in his journey called life. there weren't many constants in his life: art was forever evolving and so was friendships and relationship, but over time, you become one of his constant.

he knew he was running out of time in knowing you though. three months had passed since the first time he spotted in you in your seat and not even a stare or word had been exchanged between you two. still a stranger in his life, jungwoo was yet to learn of your age, occupation or anything about you. he hadn't even heard your voice before (it was probably as beautiful as your side angle, but jungwoo would never admit it, to much of lucas's dismay.) every time he had an ounce of courage, it would always end the same, destroyed by the clouds of doubtful thoughts in his head. he thought it was foolish to be interested in someone that he didn't know, even the thought of it caused pinkness to flush his cheeks at first. despite this, the more times he spent bus rides with you, the more curious he had gotten about the stranger that also escaped reality on the same bus as him. several of months of trying later, he reluctantly had to settle with gazing at you from his seat in the corner of the bus, dreaming of who exactly was the person who would flood his thoughts and his sketchbook.

thousands of almost, but never a reality.

it wasn't until an early wednesday morning did fate finally work in his favor.

on this particular day, with fatigue in his lungs from running all the way from his apartment, he had arrived at the bus stop to the scene of a long line of people waiting for the bus. it wasn't like jungwoo to run late. he had always prided himself on his time management skills, but he had his down days as well. puffing his cheeks out in frustration, he adjusted the straps of his backpack around his shoulder, the sketchbook peeking out of the openings. as the ride to university was long, he preferred to sit down to allow himself to draw before lectures: a long time habit of his. now with this line formed, he wasn't sure if it would apply to this morning. the familiar sound of the bus tires coming to stop caused him to look up from the line of people to the window just above where he was standing.

it was you in your typical spot on the bus.

just the sight of you foolishly caused a small smile to form on jungwoo's face. he probably looked like an idiot as he smiled at seemly nothing in particular while waiting his turn to enter the crowded bus, but as long as you didn't see him, he couldn't care less. let them think he was a fool. after a while of waiting, the familiar bus smell finally entered his nostrils. he glanced around the bus, trying to spot an empty red seat in the flood of other colors. his eyes landed on a single empty seat through the liter of bodies, next to you. before he could stop his rapidly pulsing heart from beating so fast due to the irrational anticipation and internal reasoning, a shove from behind caused him to stumble over his feet, falling right next to your seat.

before jungwoo could collect himself off the chair, you whipped your head away from your notebook toward the source of the sound, catching him red-handed and stunning him in his awkward position. it was the first time he had seen your full face and, it was nothing like the sketches that he had drawn of you. it was so much more. mere scratches on a piece of paper could not ever capture what jungwoo had finally caught a glance at. your eyes blinked at him, still widened slightly in a mixture of surprise and fright.

it was the slamming of your writing book close that finally broke the trance that jungwoo was in. embarrassed that your first impression of him was him falling for you (as cliche as it was), he clumsily sat next to you, a pinkish and red hue covered his face and the back of his neck. a flash of an emotion that he couldn't catch crossed your pupils before you stared down again at your notebook in your lap. he stayed in a rigid position, back straight and staring at the back of the chair in front of him. not even taking out his sketchbook and absentmindedly fiddling with the pages could stop the flood of thoughts that bounced around in his head, not one could coherently be understood. it couldn't prevent the clamminess of hands that he attempted to wipe on his jeans, but could never seem to erase, no matter how he tried.

jungwoo finally let out the breath that he had been holding for almost twenty minutes (or what seemed like twenty minutes) when the familiar scenery of his university rolled through the window. not taking a second glance at you, he hurriedly rushed off the bus, bumping into people and chairs alike. not noticing the thud of something of his falling to the floor of the bus, the only thought of his mind was to leave the bus and save the shiver of reputation that he had with you. it was until the rumble of the bus finally in the distant when a sigh of regret escaped his partly opened lips. he had been granted a chance to get to know you and, he had wasted it on controlling his emotions and cowering in fear.

he just hoped there was a next time with you.

jungwoo stepped off the bus the next day with disappointment and regret from the day before pumping its way back to his system. The day was cursed with a lost sketchbook and a crowded bus, meaning that he didn't even have a chance to approach you if he wanted to. Tens of minutes of self-talk before he got on the bus later, it resulted in the same shyness that he had experienced for the last couple months, not even daring to glance in your direction. So even if he wanted to face you, he wouldn't have had the courage. (he was looking through the corners of his eye at you, but it would be something that he would never admit.)

"excuse me." a faint voice from behind him called out in his direction. unable to distinguish whether it was for him or an invisible stranger standing right now to him , jungwoo turned around to see your running form coming toward. breathless from your chase out of the bus and on to the sidewalk, you leaned on your knees to catch your breath before finally facing him. jungwoo, frozen in his stance at your sudden appearance in front of him, could only take in your appearance and think of nothing else.: flushed cheeks, backpack slung loosely over your shoulders and a familiar looking book in your hand.

"my sketchbook!"

a sheepish smile crossed his face the minute those words escaped his lips without registering in his brain. you only smiled and handed him the book, which he graciously took with several bows and 'thank you' accompanying it.

"are you an art major?"

just a simple question sent him inside into a crumbling mess, fumbling over his sketchbook and his finger. still filled with a disbelief that you, the stranger that he had been admiring, had finally noticed his presence, jungwoo stumbled over his words replying with a simple and soft 'yes'.

an unexpected silence fell upon you two. his mind raced through all the questions that he wanted to ask you, but not one could be coherently formed into words. your pinkish lips turning upwards into a smile before you broke the silence, introducing yourself. he learned you were a literature major, around his age and from the university nearby his. light-hearted conversation ensured afterwards with him trying to hide the fact that there were flocks of butterflies trying to escape his stomach, filled with moments of silence with you popping in to dive into another subject matter. after a while of you both started to walk aimlessly in some direction, he gulped nervously, shuffling his sketchbook around from hand to hand once again. This caused you to stop walking and glance up at him. despite that you had looked into your eyes a couple times in the span of your conversation, his heart couldn't help stopping for a second, every time

"would you like to see some of my work?"

as someone who wasn't fond of people close to him looking at his work, the question flew out of his mouth before his brain could stop him from doing so. there was something about you that felt so familiar to him as if he had met him before. talking to strangers was a fear of his, yet with you, it felt like your friendship had lasted longer than the thirty or so minutes you two had been talking you nodded, moving closer to him. the scent from your hair blanketed him a soft whiff of strawberry perfume. jungwoo flipped page-by-page through the darken paper of his book, explaining each piece of art with a great detail and apologize one, two many times for rambling. you only smile and laughed in response, your eyes slightly crinkling on the edges, noting to himself that he should make you laugh more.

it was as if he had known you for a lifetime.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenario #nctwriters #jungwoo #nct imagine #kim jungwoo #nct u

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