#i was in the process of making a very self-indulgent edit but i stopped here

[bear-do-well]

bald diamond

#i was in the process of making a very self-indulgent edit but i stopped here #like to slap her bald head. reblog to slap her bald head #my post #steven universe #pink diamond #su pink diamond #gay rock tag

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧CELEBRATE

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS) Hongjoong isn't there to celebrate your birthday, so he pulls a few strings to make sure you know how much he loves you.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!hongjoong x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) self-indulgent. mentions of food and drinking. maybe language? not edited. LOTS OF FLUFF! lmk if I am missing something

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 2.71k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) It's 12 am and it's my birthday, so I decided to gift myself a little something. Lol~ Sorry for any craziness ahaha. I always enjoy feedback, reviews, and asks so don't hesitate to comment/send an ask!

Buzz. Buzz.

The constant buzzing of your phone wakes you up much earlier than you would have liked. It’s still early, and a cursory glance at your digital clock confirms that it’s, in fact, only a few minutes past 7 a.m.— too early for you to be awake. Since the buzzing has stopped, you decide to turn to your side and fall back asleep. Well, you try to, for the very next moment, your phone buzzes again. Eventually, it drops from the nightstand and onto the floor with a loud clatter. The sound makes you open your eyes a fraction, and with a sigh, you struggle to reach your phone while still trying to stay in the warmth of your blankets. After many unsuccessful attempts, you manage to grab the device and unlock your phone, the sudden brightness making you squint your eyes. However, your frown turns into a smile when you see who the messages and missed calls are from.

Joongie♡ [07:00 AM]: Wake up

Joongie♡ [07:00 AM]: Love~ Wake up!!

Joongie♡ [07:01 AM]: Darling~ I know you hate waking up early, but please

Joongie♡ [07:01 AM]: Since you’re not waking up, I will call you until you do

Two missed calls from Joongie♡

Y/N [7:15 AM]: It’s literally 6 in the morning for you right now. Why are you awake?

Y/N [7:16 AM]: Actually, a better question would be, why do you want me to wake up at seven in the morning? I have the rest of the day off. Let me sleep some more.

Dropping the phone onto the bed, you pull up the blanket to your chin, cuddling into the pillow by your side with a pout. Hongjoong is not even in the same country as you (not that you can blame him, he has a concert soon), but it does make you slightly sad not to have your boyfriend around for your birthday.

When your phone buzzes yet again, you finally sit up on your bed, giving up on the idea of sleep and swipe the screen to pick up the call.

“You better have a very good reason for waking me up at 7 AM on my birthday, Kim Hongjoong.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” You hear the warm laughter of your boyfriend and notice that his voice is slightly gravelly, indicating that it’s not been long since he woke up either, which makes your heart skip a beat. “But just because I’m not home doesn’t mean that I don’t have a few things planned for your birthday. So, get up because you’re getting breakfast delivered within the next ten minutes.”

“Why this early, though?” You know Hongjoong, and he’s not someone who does things without a plan.

“You’ll find out soon, my love,” he sing-songs. He pauses when he hears the doorbell ring on your side of the line and hums. “Well, looks like food’s here already. Eat well, jagi, for you have an interesting day ahead. I’ll be in practice and at a conference, so I hope you don’t run into any issues. But if you do, call manager hyung, he’ll help you out.”

“What?” Your brain tries to catch up and process his words, for you’re still in the process of waking up.

“You’ll understand soon. I love you, bba bba~”

And with that, he hangs up, leaving you blinking at your phone until the doorbell rings again, and you scramble out of bed, answering the door with a sigh.

“There’s a delivery for you,” the guy at the door says, handing you a bouquet of Stargazer lilies. He also gives you a bag with the logo of your favourite bakery stamped onto it, and a cursory gaze inside reveals a coffee cup along with two other boxes you can’t wait to open.

Walking to the kitchen, you look around the bouquet for a card, eyes lighting up in joy when you find one. You put the takeout bag on the counter and settle down on the counter stool, carefully unfolding the card to read what’s written.

My love,

Happy Birthday! I do apologise for waking you up so early today of all days, especially when you have a rare day off. But I have so much planned for today, so firstly, enjoy your breakfast. It’s your favourite coffee, along with that sandwich you can’t seem to get enough of (and, of course, a chocolate croissant as well). After you’re done, go to your closet and check out the innermost corner for your ootd! There’s another note there to guide you on what you’re supposed to do next.

Also, I can’t begin to express how thankful I am for your presence in my life. I’m sorry I can’t be there to celebrate with you, but I hope that what I have in store for you can bring you a fraction of the joy that you bring into my life. I love you so much, my love.

Yours forever,

Kim Hongjoong

You can’t help the smile that graces your lips as you finish reading the note, and you doubt that you’d be able to stop smiling throughout the day. Curious as to what your lover has in store for you, you decide to enjoy the little treat on your balcony, soaking in the early August sun before you set out on whatever surprise it is that Hongjoong has put together for you.

Locking your door behind you, you walk to your car with a spring in your step. It’s past 9 AM, which means there are a few cars on the road, and it takes you a few extra minutes to reach your destination. The outfit Hongjoong has decided for you is, unsurprisingly, a blend of your styles. Having known each other for close to eight years and dating for three of them, it isn’t astonishing that your personal styles have blended together somewhat. You reach the location Hongjoong had written down on the second note and find yourself in front of a spa.

After a relaxing few hours at the spa, you’re given another note from the person at the reception desk. You thank them with a smile, feeling rejuvenated and lighter as you exit the building. You wait until you’re in the car to read the note, your lips already quirking up at the corners as you unfold the piece of paper.

I hope you enjoyed getting pampered and that it made up (somewhat) for getting woken up so early. I think you still have some time, so head over to my studio! Just text Maddox hyung before you leave for the company. He will meet you at the parking and take you upstairs. I hope you’re looking forward to this particular surprise because I sure am!

You text Maddox, giving him a head up, before driving to the company, and as expected, he’s waiting for you in the underground parking lot. When you step out of the car, you’re engulfed in a hug.

“Happy birthday,” the older male greets you when you break apart from the hug. “Ooooh, someone looks radiant today.”

You laugh, explaining you’d just come from the spa as you wait for the lift to arrive at the basement level. You chat about this and that until Maddox opens the door to Hongjoong’s studio and leaves you with a knowing smile that has you confused. Before he walks away, though, he hands you another note. This time there’s an envelope as well, which he tells you to read after doing what the first one says.

Foregoing the couch, you settle down in Hongjoong’s chair, smiling when you feel as if you’re being hugged by the man himself. Your boyfriend spends an insane amount of time in this chair, and you’re not surprised that it’s so comfy. You unfold the first note, and your eyebrow quirks up in surprise when you realise that, unlike the other ones, this is handwritten.

Happy birthday once again, my love!

I’m glad that you’ve made it this far into my little surprise for you. But sit tight, cause this is just the beginning. Boot the computer and click on the folder on the desktop with your name. I hope you like this little surprise, lovely.

Yours,Joongie.

With furrowed brows, you boot the computer. It doesn’t take you long to find the folder he’s talking about, for the folder is towards the middle of the screen, away from other folders that contain files of whatever he’s working on currently. You open the folder, only to find a single audio file. You click on it, and in an instant, the sounds of an acoustic guitar echo throughout the studio, followed by Hongjoong’s soft singing.

“We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January…”

Your hand flies to your mouth, muffling the gasp that leaves your lips as Hongjoong sings Taylor Swift’s Lover, the song he sang to you when he had asked you to be his girlfriend in this very studio. While listening to the audio file, you realise that his vocals have improved since three years ago, bringing a proud smile to your face. As the song moves to its end, the tears that had been blurring your vision finally fall, streaming down your cheeks as you close your eyes, drowning yourself in Hongjoong’s beautiful vocals. The last chords fade out, and you move to close the window, only to realise that there are still a couple of minutes left.

“Surprised?” *Hongjoong laughs* “Well, I hope you were. As I mentioned in the note, it’s only the beginning of the surprise, darling. I think it’s time for you to open the envelope, I’ll give you a few seconds to do so, so be quick.

Despite rolling your eyes at the screen, you tear the envelope open gently, only to choke on air when you realise they’re plane tickets—plane tickets to Bangkok, to be precise, the exact place where Hongjoong is right now.

“Yes, these tickets are for you.” You flinch at his voice, suddenly remembering that the audio is still playing. “There’s a bag behind the couch with everything you’ll need, your passport, a few travelling essentials, and some clothes because you’ll be staying with us until the concert! Anyways, leave soon, for if I calculated correctly, you currently have two hours to reach the airport, and traffic is always bad on a Friday.”

You glance at the clock in the studio, and sure enough, you have just about two hours to board the flight. Touched, but also amused by your boyfriend’s shenanigans, you curse him under your breath before shutting down the computer and grabbing the bag before you’re running back downstairs.

After all, you do have a flight to catch.

Taking a deep breath, you place your palm on the door to the hotel roof. The butterflies in your stomach remind you of the very first date you had with Hongjoong, even though it was nothing as fancy as what this will be, considering the dress laid out for you in your room.

You were a bit surprised when Yunho was the one to meet you at the airport because you’d been expecting their manager instead of one of the members of ATEEZ. He drove you to the hotel and sneaked you inside Hongjoong’s hotel room, which was devoid of said guy. You turn to Yunho in question, but he just told you to wash up and wear what his hyung had left out for you before meeting him at the rooftop.

And now, here you stand, taking deep breaths to calm your furiously beating heart. It’s just Hongjoong behind the doors, you remind yourself before opening said door. Whatever you had been expecting is far from the sight that awaits you. The rooftop is dark, save for the roof patio that is lit up by twinkling fairy lights. There are also flower petals strewn on the roof, which make a path towards the patio, under which there is a sofa that sits atop a carpet and a low table that’s lit up by a few candles. And in the middle of it all, stands a smiling Hongjoong, donned in a black suit. When he sees that you’re frozen at the door, he walks up to you, reaching for your hand to lead you towards the couch gently.

“Joong…” You’re at a loss for words as you look around the patio, only for your eyes to land on the beautiful view of the city. “You…”

“I’m glad you like this,” he smiles, and you are momentarily distracted by the way the twinkling lights reflect off of his face. He notices the slightly dazed look on your face and caresses the side of your face before leaning in to kiss you softly. He lingers against your lips, pressing his own against yours again and again and again until you’re drunk off of him and can register nothing but his lips and his hands resting against your waist. His kisses, like everything else this man does, are calculated and passionate yet soft enough for you to feel the love he pours into each of his movements.

It’s only a while later that Hongjoong pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. His lips are red and swollen by the intensity of your kisses, “As much as I love this, I didn’t fly you all the way here for this.”

A giggle leaves your lips, “What else do you have planned?”

“Nothing much, really; just wanted a few quiet minutes with you before the guys barge in with food and cake. They wouldn’t let me spend the last few hours of your birthday alone with you,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, but the fondness dripping in his tone tells you he isn’t annoyed at all. “So, champagne?”

You nod, already feeling cold, when he moves away from you to pick up two flutes from the side table. Hongjoong takes out the bottle of champagne from a mini-fridge you hadn’t even noticed in the corner and pours the drink into both glasses.

“Here’s to another year of growing older together,” his smile is blinding as he clinks his flute against yours.

You hum at the taste, grinning back at Hongjoong. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip your drinks. Eventually, your head finds its way onto your lover’s shoulder, whose arm settles around your waist unconsciously.

“Do you want to dance with me?”

“Right now?”

Hongjoong hums, “We don’t have to. But the guys are probably going to come in like…” he checks his watch, “...ten minutes. And I kinda really want to hold you close until our problem children decide to hog you.”

“Our problem children? I thought they were your and Hwa’s kids.”

He narrows his eyes at you, batting you away with a huff. “I don’t want to dance anymore.”

You laugh because he’s actually pouting and stand up, extending a hand, “Well?”

Hongjoong sighs, muttering, “You’re lucky you’re cute, and I love you,” under his breath as he takes your hand before playing a nice slow song on his phone.

His hands rest against your waist while you loop yours around his neck and tuck yourself close to him as you sway to the music. “Thank you for today, Joongie. I wasn’t expecting the day to turn out the way it did, and… I just… I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too,” Hongjoong leans down to kiss your forehead. “Happy birthday.”

The very next moment, the door opens with a squeak, and the two of you break away from each other to see seven silhouettes making their way towards you.

“Enough hogging her, hyung! She’s our friend too,” Wooyoung screams at the top of his lungs, making Hongjoong shush him with a glare as you laugh.

“Happy birthday,” Yeosang tells you softly while Hongjoong scolds the second youngest for causing so much noise.

“Thank you, Yeo.” You smile, catching Jongho’s eyes, who is setting up the table with food with the rest of them as if their leader isn’t scolding one of them, not even a few feet away.

#outlaw/celebrate #hongjoong x reader #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #hongjoong imagines hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong headcanons #hongjoong reactions #hongjoong fluff #cromernet

[taelme]

treacherous

genre: regency!au (with some tweaks ofc), kind of secret romance, painter!johnny, marquess!johnny (mild angst, a lot of fluff im telling yall this was self-indulgent)  pairing/s: Johnny / Reader (ft Jaehyun and oc (reader’s sister)) word count: 26k+ (love language strikes again)  tw: brief mentions of a parent’s death, mentions of food, reader has a tense relationship with her mom? mentions of religious imagery  summary: in your search for love in a material world, you find the acquaintance of a poor painter and discover what it means to feel safe to trust, to be vulnerable, to love—and everything in between a/n: very self indulgent!! (this technically can be read as a standalone but reading enchanted before this can help with context!) was definitely zoning out during my lessons thinking about this johnny.... can yall tell im in love? may have died many times writing this ... definitely was difficult to edit because i was giggling throughout as though i wasn’t the one who wrote it. themed on treacherous but i’d love to hear if you found any other tswift song easter eggs inside!! happy reading  read on ao3

There were many rules any supposed self-respecting or ‘well-bred’ gentleman and lady had to abide by in the world you lived in—rules that ensured the protection of a culture, that shaped character, that cultivated virtue. You were very well-versed in such rules, having been fed every conduct manual your mother could get her hands on from the time you were able to read. 

You would internalise all that you’d read, taking the words seriously and living by the advice given, moulding yourself into a daughter who was perfect as and when you were judged by the book. Perhaps that was what your mother hoped, that her daughter would agree to being mothered by conduct books. 

Of course, that wasn’t quite the case. You read them, surely, but whether you lived by them was an entirely different matter. 

The first thing to note, a lady like you was expected to wait to be introduced to a gentleman, and never introduce herself.

“Would you stop fidgeting? How impossible is it for you to just sit still for a moment?” your mother clicked her tongue in distaste, her voice soft enough only for you to hear, but her tone no less cutting. 

You glanced at her blankly, shifting in your seat once again before turning your gaze back to the field before you, the crowd of people around you waiting for the races to start. Frankly, the appeal of a race for you lay in watching the horses, how gracefully and strongly they galloped, oblivious to the money being placed behind their speed. 

But you knew why you were here, it was hard for you to forget. 

“It’ll be nothing short of a miracle if anyone finds you desirable with your horrible manners to show for yourself,” she huffed, turning to your father who was sitting beside her for some sort of support, only growing more annoyed when she saw that he was otherwise unbothered by your fidgeting. 

“Spare her, she’s still new to all of this,” he murmured. 

“Her sister wasn’t like this when she first debuted,” your mother retorted, earning a sigh from your father.

Your sister, who was now away on her honeymoon with the viscount she married. As much as you were happy for her, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the support she gave you, especially during times like these where it seemed you would be caught in the crossfire of your mother and father’s disagreements. 

“Are they not both ladies? You have to stop treating her like she’s still a child,” your mother murmured harshly, making you shift in your seat uncomfortably, “the sooner you do that, the easier this whole process will be for all of us.” 

Now, you couldn’t hide behind the fact that you were young. You were out in society, expected to be looking for a marriage partner, but you still found yourself feeling intimidated by the number of people here knowing that they weren’t looking at you as anyone other than a lady to be married off. 

Thankfully enough, you spotted a familiar face (or they spotted you), your gaze landing on a family friend, a bachelor named Taeyong under the tentage next to the spectator stand. 

“I’m… going to say hello to Taeyong.” 

Your mother hadn’t acknowledged you with anything but a huff, so you took that as a greenlight to leave, straightening your posture in an attempt to make it seem as though you weren’t completely intimidated by the crowd of men you were practically walking into. 

Nodding your head at Taeyong in greeting when he met your gaze, he flashed you a smile. 

“My lady,” he bowed with extra dramatics, earning a grimace from you, “it feels oddly refreshing to be seeing you in a place like this.” 

“How so?” your eyebrows lifted, gaze flickering briefly to notice the man standing next to him, taller than Taeyong and much taller than you, giving him a small nod in acknowledgement. 

You knew it was more socially acceptable for you to focus on conversing with Taeyong and not acknowledging the man, since it would have been an obvious fact that he and Taeyong were of different social standings. The man’s dressing was that of a typical man of the working class, compared to Taeyong’s more expensive fabrics, with special tailored tailcoats and frills in his shirt. In spite of this fact, you couldn’t help your gaze from wandering over to the man even as you spoke with Taeyong, something about the way he carried himself making him seem as though he was the one of power between the two of them. 

It was a confidence and sureness that you weren’t used to seeing, different from the air with which the viscount Jung Jaehyun carried himself. For the viscount, there was always an air of tension in his slightly aloof demeanour. The man standing next to Taeyong now didn’t seem tense, instead, he possessed a calm confidence. You weren’t sure why it intimidated you more. 

“I’m more accustomed to seeing you in your home,” Taeyong huffed, “I guess this means it’s your first season?” 

You nodded, glancing again at the man next to Taeyong, who wore a curious expression on his face, observing you as you spoke with Taeyong. 

“And my last, if I'm fortunate enough,” you joked, even if you didn’t mean it. 

You glanced briefly again at the man standing next to Taeyong, averting your gaze when you met his confident stare, Taeyong’s huff of laughter distracting you just briefly. 

“I’m sure the season will be forgiving to you, you’ve always had a rather sweet disposition,” he assured you, eyebrows lifting as he shifted his body just slightly to gesture to the man next to him. 

“Oh, right. May I introduce you to a friend of mine who just moved into the town? He’s a painter, a very talented one at that. Miss Y/N this is Mr Suh. Mr Suh, this is my family friend, Miss Y/N.” 

The man gave you a polite bow, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said with a polite smile. 

Your head tilted in surprise, not having expected the lilting voice to have come from a man whose presence was anything but gentle. 

Taeyong glanced between you and Mr Suh, momentarily distracted when he was approached by a man who had greeted him loudly, immediately rattling off into a discussion on the horse race. 

Almost about to leave to find your way to the lemonade, you heard the lilting voice again. 

“Who are you betting on?” he asked nonchalantly, and with the way he looked ahead as he talked, it would have seemed as though he wasn’t talking to you from the outside. You wondered whether it was intentional. 

“Me?” you asked, turning to look up at the man’s face, seeing him tear his gaze away from the horses to look at you, a soft smile gracing his features as he did. 

He nodded. 

“Am I supposed to be betting on one?” you asked in spite of everything you knew and read from the conduct manuals. You didn’t need Mr Suh to tell you to know that you weren’t supposed to be betting on anything, regardless. 

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted, taking his lower lip between his teeth before letting it go, “Well,” he began, “I suppose you shouldn’t. But the stakes are what make it more entertaining, aren’t they?” 

You scrunch your nose up in disagreement, shaking your head. 

“I would beg to differ. Sometimes things are best enjoyed without too many expectations.” 

Mr Suh hummed, clasping his hands behind his back, the stance somehow making him seem even more confident, you could almost imagine him dressed in formal wear attending one of the balls your sister spoke of the previous season. A man like him would be hard to miss in a crowd. 

“What makes you say that?”

You shrugged, your gaze flickering over the way the sunlight was shining on him through the little holes in the tent above the both of you, casting a pretty glow on where it touched his hair, his skin, his hazel eyes that held the mischief of a cheshire cat to them. 

“I suppose when you leave less room for expectation, you also leave less room for disappointment,” you hummed, watching in borderline awe as he let out a huff of laughter. 

“Not that I don’t agree with you, because trust me, I do. But humour me, pick one and we’ll see who wins,” he offered smoothly, with the same confidence that made you feel as though he were drawing you in, as if his simple proposition was enough to spark your desire for some excitement in what you otherwise assumed was going to be a boring day. 

“And if you win? What happens then?” you asked, earning a thoughtful hum from Mr Suh, lips pursing in thought as if he hadn’t already thought of what he wanted. 

Mr Suh’s lips parted, as if having reached a moment of realisation, “You’ll grant me the honour of getting you a glass of lemonade.” 

“And if I win?” 

Mr Suh grinned, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” 

You hummed, “Alright then. I pick number two.” 

And you watched, as the race began, as Mr Suh watched with a serious gaze as the horse you chose had run neck in neck with his, the way number two had begun to pick up speed halfway and you knew you would prevail as the winner by a landslide. Funnily enough, Mr Suh didn’t feel the slightest bit bitter about losing, curious as to what you had in mind for your reward. 

It was amusing to you, to see the way the many people standing in the tent had either gushed out yells of excitement or frustration as the race ended, Mr Suh’s expression looking still as calm and confident as he turned to face you. 

“Have you decided what you wanted?” he asked, “I’ll still get you a glass of lemonade, since it’s a hot day after all.” 

You followed next to him as he walked towards where the staff were serving refreshments, paying for a single glass of lemonade and handing it to you, an expectant look on his face as he awaited your reply. 

“You said you were a painter, is that correct?” you began, earning a tilt of the head from him, wondering where you were going with this. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Could I pay a visit to your studio one day? You know, to see some of your paintings?” 

If Mr Suh was surprised at your request (he was), he hadn’t shown it, simply looking at you with the same curiosity in his gaze, giving you a nod. 

“You’re more than welcome to come by. I’m located near the flower shop by the market, the old space that used to belong to the… the wine merchant,” he told you, and with how much you frequented the market, you instantly knew the space he was referring to, already mapping out a route in your head that would allow you to visit his studio after you ran your errands on Monday. 

Somehow, you couldn’t get used to the way he held your gaze, something about it making you feel as though you were frozen in your spot, unable to look elsewhere yet feeling as though you were too shy to return the same attention to him. 

“I’d better be going now, wouldn’t want to worry my mother,” you fumbled out an excuse in your flustered state, giving him a nod before you’d left promptly, sipping on your lemonade in an attempt to cool the warmth in your face and neck. 

===

Another thing worth noting, is that a lady like you is often placed in a very delicate situation. You may be distinguished by a kind of calculated attention to gain your affections, while it is impossible to know whether this attention will end in a serious declaration. 

You didn’t manage to visit him once the week started, busy with your own errands that occupied your first few days of the week. 

The next time you saw Mr Suh, it almost seemed like you were being guided towards each other. It was an odd moment on that Wednesday morning, something compelling you to look up from the yellow sunflowers you were talking to the old woman running the store about, turning your head to the right even though you weren’t quite looking for anything, your gaze coming to land on the man that you were almost hoping you would chance upon while in the area. 

Seeing the way his eyebrows lifted in recognition, you gave him a small nod to signal that you were acquainted with him, a smile gracing his features as he stood before you. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he remarked, earning a strangely shy smile from you, surprising yourself at the way you reacted towards him. 

You hummed, “I’m here often, actually,” you admitted, your gaze flickering briefly to the sunflowers you were looking at before, your finger touching one of the soft petals absently. 

“Is that so? Do you like flowers?” 

You shrugged, “... the simple answer would be yes.” 

Mr Suh surprised you with the way he’d gasped lightly, eyes widening with a hint of exaggerated dramatics, his hands in his pockets as he leaned over slightly, “Well, now that you’ve said it like that, you’ve gotten me curious about what the complex answer would be.” 

You weren’t sure what came over you, or what was compelling you to go against your mother’s wishes of not entertaining men who weren’t those you danced with at balls. 

Perhaps it was the way he conversed with you so smoothly, or the confident way he held himself, or even the way it seemed as though there was something inexplicable drawing you in through his gaze, telling you there was more to him than he was letting on. As if it would only  continue to nag at your curiosity if you didn’t explore it. 

“It is an answer I would easily offer to you if we were in a more conducive space,” you huffed in amusement, gesturing around to the various other market stalls, the grocers and the merchants yelling and ringing their bells as they bartered off their products. 

Mr Suh felt it too, the strangest feeling in his gut that made him feel as though he were being prompted to get to know you more. As he looked at you now, in the silence of the flower shop with the old woman giving him a knowing look, he couldn’t deny that he was curious about your intentions, about what you could possibly be thinking by being so willing to acquaint yourself with a poor painter like him. It was oddly refreshing, and he could safely say you were the first lady to still treat him with such attention and respect after coming to know his social standing. 

“Would you like to claim your reward now, then? I was just about to head back to my studio, we could have some tea before you head back?” 

You frowned, knowing very well that as much as you would like that, you couldn’t very well do that now. 

At the sight of your frown, Mr Suh sucked in a sharp breath, “Poor timing?” 

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you nodded, “Unfortunately. I have to be at the church, I was supposed to get the new flower arrangements done for the altar and all…” 

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted, nodding in understanding, it seemed there was even more he was curious about you now. 

“Will you be playing the organ for the mass today too, dear?” the old woman asked, earning a hum from Mr Suh when you gave an affirmative nod. 

“You know how to play?” he asked, earning an insistent hum from the old woman. 

“ Very well , in fact,” she told him, and somehow you felt a strange sense of bashfulness under the praise of the old woman, though it wasn’t as if you were a stranger to hearing it from her. 

Somehow, the fact that you were in the presence of Mr Suh as you heard it reminded you of the feeling you got when you were younger and your parents were entertaining guests, insisting that you play a piece for them. The feeling of all their eyes on you that filled you with the want to run off into your room, the only time you’d relaxed slightly was when you would centre your focus on the piano, the music being the distraction from their gazes on you. 

The way Mr Suh looked at you, his curious gaze, somehow filled you with this sort of almost-panic, a panic that came with being so focused on, a sudden feeling of being exposed. 

You didn’t have to worry about this with your family, knowing they were all focused on their own worries to pay such delicate attention to your affairs. Mr Suh, however, his gaze was intense, though it did not seem to possess the same intention to nit-pick like your mother, or the insistence of your father’s, or distraction of your sister’s. His could only be described as unadulterated curiosity . 

“I’d love to hear it one day,” his lips curled into a small smile, “perhaps you could grant me the honour of hearing you play while I complete a commission at my studio.” 

You huffed. Somehow the prospect of being able to be involved in the creation of art in such a way enticed you, and it left you feeling excited for the day to come. 

“I would like that,” you told him, turning to the old woman and giving her a small nod to signal that you would like to take the flowers you ordered now. 

“Would you like to take the ones for home now?” she asked, earning a shake of the head from you. 

“No, thank you. I’ll come by later to collect those,” you told her with a smile, turning to Mr Suh and giving a small bow. 

“I should be heading off now.” 

Mr Suh huffed in amusement, “That sounds familiar,” there was a hint of mischief in his tone that made your lips part, a small scoff leaving you. 

“Are you teasing me?” you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you, earning a smile from him. 

“I mean no menace,” he continued, shaking his head, “I should be off as well…” 

He let out a small sigh, the soft smile lingering on his features, “It was nice to see you here.” 

You huffed, wanting to say more, but settling for a simple nod. 

“When would be a good time for me to come by?” you decided to ask, earning a shrug from him. 

“Whenever it suits you, I’m usually in the studio by the afternoon,” he spoke, earning a tilt of the head from you, prompting him to continue, “okay, how does Friday afternoon sound?” 

You nodded, “Perfect.” 

Bidding him goodbye, your breath hitched at the way his tone had lilted with the same calm confidence as he addressed you, your brain replayed the way he’d addressed you, wondering how his voice could make your name (something you figured you would have been so used to after all your years of living), sound as though it were being spoken to you for the first time. 

You turned and left before you could tempt yourself to stay longer and forget about the flowers in your arms waiting to be displayed, though even the sunflowers seemed to twirl around to face him. 

The giddiness fluttering within you remained as you sat by the stone bench preparing the flowers, the sound of the gentle flowing water of the fountain you were sitting beside somehow reminding you to still your heart, lest you get too carried away with the excitement you felt from your interactions with Mr Suh. 

As you fixed the placement of one of the sunflowers, you let your gaze wander to the elderly woman who was a few benches away from you shaded underneath a large tree, looking at the arrangement of flowers you’d placed at the foot of one of the statues.

Observing her expression as she gazed at the flowers, you wondered what she was thinking about, what she was here for, perhaps even what she was praying for. You knew you weren’t a stranger to it even as you observed her, you had been here many times; out of desperation, out of boredom, out of joy, out of hopelessness. 

You liked the freedom that came with being here, how you could essentially stay undisturbed due to the unspoken understanding that those who came here sought out that same solace and peace you did.

It was more of an escape at first, from the confines of your house and the myriad of books waiting to be read and re-read again. You weren’t sure when it started becoming a place you wished to return to willingly, like an escape you sought out because it became less of an escape and more of a shelter. 

There was vulnerability and protection you found in being alone, in the thought that even if no one was being attentive to you, maybe a higher power was. This thought always pulled you into deeper reflection, it made you struggle with how comfortable and uncomfortable you were in this vulnerability. How perhaps you were comfortable with it because it wasn’t exactly tangible, yet how uncomfortable you felt with it because you knew that this desire for vulnerability, to be seen, known and loved in such a way was something that resonated deep within your soul, and perhaps it was never tangible to begin with. 

Done with the main arrangement meant to be the centrepiece at the altar, you got up, dusting off your dress. Picking up the basket, you made your way down the aisle of the church till you were at the altar, placing the basket delicately onto the marbled floor before something compelled you to take a seat there on the floor of the aisle, looking up at nothing in particular. 

“Do you recognise the painting?” 

You turned your head in the direction of the sound, seeing the priest walking over to you from your left, earning a hum of confusion from you. 

Gesturing above you to the direction you were staring in previously, he gave you a small smile, “You were staring at it, were you not?” 

Turning your head to fix your gaze on the painting, you saw that it was a painting of a raging sea, a boat in the background with many people on it, but a man, and another who you assumed was the Lord on the water, the man looking desperate as he clung on to his saviour. Yet somehow, the way his saviour held him, you could sense the safety, the security present in his hold. 

“Do you recall? That man, Peter, walked out onto the water when the Lord called him.” 

You frowned, nothing about it made any logical sense, to put yourself in such a position of vulnerability, subject to drowning, subject to the harsh currents of the waves willingly . 

“Why did he do that?” was all you could ask, reminded again of this vulnerability, and whether as you looked at this painting, you could see how there was protection in this vulnerability like you had felt before. 

The priest could only huff in amusement, a deep sigh leaving him. 

“Would you like the simple answer?” he asked, earning a sheepish smile from you. 

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” 

Shaking his head, the priest turned his gaze back to the painting, “Love.” 

He did it for love?  

Perhaps the answer you wanted really wasn’t for something tangible to begin with, you figured, because you felt his words resonate in your heart. 

How willing were you to be vulnerable? And what were you willing to be vulnerable for? 

“That sounds more like the complex answer,” you huffed, your hands fiddling with the fabric of your dress, picking off leaves that had stuck onto your dress while you made the flower arrangements.

Your words had only earned a laugh from the priest, the elderly man giving you a shrug. 

“I suppose simple doesn’t mean simplistic.” 

Sighing, you nodded, knowing you would be left pondering his words for the next God knows how long . And it was true, even as you played the organ for the mass that day, as you left the church grounds to make your way back to the flower market.

Even as you were greeted by a bouquet of hibiscus flowers the old woman said Mr Suh had left for you, the thought continued to stir your heart. His simple bouquet, which sparked a far-from-simplistic longing in your heart. 

Were you willing to be vulnerable for something like love? 

Perhaps only time would tell. 

=== 

The third rule, a lady like you was not to engage in any activity that could give rise to gossip. A young, unmarried lady like you was never to be alone in the company of a gentleman outside of family and close family friends. Other than during a walk to church or to a park in the morning, a lady like you was not to even so much as walk outside without an appropriate companion.  

“Where are you off to so early, Miss?” Your lady’s maid had asked in a hushed whisper, passing you the little biscuits you asked for her to help you retrieve from the kitchen without your mother noticing. 

“To church,” you smiled, earning a surprised hum from her. 

“I suppose this is the message you would like for me to relay if anyone were to ask for your whereabouts?” her tone was knowing, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she handed you the makeshift bag she made using the cloth used to wrap your biscuits. 

You smiled, nodding at her as you let out an exaggerated wistful sigh, “I cannot express how thankful I am to have you here. You’re an absolute breath of fresh air in this house.” 

She huffed in amusement, shaking her head at you, glancing around the kitchen before lowering her voice to a mere murmur, “Will you be back late?” 

You shook your head.

“I’ll be back in time for tea, I’m going to visit a painter.” 

She gasped, a deadpan tone to her joking as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, “Need I get the chemicals ready to soak your dress when you return?” 

You rolled your eyes in good-nature, a giggle leaving you in your embarrassment. 

“I won’t make a mess of myself this time, I promise,” touching her arm, you told her with as serious a look as you could muster, earning a deep sigh from her. 

You supposed it was warranted, she’d known you since you were a baby, it was only right that she’d grown accustomed to your rather clumsy nature. 

“I’d rather you not make promises you can’t keep, Miss.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise ,” you grinned, fighting your laughter as you saw her expression dripping with scepticism. 

“I do miss your sister dearly, she was never one to keep me on my toes like you do. I’m always fighting for breath these days when I talk to the madam,” she let out a wistful sigh.  

You huffed, already beginning to walk out of the kitchen, “Don’t miss me too much when I’m gone,” you waved, practically brisk walking out of your house and beginning on the route you had planned in your head since the day of the races. 

Saying you were going to church wasn’t a complete lie. And it was important to note this, because you weren’t a very good liar to begin with, so details like these helped. 

Walking into the church grounds, you’d initially planned on just walking through it as a shortcut to the market, but you couldn’t deny the little anxiousness within your heart that came with your excitement. Frankly, you weren’t sure what you were expecting from your meeting with Mr Suh later, though you knew there was a need to maintain a level of secrecy about it.

Perhaps it was the guilt from this secrecy that compelled you to make a little detour, sitting on the same bench you saw the elderly woman sitting at the other day. 

Only when you were sitting in the same position as she was, you realised how different it felt to be sitting right in front of the little grotto. It felt much more like you were up-front instead of still having the pseudo-security of being a little further from the little altar. 

Somehow, you found yourself listing out in your head the various things you’d planned on doing today, imagining (and perhaps hoping as well) that while you went about these things, this higher power would be watching over you, protecting you as you went about your day. The thought served to comfort you, and you found yourself feeling a little less nervous about seeing Mr Suh. 

You wouldn’t have known that Mr Suh was equally if not more nervous than you were, finding himself agonising over which flowers he wished to gift you when you were to arrive. 

The way the old woman mending the store was looking at him wasn’t helping much either, with her knowing looks and watchful gaze as she observed the flowers he leaned towards. 

“Are you planning on getting them for Miss Y/N?” the woman finally asked after she seemed to have enough of his indecision.

Mr Suh nodded, “I was wondering if you could advise me on the meanings of the flowers?” he asked, earning a smile from the woman. 

“My dear, there are far too many flowers here for me to advise you on all of them now. Perhaps you could tell me what you wish to convey, and I could help you pick the right flowers accordingly?” 

Mr Suh hummed thoughtfully. He didn’t want something too forward, or something that would make you wonder what the special occasion was. At this point, all that was coming to mind was the image of your smile that he wished to have the honour of witnessing again. She does have a lovely smile. 

“Yellow tulips, then!” the woman offered gleefully, making Mr Suh’s eyes widen. He was glad Jaehyun wasn’t here, he didn’t think he would be able to recover from his slip-up so easily if that was the case. 

And so yellow tulips were what you were greeted with when you’d arrived at the studio, barely shutting the door behind you before you were greeted by the bright yellow that you found eliciting a smile from you without even noticing. 

“Are these for me?” you asked, the nod he gave you making you stretch your fingers in your gloves before you accepted the flowers from him, noticing the lack of gloves on his hands. 

“They couldn’t possibly be for me, I don’t think my smile is worthy of being compared to sunshine.” 

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, feeling warmth travel to your face and neck as you averted your gaze. 

“I’m… flattered to know you think mine is.” 

That seemed to elicit a smile from him, rivalling his words from before with the way he was beaming at you, a little giggle leaving him.

“You can set them aside here in the meantime, I was just in the middle of working on a small piece,” he told you, taking the flowers from you to set them in a makeshift vase. A little cup with dried paint on its mouth and exterior filled with clear water. 

“What of?” you glanced at the canvas on the easel in front of a tall stool, not being able to distinguish the markings on the canvas, seeming to be in its early stages of creation. 

Waiting for his reply, you took the opportunity to look around the studio. It was cleaner than you expected it to be, with how it was left unoccupied by the previous landlord for as long as you could remember. 

You noticed the carpets over various parts of the floor, the patterns resembling the ones you had at home. There were various tables around the room, used more for temporary storage than for display, housing various sketches on loose pieces of paper and card. Even so, the sketches were of various landscapes and nature. 

There were no statues here, contrary to what you expected, mainly bowls of fruits and flowers that you assumed were for still-life paintings or sketches. It wasn’t furnished anything like you imagined a typical painter’s studio to look like. You’d expected more statues of human figures, more artwork of people or portraits. The most life you detected in the room other than him and the bowls of fruits and flowers was the piano sitting at the side of the room. 

He stood in front of a tall easel that rested on a large cloth over the carpet to catch any mess that could ruin the rug. Next to the easel, there was a small table with his palette, and a little glass jar he used for water, a set of what you identified as watercolours next to the jar. 

“Your expression is making me curious. Penny for your thoughts?” 

You hummed, shaking your head when you decided against voicing out your thoughts. You wouldn’t want to risk offending him. 

Mr Suh seemed undeterred, simply tilting his head at you curiously, “What seems to be stopping you from telling me?” 

Daring yourself to glance at him in surprise at his forwardness, you shook your head, “No, no, I just… I don't want to speak out of turn.” 

Expecting him to simply nod and move on to another topic, you were even more surprised when he huffed in amusement, dismissing your worries with his gentle gaze. 

“I can assure you, I won’t expect you to bear the consequences for my feelings.”

Walking over to the tall easel where he stood, you pressed your lips together and mustered whatever courage you had to be honest with your thoughts. Something about his reassurance told you it was safe to allow yourself that much in this space. 

“I was just thinking that… your studio doesn’t look like what I expected it to look like,” you began, earning a nod from him, prompting you to continue, “I expected… more… you know, life .” 

Mr Suh’s expression remained calm and confident as always, as if he’d expected you to have pointed it out at one point. 

“I understand why you may think that,” he huffed with a smile. 

“Was it intentional?” you asked, “the focus on landscapes?” 

He nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, the attentiveness he offered to you once again feeling foreign, yet somehow reassuring. 

“I don’t do portraits. And I know it sounds foolish, considering they make more money than paintings of nature and whatnot. But it’s somewhat of a… personal philosophy , I suppose.”

Sensing your confusion, he huffed in amusement, continuing, “I find there is much more life to be found in nature that we overlook. When we’re not so concerned with… you know,” you met his gaze again, the same captivating feeling rendering your attention only fixed on him, “material things.” 

You nodded, his words striking a chord with you, remembering the many conversations you had with your sister on your worries about your debut, about whether you would be accomplished enough, presentable enough, respectable enough. When the desire, that intangible desire that resonated within you remained; the want to be seen, known and loved for your soul, unaffected by money or status. 

“It’s hard to be unconcerned with that in this society,” you huffed, earning a nod from him. 

“I suppose a lady like you has no choice but to be concerned about it,” he murmured, earning a sigh from you. 

“I wish I didn’t have to be.” 

Mr Suh gave you a soft smile, “At least… you don’t have to be while you’re here.” 

You hadn’t noticed you were smiling, something about his words making a wave of relief wash over you. Like a breath of fresh air, to hear that he wasn’t expecting you to be your mother’s daughter while you were here. The little invitation behind his words was enough to make you want to laugh. You were almost wondering why you’d felt so nervous to come here just a while ago. 

Making your way to the piano, you took a seat in front of it, still failing to stifle your smile, turning to him with a nod. 

“I… I’m afraid I like that offer a little too much.” 

And so that was what the studio became for you, a place where you were free to be alone yet share in the company of another, to allow for the creation of art within the space that you came to realise held more life than you initially thought. 

There was life found in the sound of the music that filled the walls, life found in the way Mr Suh’s brush would dance over the canvas, bringing colours alive with his fluid movements, life found in the little sparks of excitement and understanding when you would glance over at each other ever so often. 

“I like that piece the most,” Mr Suh told you as you were preparing to leave, holding out the last honey biscuit to him for him to take. Pinching it between his fingers, he popped it into his mouth. 

“You do?” 

He nodded, swallowing the last of the biscuit in his mouth as he smiled, “It happens to be my favourite.” 

Something about that knowledge made you see the piece in a different light, not having expected him to choose that of all the ones you played that day. 

Something about it was almost ironic, the meaning of the piece being to cast away earthly pleasures for a greater, spiritual love. It made you think about whether the intangible desire in your heart resonated in his as well. 

Unfortunately, that little moment was cut short when Mr Suh had taken out a small pouch that jingled in an all-too-familiar way, reminding you of your father’s study. 

“What’s this?” he set the pouch in your free hands, taking the empty cloth used to hold your honey biscuits and folding it neatly for you. 

Mr Suh hummed, “Take it as… pin money. I wouldn’t have been able to complete those paintings without the beautiful music you played.” 

Before you could refuse, he shook his head, “I insist, really. If you won’t accept it for the music, accept it for the biscuits.” 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you huffed, taking the now neatly folded cloth back from him. 

“You’re not going to take it back regardless, aren’t you?” 

The grin he sent your way was enough to make your knees feel weak. 

“You’re a quick learner, Miss Y/N,” he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.  

Again, the feeling akin to a gentle brushstroke on canvas, unassuming, yet permanent with the way the colour stood out against the white. 

“Will I be seeing you again soon?” he dared to ask, and you found yourself almost breathless as you searched for an appropriate reply. 

“Do you wish to?” 

Mr Suh wasn’t sure what came over him either. It was akin to an inner knowing, a gut feeling, an unmistakable intuitive feeling that told him not to fight the fact that he was drawn to you, the fact that he wanted to know you more. So, he decided not to fight it, as risky as the decision felt to him. 

“I do, if you are consenting.”  

You huffed, amusement in the way the smile played at your lips, nodding at him. “Then you will see me again tomorrow.” 

It became an unspoken agreement of sorts, for you to visit him in the mornings until it was time for you to return home for tea, blaming your happiness or giddiness on a particularly blessed time of prayer, or the time you took to get back home on the time you would ‘stay back’ in the church grounds on your own. 

Though your father didn’t mind, always having excused you whenever it came to matters of religion, your mother didn’t like it. She wouldn’t hesitate to express how she felt it wasn’t necessary for you to be devoting so much of your time to going to church when you had better things to do, like brushing up on your piano playing, refining your needlework skills or reading and internalising more conduct books. 

They wouldn’t know that the real reason behind your departure from home lay behind the (now many) flowers pressed between the pages of your many conduct books. Each one attached to a special memory of Mr Suh’s bouquets he gifted to you during your visits, the arrangements handpicked by him and unlike any you’d seen or made before. 

Though it was no secret that Mr Suh enjoyed your company and conversation, there was always a little nagging in his head that would return every now and then. It was as if its purpose was to remind him of who you were in society. It would return whenever he heard gossip in the market the morning after a ball, or chatter from bachelors in a local bar. It served as a  reminder that no matter how close the both of you were getting, you were still a lady, who could be subject to such gossip and chatter if you weren’t careful. 

“You’re risking your virtue each time you come out here to see me, you are aware of that right?" He spoke, while you were engrossed in sifting through his various sketches, finding ones to display on the walls of his studio. 

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, holding up a sketch of a tall, sturdy-looking tree planted by the water.

"And what is virtue to you, the man who keeps inviting me here?" you hummed.

Mr Suh narrowed his eyes at you, albeit amused at your witty reply. 

"I meant without a chaperone."

You sighed, almost instinctively assuming the disposition you would when you were being nagged by your mother. 

“I think it’s a little belated for you to be telling me this,” you muttered, still distracted by his sketches, your hands reaching up over your head to see what it would look like higher up on the wall. 

“Miss Y/N,” his tone was firmer than usual, insistent for you to pay attention. 

“Hmm? How do you think this would look up here?” you thought out loud, not having noticed him getting up from his stool to walk over to you, his hand reaching out to pin the paper you were holding against the wall with apparent ease, making you come down from your tip-toes. 

Turning around, you were shocked at how close he was, your eyes widening and taking a step back. 

“Are you listening?” 

In your surprise, you sputtered out whatever made sense to you in your head. 

“Right, yes. Chaperoning.” 

This had only managed to earn a quirked eyebrow from Mr Suh, “Yes… chaperoning …” 

“You understand the need for it, don’t you?” he continued, insistence in his tone. 

You huffed, “Don’t you think we’re past that by now? My parents are too caught up with whatever their latest worry is. If anything, they're relieved I'm finding something to occupy myself with. I’d only be a nuisance if I remained at home.” 

Mr Suh relaxed his arm, grasping the sketch in his hand as he lowered his arm to his side. 

“You’re avoiding the point. How can you be so sure that you trust me?” His eyebrows furrowed, seeming as if he were in disbelief that it was possible. You didn’t understand that. 

You shook your head. 

“I’m not,” you met his gaze, his eyes that shone a beautiful hazel in the sunlit space of his studio, “that is up to you to show me who you are, and up to me to be discerning about it.” 

His gaze softened, making you feel prompted to continue. 

“I am very aware of my stand in society, if that is what you are asking. But didn’t we agree? That this would be a place where that doesn’t matter?”

Mr Suh’s expression was pensive, his lips pressed into a firm line as he searched your gaze for something unknown to him, “Forgive me, I am simply concerned for you. It would do you no good to be seen with a man like me.” 

You sighed, ducking down to take the sketch from his hand and glancing at it, the sketch of the tree planted beside the water. 

You let out a huff of amusement, “Be kinder to yourself, Mr Suh. I’m not being forced to be here. Your company has been more enjoyable than any man I have come across.”

Sensing he was taken aback by your words, you decided to change the subject. 

“You have many sketches of places I have never seen before. Were they all places you’ve visited?” you asked, using a simple glue to attach just the top of the sketch to the wall, not wanting to ruin it if you decided you wanted to take it down. 

Mr Suh cleared his throat, “Yes, they were all from my travels, or some of the places I remember visiting.” 

Humming, you picked up the other sketch you planned on displaying as well, amusing Mr Suh  (and perhaps making his heart flutter) with how seriously you regarded his sketches, even if most of them were done on a whim. 

“They seem like lovely places. What made you come here, then? I wouldn’t say this area is as lovely as what I've been seeing in your sketches.” 

Huffing, Mr Suh’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, a relaxed nature in the way he watched you go about your movements, “My father passed. This was uh… his birthplace.” 

At that, you turned to face him, tilting your head at him as your gaze softened.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Letting out a huff of laughter that bordered on bitterness, he shook his head in dismissal, “There’s no need to be sorry. We were not that close.” 

Frowning, you let out a small sound of disagreement. 

“It’s not a crime, you know? There’s no rule that says you aren’t allowed to grieve simply because you weren’t close to him.” 

Mr Suh felt a little wave of comfort reach him at your words, comfort that he didn’t realise he needed until the words left your lips and graced his ears. It left him feeling strangely grateful. Not just for your words, but for your heart which allowed you to feel so sensitively for others. 

“Thank you,” was all he could muster, earning a soft smile from you. 

“What was your relationship like? You know, to your father?” you dared yourself to ask, sensing that it would do him some good to talk about it. 

“He was strict with me when I was growing up… actually, he was a rather quiet man, a contrast to my personality. I always found I was more similar to my mother, more… expressive,” there was a gentle smile on his features at the mention of his mother, something about it making you want to hear more. 

“I was more comfortable talking to my mother, and naturally she was more involved in my activities and whatnot while I was growing up… it’s a bit strange now that I think of it. Even while she called me her own little nicknames and terms of endearment, it felt more comfortable for me to hear that as opposed to my own name, only my father called me that. But even though that was the case, it still felt awkward hearing it from him.” 

You nodded, your attentiveness prompting him to continue. 

“I don’t regret it, though. It wasn’t as though we had a bad relationship, it just felt… a bit more formal, less playful than the one I had with my mother.” 

“That’s what matters, I suppose, that you have no regrets,” you shrugged. 

Mr Suh nodded, “That’s what I thought, as well. My duty now is just to… carry on, I suppose.” 

You nodded. 

“Awfully wise of you,” you quipped, earning a smile from him. 

“Of course, I thought you would’ve known that about me by now,” he teased, earning an eye roll from you, though there was no menace behind the gesture. 

You huffed, “I can only imagine what you were like as a child,” you murmured, your imagination getting the better of you. 

The look on his face made it seem as though he were recalling his childhood, huffing a small laugh as he shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve changed much, to be honest.” 

The honesty of your next words surprised you.

“You must’ve been the loveliest little boy, then. I’m sure of it.” 

The smile you received in return was new, tinted with bashfulness unlike the usual calm and confident exterior you were used to seeing. He averted his gaze, poorly stifling his smile before looking back at you and shaking his head. 

“You’ve got a dangerous way with words, Miss Y/N,” he sighed, though his smile lingered on his features. 

“Of course, I thought you would’ve known that about me by now,” you recalled his words, using them to tease him in the same lilting way that he did, though he was sure the effect you had on him was much worse, his laughter bubbling out of him without restraint, his hand reaching out to grab the table next to him in a poor attempt to steady himself. 

You were growing to like it, this honesty that was growing in how the both of you were showing up to each other. Honesty that wasn’t hidden behind etiquette rules or social ‘do’s and ‘don’t’s. What you and him were experiencing with each other felt authentic, unfiltered. 

Sure it may have been frowned upon, it may have been deemed risky or dangerous, but in moments like these where all you could focus on was his smile and the way it warmed your heart. Conduct books be damned, looking at him now, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

=== 

Another important thing for a lady like you to note, is that whatever your views are in marrying, you should take every possible precaution to prevent their being disappointed.

“How was yesterday’s ball?” 

You grimaced, your playing slowing down, the melody taking a more melancholic turn,  “I’d rather not talk about that.” 

“Was it that terrible?” he laughed, busy with sorting aside his tools and paints. Today was more of an ‘inventory day’, it seemed. 

You groaned, stopping your playing altogether, “Perhaps it would’ve been more bearable if you were there. Then at least I wouldn’t have to torture myself listening to countless men tell me how much they preferred a demure, quiet young lady with better birthing hips than I had.” 

Mr Suh didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement, letting his laughter bubble out freely as you tried to make your glare firm, though the more he laughed, the more it helped you find some sort of amusement in the memory. 

“I think your hips are fine,” he spoke, though the moment the words left him you could see him press his lips together firmly, a laugh threatening to spill out.

Scoffing, you couldn’t help but laugh as well, “My sister would perish if she heard you say that.” 

“Perish because I’m right? Though, I’m not so sure I could say the same about you being demure or quiet, unfortunately,” he told you knowingly, making you scoff. 

“I’d like to argue with you, but even I can’t argue with that,” you sighed, turning your body on the cushioned seat and closing the lid of the piano so you could lean against it. 

“Has there really been nobody trying to… court you?” he asked, more out of curiosity than out of an actual want for you to say that there has been. God knows he didn’t want that. 

You sighed, bringing one arm up to rest against the top of the piano, using your gloved hand to support your head as you looked at him busying himself with sorting out what he could keep and what needed to be disposed of. 

“It’s… difficult to explain. I know eligibility is one thing, background, status, wealth, the lot ,” you huffed, gesturing with your free hand as you spoke, something you were sure your mother would’ve chided you for if she was here, “but it's awfully difficult to grow attached to any of these men… they seem to have an image of me in their minds that they aren’t willing to compromise.” 

Mr Suh looked up from his paint, sensing your frustration that you were struggling to keep hidden, deciding to sit on the stool and show that he was listening, his hands finding their way to his pockets once again. 

“It’s as though I’m not allowed to be anyone else other than the perfect wife they’ve conjured up in their heads… how can you expect me to want that? To… to want to feel lonely in a conversation? To want to just constantly feel underestimated and misinterpreted . When I think of marriage, of a life with someone…” you glanced at him, averting your gaze to the floor, “I think of offering them my heart, but I don’t think of doing that to be met with money and a loveless house in return.”

You turned your head, adjusting it so you could support your head more comfortably, holding Mr Suh’s gaze as he looked at you, an understanding shared in his silence that you never appreciated more. 

You knew that within this unspoken understanding, you had to acknowledge that things were different here from how they were at the ball. Now, as you were in this space, under his gaze, you weren’t underestimated, you weren’t being ‘sheltered’ from anything deemed too much for you. Mr Suh let you be yourself here, receiving you graciously as you were, and you were starting to truly appreciate that. 

“The marriage market is truly lonelier than it seems,” he sighed. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Nothing, just… from what you tell me. Am I mistaken?” 

You huff, shaking your head, “Definitely not. I’d be better off having more stimulating conversations with a priest than any of the men I spoke to last night.” 

Mr Suh couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him at the image you put in his head, “A priest? Not even me?” 

You rolled your eyes, “That goes without saying, it’s obvious I much prefer talking to you.” 

Mr Suh couldn’t help the way his heart felt like it slowed at your words, the way it felt like he was finally taking a deep breath after a while of not breathing. It was refreshing, seeing someone so honest and unashamed of their feelings and thoughts like you were. He found he had come to like that about you. Very much. 

“Speaking of priests, do you really go to church in the mornings? Or is that just limited to an excuse you use to sneak off here,” he gave you a teasing smile, making you huff, shaking your head at him. 

“I do, sometimes.” 

“For the flower arrangements?” he asked, recalling the time you had met at the flower market. 

Shaking your head, “Not just for that. But that wasn’t how it started.” 

Mr Suh hummed, his eyebrows lifting as he prompted you to continue. 

“It’s… well, it sounds a little funny but I used to wander around the neighbourhood as an excuse to leave the house… My parents never really noticed because they were busy with my sister’s debut and family business affairs at the time, but my father would always excuse me if I said it was to visit the church,” you huffed, “I liked it, actually. There was something so… peaceful, about the church grounds.” 

“I suppose it didn’t feel like I was just wandering around whenever I went there, because I could see all sorts of things and people… people in their desperation, their hope, in their vulnerability… somewhat like I was when I was watching them,” you averted your gaze to the vase of white lilies that sat on top of the little round table he had near him, reminding you of your sister, “there was a period around last year, if I recall correctly. My sister was going through a difficult time, and I was worried sick about her… my role in the family was always to just occupy myself with my own whims and fancies, to be kept out of the loop because they were afraid I couldn’t handle the truth of things. But I knew what was happening.” 

Mr Suh nodded, “Did something happen to her?” 

You nodded, “The family was at risk of being in debt because of a man my mother was trying to marry her off to while she was in love with someone else, who we weren’t sure was ever going to return to town. Honestly, the situation didn’t seem very hopeful at the time, and I had to just keep pretending I didn’t know what was happening when I was in front of my parents.” 

“It was scary, to see how she almost married into a lie.” 

Glancing at Mr Suh, you were surprised to find his gaze still on you, attentive, patient, reassuring. You shifted in your seat, your hands in your lap as you fiddled with your fingers and your gloves. 

“It grew difficult, obviously, to be always finding ways to feel useful and overcompensating at home because I felt so helpless, so I would go off to the church as a sort of escape, you know? A place where I didn’t have to be ‘doing’, a place where I could just… feel what I was feeling.” 

Humming, Mr Suh nodded, “It was safe there,” he commented, earning a nod from you. 

“I suppose my loitering grew obvious,” you huffed in amusement, “because one day the priest just came up to me and asked me if I was alright, you know, if there was anything I needed.” 

“So, I told him how I was feeling—again, I’m not very sure what compelled me to do that, but it felt natural, I suppose, since I felt safe there—and I asked him what a person in my position could do. And he told me something really interesting… he said faith is nothing without trust, and … at the heart of trust is to be vulnerable. That was all I could do, to let myself be vulnerable and trust that what I was doing for my sister was enough, even if I didn’t feel like it was.” 

Mr Suh nodded, your words seeming to resonate with him again, the similar desires within your hearts to be vulnerable and be protected and loved in this vulnerability that came with baring your heart and soul to another. 

“I suppose that was how it started, because it made me realise that I wanted that. I was busy telling myself that I couldn’t because I would feel helpless, but I wanted to allow myself to be who I was, to feel all that I felt and be seen in all of that, and to know what it is like to be loved for that, to be supported in that. But… I suppose that is the dilemma I have found myself in,” you laughed, “searching for all of that in a place as ruthless as the marriage market when I couldn’t even seem to find it from my own parents.” 

The questions continued to circle in your head as you looked at Mr Suh, wondering what he was thinking after hearing your tiring monologue. Your mother always told you you had far too many words, no man would be bothered to listen to you. But for some reason, you hoped that if anyone were to, Mr Suh would. 

“Miss Y/N,” he began, the gentleness to his tone paralysing you again, as if grasping you by the shoulders and forcing you to look at him, “I cannot promise you much… but you make me want to promise you all that I have. Even if it is this modest space, I want to promise you that it is safe for you.”

Somehow, that was enough for you.   

A warmth had flooded you, sending warmth to your eyes, a lump forming in your throat that made you feel as though you were dipping your fingers into the depths of this vulnerability you were entering with him. 

You gave him a soft smile, your unspoken expression that it was enough.  

Somehow, that was enough for him. 

Straightening up in your seat, you let out a deep sigh, “But you are right, I can think of far much more excitement to be found elsewhere than debutante balls.” 

Mr Suh quirked an eyebrow at you, not minding the fact that you changed the subject so abruptly judging from the amusement in his smirk, “Is that so? Enlighten me.” 

“Perhaps I shall write a scandal sheet!” you exclaimed, even if you didn’t mean it. 

Always quick to bounce off of your words, Mr Suh scoffed, “You don’t need an excuse to write about me.” 

Not being able to help the laugh that bubbled out of you, you gasped, “How did you know? I already had an article prepared: ‘ Local painter is too flirtatious for his own good’ .” 

Mr Suh laughed, getting up from his stool to make his way over to the little table sat against the wall, your curiosity getting the better of you as you made your way over to where he was, peering over curiously at the various bottles of things he had on the table. 

“What are these for?” 

Pointing at the little bottles he had, labelled in a scrawl you weren’t focused enough to decipher, he spoke, “These are bottles of pigments. I don’t have an assistant or an apprentice or anything like that, so I usually like to make my oil paints myself since I only need them in smaller quantities at a time. It’s quite therapeutic actually.” 

“Is it difficult to make?” 

Sensing your curiosity, Mr Suh smiled, a certain playfulness to his gaze, “Nothing you can’t handle. Do you want to try?” 

Excited by the offer, you nodded, seeing him start to bring out the various things you would need, lifting a granite slab you were sure you would’ve had difficulty lifting onto a long table behind you, followed by another block of granite that was long and flat at the bottom, looking somewhat like a cone but without the sharp edge of it. 

Taking out two small bottles the size of his palm, he made his way over to you, “This is what gives it the colour,” he pointed at one of the bottles, opening it to reveal an earthy brown colour. 

“There’s others, but I wanted to make this one, so I suppose you could help me with that instead.” 

You nodded, eager for him to get on with explaining the process to you, bubbling with excitement from how long it’d been since you got to do anything involving paint. 

“I’ll help you add the oil, and then you can start to use the muller to work it into the pigment.” 

“I’m sorry, the what?” you furrowed your eyebrows, earning giggles from Mr Suh. 

“Perhaps I should just show you, I think that would be better. But before I do that,” he stopped himself, turning to his easel and picking up the apron that hung from its side, your eyes widening as he held it by the neck, “May I?” 

You nodded, wordless as he draped the apron over you while facing you, his gaze intent and maybe even slightly amused at your expression as he let his hands find the strings at the sides, your breath hitching as he reached them around your waist to tie them in a loose knot behind your back, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. Trying to calm your nerves, you took off your gloves, setting them onto the table. 

“There, you may proceed,” his tone was teasing as ever, letting you continue as you folded the oil into the paint using the little paint knife like how he had shown you before. His hands had moved with practised and controlled strength, unlike yours, who simply enjoyed the sensation and malleability of the paint. 

“You can use the muller now,” he pointed at the block of granite that sat on top of the slab, sitting on the stool near you and watching you as you worked. 

Under his gaze, it didn’t feel as though he were watching because he didn’t trust you with the pigment, but quite the opposite, as he watched you with a relaxed demeanour, a hint of a smile playing at his features. 

You weren’t sure how long you were working the muller into the paint, but you were definitely developing a newfound respect for whoever did this as a job. Though you did see why it was therapeutic, you felt weak as you heaved the muller around, wanting to laugh as you imagined how you must look. 

“What an honour it is, to have the diamond of the first water making oil paint for me,” Mr Suh lilted, making you huff, using your forearm to dab at the sweat that formed on your temple, continuing with the rhythmic movements you were growing used to. 

“You’re awfully mistaken, I’m not the diamond.” 

Expecting him to tell you he was joking, you should’ve known Mr Suh had an equally, if not more dangerous way with his words than you did. 

“Is that so? The queen’s judgement is clearly not to be trusted, then… I know that much as I’m looking at you now.” 

Your breath hitched, recovering quickly as you continued your movements, lifting the block to scrape the paint off the edges and collect it on the slab so you could continue to work it in. 

“Are you teasing me?” you scoffed, laughing in spite of yourself. 

Mr Suh, however, remained sincere, the slightest of smiles on his face, “Not in the slightest bit.” 

You weren’t sure how to react, his words flustering you to no end, but you spoke your mind nonetheless. 

“You’re funny, saying that to me while I’m performing an act like this. I can’t imagine how un-ladylike this must look,” you huffed, amused in a way that made Mr Suh smile without knowing. 

“Not quite, something about the way you do it is very… graceful,” he hummed, “perhaps you would have to be in my position to understand what I mean.” 

Turning to face him, your eyebrows lifted in scepticism, “Let us swap places, then. Though, I doubt it would be the same. You’re much more experienced than I am.” 

Always agreeable to your little suggestions, Mr Suh stood up, making his way over to you as you padded over to the stool he sat on before, watching him pick up where you left off. 

Your only thought was that he was right. He was right, he was absolutely right. 

Watching him as he mulled the paint, you found yourself captivated once again, if he thought you were graceful, you wished you could show him what he looked like. There was a certain seriousness he tapped into the moment he stepped up to the table, the gravity with which he regarded his craft, the sincerity he put into it. It attracted you, quite simply. 

Your gaze wandered over to his arms, his hands, the strength they held, making the block of granite look much smaller than when you held it, you figured. It was strength, in its most gentle, practised form. A strength that did not destroy, but that created. 

Something about that thought added to the feelings you associated with the studio, that it was a space of safety, unlike the many debutante balls and soirées you attended. You were starting to wonder if it was the space that made you feel that way, or the presence of Mr Suh within it. After all, it was him that encouraged you to be honest, to be yourself, to try things because he believed you were capable. 

In short, you felt seen. 

“Are you alright?” you hadn’t realised you were staring, Mr Suh tilting his head at you curiously. 

You shook your head, clearing your throat gently in an attempt to conceal your embarrassment, standing up from the stool and stretching your hand out to him. 

“Can I try again?” 

He smiled, already stepping aside to let you take your place at the table.

===

Other rules to help a lady like you squelch the possibilities of romantic passion included forbidding the use of Christian names, paying compliments, and any kind of intimate contact.

“What’s this?” you touched a leatherbound book, secured closed with a string around the middle that sat on the table where you’d placed a fresh vase of salmon coloured roses from Mr Suh. 

Mr Suh turned around from where he was standing at his easel, setting the piece of charcoal in his hands down when he saw what you were looking at, quickly making his way over (borderline stumbling) as he took the book gently from your hands. 

You had grown comfortable with each other, having no qualms about entering deeper conversation, about embarrassing yourselves with each other, revealing deeper parts of yourself to each other, so it was safe to say that his reaction confused you. 

“Is it your diary?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a hint of mischief that Mr Suh found hard to remain firm against. 

Giving you a huff, he held the book behind his back with one arm, “It might as well be.” 

“So, it's not a diary? A notebook, then?” you asked, almost feeling like you were playing a game with how naturally your guesses were coming out, the childlike side of yourself resurfacing and making itself comfortable in Mr Suh’s presence. 

He nodded, “it’s my sketchbook.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, “... that I am not allowed to see?” 

Swallowing thickly, Mr Suh huffed, a hint of embarrassment in the way he averted his gaze just briefly, looking back at you and shaking his head. 

“What you ask of me… is not as simple as you make it seem,” he began, letting out a small sigh, “I would be baring my heart to you, quite plainly.” 

You weren’t sure why the thought of that made you wonder just what was inside his sketchbook. He insisted himself that he did not do portraits, so just what sort of sketches could be within that book that made him so hesitant to show you? You wondered what sketches could possibly hold pieces of his heart so clearly that he felt the need to protect it in such a way. 

“Is that such a horrifying thing?” You asked, genuinely curious, “you seem to have no problem flaunting it on your sleeve.” 

At your words, Mr Suh let out a huff of amusement, his lips pressed together as his expression turned more serious, almost speechless as he shook his head. 

“Not quite… you’ve been the only one able to see it thus far,” his words came out in a soft murmur, solidifying the thoughts that wavered in your heart. 

It was almost like a declaration of intimacy, something stirring within you at the reminder that your relationship with Mr Suh was more than just acquaintances, solidified by friendship and understanding, but entering into much more. 

You shook your head, “Only because you have dared to show it to me.” 

The look on Mr Suh’s face was unreadable, as if he had a million thoughts circling his mind that prevented him from settling on one emotion. And there you stood, oblivious to the fact that he was experiencing that same paralysing feeling of not being able to focus on anything other than you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I cannot show it to you yet,” he sighed, sounding more disappointed than you were. He should’ve known you weren’t one to dwell on it, though, respecting his wishes. 

“I understand,” you assured him, “Well, if you won’t let me see your sketchbook, what will you let me see?” 

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, a soft smile gracing his features, humming in thought. 

“I suppose I could draw something for you now?” he offered, earning a smile from you as what you supposed was a reckless (genius) idea came to mind. 

“Could you draw it on me?” 

Mr Suh’s lips parted, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him or whether you’d actually said what he thought you did. 

“Hmm?” 

You nodded, “I said I want you to draw it on me.” 

Whether it was bold or reckless, you wouldn’t very well put a label on it at the moment. What you did know, however, was that this was definitely going against anything a ‘respectable lady like you’ should have been doing. It was different, you felt, from simply asking if he could draw you. It was like you said, a kind of vulnerability and trust you were willing to offer to him, for him to print his art onto your skin, something only the both of you would be able to see. 

Mr Suh’s throat felt dry, looking at you blankly and keeping his volume lowered because he felt as though his voice would give, “Uh… where, where exactly would you want it?” 

You debated on your options as you looked at him. You wanted it somewhere where you could keep it hidden, where your mother wouldn’t be able to see it as easily.

You knew that ruled out your hands and arms, since your mother’s gaze was always scanning you during mealtimes and when you played the piano, when your hands and arms weren’t hidden by your gloves. 

Your only other thought was to have it on your ankle, since that would be somewhere only you or your lady's maid would ever see, your mother didn’t very well pay attention to little details like that when it came to you, as long as what was noticeable wasn’t out of line. 

“Sorry, I realise I didn’t bother asking you if you were comfortable with it first,” you huffed, giving him a sheepish smile, feeling your heart stop at the smile he gave you. 

“Believe me, Miss Y/N, if I were uncomfortable with it, I would have told you by now,” he huffed, amusement in his smile as he retrieved his inkstand and quill. 

Only when he sat on the rug in front of you did you realise just what you had gotten yourself into, something about the proximity between the both of you was tempting. It felt close, yet in a way that made you desire to be even closer to him, both in the literal and figurative sense. 

Swallowing, you shifted in your seat, glancing up at him with a nervousness that wasn’t quite present just moments before. 

“Have you decided where, or what you would like me to draw?” he asked, crossing his legs as he leaned his palm against the floor to support his weight, the same calm confidence that made you feel shy under his gaze. 

You nodded, “On my ankle.” 

You watched the way he glanced at said ankle, covered by your stocking and your foot that was still covered by your shoe, blinking up at you before nodding. 

“Somewhere… only I get to see.” 

At that, Mr Suh smiled, “And is there anything in particular you would like me to draw?” 

Now it was your turn to smile, already excited to see what he would come up with, what he would associate with you. 

“I’ll let you decide that.” 

His eyebrows lifted, the image coming to mind almost immediately. 

Giving you a nod, he had barely registered what you were doing as you removed one of your shoes, averting his gaze and pretending to be busy with his ink as you started to remove one of your stockings, his gaze landing on the ribbon garter you had used to hold it up, tossing it aside as you worked on removing the silk stocking. 

Mr Suh let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, looking at his fingernails and then at the ribbon again, at your face and then at the stocking you now tossed aside next to the ribbon, unsure where to place his gaze out of respect for you. 

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to your now uncovered leg peeking out from under the hem of your dress. 

Nodding, he reached one of his hands out to grasp your ankle, the feeling of the warmth of his hands on your skin surprising you, your breath hitching just slightly and hoping he hadn’t noticed. 

You lifted your foot off of the ground to help him, surprised when he’d set your ankle on one of his thighs, understanding that the angle would make it easier for him and more comfortable for you. 

Mr Suh let out a small huff of amusement at the way you’d flinched when the quill had touched your skin. 

“Sorry, it was a little ticklish,” you huffed, the unfamiliar sensation distracting you from your nervousness slightly. 

You heard him sigh, his gaze still trained on whatever drawing he was working on.

“Miss Y/N,” he began, the tone with which he said your name making you soften, almost forgetting about your nervousness as you looked at him, humming in response, “I do hope you are not as willing to offer yourself to just any man in such a manner.” 

Your lips parted in shock, bashfulness creeping up on you again as you huffed, trying to mask your embarrassment with your words, “Do you suppose I should only make such an offer to you?” 

Mr Suh glanced up at you, detecting the little hint of challenge in your tone, his hand resting on where he was holding your ankle to keep it steady, his thumb smoothing over the skin unconsciously (or consciously, you wouldn’t have known). 

“My honest answer?” he spoke, his gaze searching yours with that same calm confidence of his, “is yes.”

Your stare was blank, in spite of the many thoughts racing in your mind. 

“You can rest assured, Mr Suh,” you murmured, suddenly feeling disappointed at the fact you did not know his first name, feeling as though addressing him so formally sounded off in a situation like this, “you are the only one I would trust with myself like this.” So intimately. 

Mr Suh poorly stifled the smile on his face as he tilted his head down, continuing with his drawing as you tried to calm your heart. 

“Actually, if you don’t mind me asking…” you murmured, swallowing as you mustered up your courage in spite of your shyness, “what is your first name?” 

Mr Suh replied naturally, as if not giving it a second thought as you felt the ticklish feeling of the quill against the delicate skin of your ankle. 

“Youngho,” he murmured. 

You hummed, clenching your fist to prevent yourself from shifting from the ticklish feeling.

“Youngho,” you echoed, feeling the ticklish feeling stop almost instantly. 

You felt his grip on your ankle tense before relaxing, looking up from your ankle and blinking at you slowly, his expression unreadable but rendering you speechless with how he was looking at you. 

Letting out a shaky breath, it didn’t register to you why he was so taken aback, your mind racing to the conduct books, wondering if it was because addressing him by his name like this was too intimate, too personal. Only then did your mind recall the conversation you had about his father, figuring that must have been why he seemed so shocked. 

“Sorry,” you blurted out, “I forgot about what you said about your father—” 

“No, no,” Youngho shook his head, reassurance in his expression and his tone, “... I want you to call me that.” 

Your eyebrows lifted, feeling as though something was being unlocked between the both of you, as if now it wasn’t just dipping your fingers into the depth of what you both desired, but stepping in, fully knowing what you were getting into with the action. 

“Will you call me by my first name as well?” 

Youngho nodded slowly, “Do you want me to?” 

You nodded, not even being able to find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how quickly you responded. 

“I do.” 

Youngho hummed, “then I will, Y/N .” 

Somehow, hearing it like that, spoken so delicately, spoken so intentionally by him, it was as if he were giving you more reason to fall in love with hearing your name again. 

It felt like it had been ages ever since you had heard someone call you by your name, hearing it felt foreign, yet it felt right, as if it was the only way you wished to hear it. Like a declaration of love. 

Letting go of your ankle, he gestured with a small (even slightly bashful) smile that you could take a look. With all the eagerness you’d been struggling to restrain, you pulled your leg closer to yourself, your smile growing when you spotted the delicate looking sunflower on your skin. 

“I like it very much,” you murmured, appreciating the delicate look of it, yet how it held a meaning that was anything but. 

Youngho simply smiled, “I’m pleased that you find it to your liking.” 

This time, Youngho wasn’t sure why he couldn’t take his gaze away from you as you wore the stocking over your leg, watching as the little sunflower got covered by the silk fabric that was eventually smoothed over your leg to just over your knee, the way you picked up the pink ribbon garter, tying it around the hem of the stocking with practised, routine movements. 

Youngho brought a hand up to the collar of his shirt, fixing his suspenders out of a need to fidget, to distract himself from his want to know what the silk ribbon would feel like in his hands, to distract himself from the feeling of the distance between the both of you. Yet not being able to feel as though it was a certain reverence that was keeping his gaze on you. 

Once you were done, you smoothed your dress over, standing up with a small grunt, your legs feeling sore from sitting in the same position for so long. Youngho stood up as well, though he kept his gaze averted, knowing it was about time for you to return home for tea. 

“I should be leaving now,” you spoke to fill the silence, drawing his gaze to you, not being able to smile at how flustered he looked, as much as he was trying to hide it. 

Youngho nodded, “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Be safe on your way back.” 

Seeming to have composed himself, Youngho brought a hand up to run his fingers through his hair, giving you a tight-lipped smile. 

You nodded, taking your little purse and taking slow steps backwards, reluctant to leave even though you knew it would only be a short while before you got to see him again. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, opening the door for you. 

Turning to give him a smile, you nodded, “Goodbye, Youngho.” 

That day when you’d returned home, a giddy smile on your face and your heart thumping wildly like a protagonist in one of your sister’s romance novels, you couldn’t help but replay your interactions with Youngho in your head. 

A part of you wondered why you hadn’t asked him for his name sooner, because now it was all that made sense. The simple man you had come to know, who was genuine, observant, perceptive, sweet, honest. That was Youngho to you, that was what made sense to you. 

Even as you lay in bed that night, thinking about the little sunflower resting on the skin of your ankle, you were sure anybody else would have thought you were going crazy, but it replayed over and over again in your head. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho. 

Your little mantra of love. 

===

Another rule that was essential to remember, was that a gentleman might take the arm of a lady like yours through his, to support you while out walking. But he must never try to take your hand, even to shake it friendly-like. If he did, you must immediately withdraw it with a strong air of disapproval, whether you felt it or not. 

Something you greatly appreciated about Youngho was that he was never one to be afraid of getting his hands dirty. 

Surely you were the same, out in the garden digging up earthworms as you were a child even though your mother would yell at you that you were going to get your dress dirty. But overtime, as they clamped down stricter on their rules and as you grew more occupied with the various accomplishments they desired for you to build, you had to forego certain things that would get in the way of that. 

Things like painting. 

As much as it was a common accomplishment for a lady like you to have, your mother had always viewed it distastefully, saying that the way you went about it was far too messy. So you’d resorted to other means of creating art, like your flower arrangements. Those, she would excuse, since they were deemed ‘useful’ for the house, so you figured you had come to cling to it as a way for you to express that desire within you to create, to appreciate beauty in such a way. 

When you had told Youngho this, you should have known it was only natural for him to have offered you the opportunity to paint again. He was quick to give you the space, laying out large cloth on the floor to protect the rug, even going to the extent of asking you if you would be more comfortable working on the piece on the easel or on the floor. 

So that was how you ended up standing in front of the canvas, apron wrapped around you snugly as you let yourself enjoy the freedom of letting your body move without much thought. 

“You’d put me out of business if you sold your paintings,” Youngho huffed in amusement, one of many praises he’d offered to you when he saw you painting.

“I doubt so,” you muttered distractedly, frowning slightly at your painting. 

You huffed, turning slightly and picking up your fan from the little table that was next to your hip, making a last-ditch attempt at making the paint dry faster using the breeze you created with your fan. 

Deciding you had other ideas, you set the fan down on the table, looking at your painting and trying to execute your idea. 

For some reason though, it was growing frustrating as the paint didn’t seem to move like how you envisioned it would. Youngho seemed to sense your annoyance (though it was quite obvious through your frustrated huffs), turning his gaze away from his own canvas to face you with a hum. 

“What’s wrong?” Youngho asked, already getting up to make his way over to you, peering over at your painting from behind you. 

“I can’t seem to get it to fan out the way I want it to,” you sighed, “my brush isn’t big enough for it.” 

Youngho’s gaze on your painting was intent, seeming to be thinking from his own perspective, shrugging as he turned to you. 

“You’re free to use my hand as your brush,” he offered, his nonchalance making you pause to process his words. 

“Are you sure?” you asked, earning a nod from him. 

“Really, I’m sure,” he reassured, waiting patiently as you dared yourself to grasp his hand with both of yours. 

Youngho almost wanted to laugh, thinking of the time he had let you mull the paint, how you insisted that your strength used to mull the paint was much less than his, yet he had never felt it so strongly till now, in the firm grip with which you grasped his hand. 

An ever present strength in gentleness that he’d come to associate with you. 

You could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body with how close he stood behind you, with how he let his arm rest against yours as you moved it with ease. 

It was almost amusing to you, how when you used his hand to smear the paint, it looked exactly like how you had pictured it in your mind. It made you wonder if all along you’d grown used to observing him, how he paints, that it was natural for your mind to picture how he would make his mark on your creations.

“Perfect,” you murmured, gaze appreciating your painting, trying to ignore the tension within your body that came with being in such close proximity with Youngho.

Turning to face him, your hands still clasped around his palm and wrist, his soft skin a contrast to the sturdiness you felt as you held his hand, his soft features a contrast from the intensity of his gaze when it met yours. 

It seemed your thoughts had a mind of their own, as you let your gaze wander from the hazel of his eyes, to the deep black of his hair, to the dusty pink of his lips. 

Conduct books be damned, none of them warned you about him. 

“For some reason…” you began, your voice barely a murmur as you shifted your gaze back to meet his, watching how his gaze had flickered to your lips briefly, as if trying to catch himself, “no matter how close you are to me…” 

Youngho shook his head slightly, his lips parting to speak, “It never feels close enough.” 

You nodded, unsure what other words could express your heart better in this moment, feeling him lean in, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips, feeling as though it was a ghost of his kiss that was being pressed against your lips. 

You weren’t sure if you were breathing, the only thing on your mind being the little mantra of love you had for him beating in your heart, supplying you with courage, supplying you with even more affection for him. 

Feeling his lips brush against yours ever so slightly, you clutched his hand tighter in your grip, hearing him huff, a smile gracing his features.

“Are you teasing me?” you whispered. 

Youngho shook his head, watching as your eyes had fluttered shut so naturally, as his breath fanned over your cheek, “Not in the slightest bit.” 

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours, softly, yet with insistence. Letting go of his hand, you let yourself make use of the courage coursing through your veins, bringing your hands up to cup his face and feeling the slight stubble under your palm, the action making him stumble forward slightly. Youngho’s hand reached out quickly to find purchase on something and ended up on your fan, the traces of colour from your painting now smeared against the once white and spotless accessory. 

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it felt as though he did, with how he led the kiss, bringing his paint free hand up to touch the small of your back, pulling you gently towards him. 

So, you let yourself follow, follow the way his lips moved against yours, follow his movements that brought you closer to him, follow the way your head tilted up at the touch of his hand. 

You allowed him to spoil you, to fill your mind with only thoughts of him, with the little mantra that would repeat and that you wished to repeat for as long as your heart could feel for someone, for him. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

You hadn’t realised how much you were leaning into him, with how secure it felt for him to be supporting your weight like this. It didn’t even cross your mind to feel embarrassed at your lack of experience in this area, he never let you feel any of that, not with how he kissed you with such intention as though you were the only one he’d ever loved and would ever love.

It was a strange feeling, solidified by his kiss, to feel desired and even more loved. It wasn’t one or the other that you sensed in the way he’d deepened the kiss, in the way his paint covered hands had grasped your hip to hold you close, because as much as there was desire, there was love you felt in the way he cradled your face, in the way he let you melt into him with the promise that you would be supported. 

In that moment, you knew that regardless of his background, his wealth, his occupation, you were willing to give your heart to him. Only Youngho.  

=== 

A lady like you should have considered this common sense, but you must never confess your feelings until absolutely convinced of a man’s intentions.

Youngho was finding it hard to keep his heart from fluttering as you led him behind the church grounds, your hand grasping his firmly as you walked before him, familiar with the route in a way that only came from experience. 

It was interesting to him, he found, the feeling that stirred within his heart as he looked at your proud smile once the both of you had reached a little pond, its circumference marked out by big stones lined up against one another, and wildflowers decorating the grass. In this case, your actions definitely spoke louder than your words— a girl who couldn’t lie to save her life, willing to take such risks for him, someone only revealed to her as a poor painter. 

He remembered what he told Jaehyun, when the viscount was persuading him to meet the sister of the girl he loved. He remembered telling Jaehyun that he didn’t think love was going to be in the cards for him, but looking at you now, he knew he was wrong. The girl he was looking at, pointing at the little frog that swam past you in the pond and tapping his arm to get his attention, was love in all he had come to discover it to be. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you drawled, gesturing around you at the empty open field, taking your seat next to the pond with Youngho following suit, the two empty glasses and bottle of wine in his hands clinking gently as he did so. 

“It’s beautiful,” Youngho gushed with extra dramatics, earning a huff of laughter from you, “how did you discover this place?” 

You shrugged, smoothing over your dress as you made yourself comfortable, “I told you, I spent a lot of time wandering around.” 

“Well, it was time well spent, indeed,” he smiled, his nose scrunching as he let the glasses lean against his knee, removing his gloves and setting them aside before getting the bottle open. 

“Where did you say that was from, again?” you asked, ever curious. 

Youngho paused briefly, glancing at the bottle before pouring some into each of the glasses. 

“Italy,” he said, “They import wine here, actually. The wine merchant? Do you recall? The one that was the previous landlord of my studio, he’s the owner of the winery that produces this wine.” 

“Wow,” you huffed, “Wonder why I’ve never seen much of it before.” 

At that, Youngho couldn’t help but laugh, looking at you sceptically, “You speak as though you’re an avid drinker.” 

Embarrassed by his teasing, you scoffed, though the smile on your face lingered, “I suppose I could have come across it in my time at home, you know, snooping around in my father’s study.” 

Youngho nodded, a patronising smile on his face, “Yeah, yeah, I suppose .” 

Removing your gloves, you’d set it next to his on the grass, accepting the glass from him with a small murmur of thanks. 

Sniffing the red liquid, you couldn’t help but glance up at him for some confirmation that it was supposed to smell like this, or what to anticipate its taste to be. 

“Go ahead, try it,” he nodded reassuringly, bringing his own glass to his lips, sipping the wine in a way that made him seem all-too-accustomed to such tasting. 

Taking a sip, you swallowed, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and a mustered smile, earning a bout of laughter from Youngho. 

“I’m guessing it doesn’t suit your tastes?” 

You shook your head in disagreement, “No, no, It’s just… interesting ,” you hummed, taking another sip and seeing his eyebrows lift as you did so, endearment written all over his features. 

“I shall have to get used to it, I suppose.” 

And get used to it, you did. 

It was in this very pursuit of ‘getting used to it’ that you found yourself growing much more unfiltered (or at least, more than usual). 

Your head had started to feel heavy, Youngho offering for you to rest your head on his lap, and you did so gladly, looking up at him and enjoying the feeling of his fingertips tracing your features lazily, as if committing them to memory, wondering if a sculpture would do you justice when it was made by his hands. 

“Your eyes are really pretty in this light,” you murmured. 

It’d been long since you stopped drinking, Youngho taking the liberty to finish your glass for you while you lay your head on his lap. 

Youngho almost sputtered around his drink, setting the glass down onto the grass and turning to look at you with a teasing smile.

“If this is you ‘getting used’ to the wine, I find it hard to have any complaints,” he laughed, “you’re smiling at me more than usual, and that’s saying a lot.” 

You brought your hands up to cover your mouth, though it didn’t do anything to conceal your smile, laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head. 

“This is unfamiliar to me, but I find I cannot help but smile at you. It’s as though my body is moving in its most honest manner.” 

“It’s honest, that’s for sure,” he reassured, earning a hum from you. 

Reaching a hand out towards one of his hands, the one closest to you in your eyeline, you watched him switch the hand that was holding his wine glass so he could let you have his hand, wondering what exactly you were going to do with it. 

Frankly, you weren’t sure either, bringing his hand close to your face and daring yourself to press a gentle kiss to his palm, the smile that followed making Youngho’s eyebrows lift, his smile mirroring yours. 

You let go of his hand, letting it rest on top of your face and shutting your eyes, though it was amusing to him, the way he could feel the outline of your smile against his palm.

You noticed that Youngho grew more serious after a few drinks, a certain sleepiness taking over his gaze as he looked at nothing in particular. The both of you enjoyed the silence, aside from the sound of nature, the sound of the both of you just existing in that place, it was a peace you couldn’t quite describe. You couldn’t deny that the silence gave room for your thoughts to wander, your excitement for your sister’s return bringing with it all your fears about what would proceed from her return as well. 

“My sister is to return from her honeymoon soon,” you said, “I am sure she and her husband have plans to hold a private ball once they are here.” 

Judging from the absence of a smile from your face now, Youngho hummed, moving his hand just slightly so it rested against the side of your face now, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your cheek, warmth radiating from him to you. 

“You don’t sound very happy about that.” 

You shook your head, “I suppose it’s because I’m not.” 

Glancing up at him, you let one of your hands cover his, touching the skin of his hand in drowsy patterns, with no desire in mind but to feel him. 

“I’m sure their search for a suitable husband for me will only intensify once she returns,” you sighed deeply, eyebrows furrowing as you frowned. 

“Husband,” Youngho echoed, something akin to a mix of a sigh and a groan leaving him. 

“Dear husband ,” you drawled, as though you were calling someone, grimacing as soon as the words left your lips, meeting Youngho’s amused gaze and feeling the smile grace your features again. 

“You know, I never once heard my mother call my father anything other than his name before,” you recalled, shifting slightly where you lay so you could see Youngho better. 

Youngho hummed, nodding, “Me neither. I suppose maybe I was too young to notice. Either that or perhaps they saved the terms of endearment for when they were alone.” 

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in realisation. 

“You’re smart, I never considered that.” 

Youngho could only laugh, his hand smoothing over your hair affectionately, “Do I get a reward, then?” he asked. 

Youngho suddenly leaned over so he was close enough to you that it made you shut your eyes, opening them up again with a huff when you felt him press a kiss to your forehead instead, pulling back with giggles leaving him that made it hard for you to remain annoyed. 

“How cruel of you,” you huffed, earning a dramatic gasp from him. 

“Cruel? What an inappropriate descriptor of me,” he smiled. Perhaps he was right, that smile was anything but cruel. 

“What would you call your wife?” you asked, practically thinking out loud at this point. 

Your question surprised Youngho, but he was always sporting your various trains of thought or rambling, and it was no different this time. 

“That depends… on her personality, how I feel towards her,” he glanced at you as he finished speaking, averting his gaze back to the field as you felt his thumb continue to caress your cheek. 

“So, it would change from person to person?” 

Youngho hummed, “I suppose it would.” 

You were starting to realise the truth behind the phrase ‘liquid courage’, your gaze firm on Youngho with your next words. 

“What if it was me, then? What would you call me?” 

Youngho met your gaze, looking almost pensive for a moment as he felt the peace you described about the church grounds, the peace in his heart that came with your presence, and all the love you brought to him with you. 

“Beloved,” he spoke, again, as though he was calling your name, and as if you were hearing it in the only way you wished to hear it, “I’d call you beloved.” 

“My beloved,” he said with finality. 

In that moment, in that little declaration of who you were to him, it was as though you were being reminded of what you seemed to have forgotten. In being declared his beloved, you were worthy of love, you were loved as you were, regarded dearly even in your fear of not being useful or helpful. 

In short, you felt known. 

It was true, Youngho was not cruel. What was cruel was the reminder that your mother would never approve of him, what was cruel was the fact that once your sister returned, you were going to be thrown into whoever’s arms your family deemed fit. What was cruel was that you knew whoever they were, they weren’t Youngho. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, averting your gaze from his face. 

Youngho was feeling the effect of his words, knowing very well for himself that he was in far too deep now. But even despite this knowledge, he didn’t want to come out. He wanted to bury himself in all that he was feeling, to solidify the fact that when he thought of a wife, only your face came to mind, only you made sense to take that place. 

“Do you think it would have been different…” he glanced at you, searching your pensive gaze, “you know, if we had met under different circumstances.” 

“What circumstances?” you hummed, attentive in a way that made Youngho feel even more certain about his words. 

“As nobility.” 

The seriousness of his tone would’ve made you laugh under any other circumstance, considering it was completely hypothetical. But perhaps it was your pensive mood that made you consider his words more seriously, wishing they were the reality you were in. 

You frowned, shaking your head, “It’s never crossed my mind, but… I’m sure I would’ve been drawn to you the same.” 

Turning to brace a hand on his thigh as you sat up, letting his hand fall back onto his lap as you met his gaze, mirroring his seriousness and sincerity as you spoke the truth of what you felt. 

“I’m sure of it,” you repeated, as if hoping it was getting through to him, “nobility or not… you’re you .” 

Taking his hand in his, you fiddled with his fingers, interlocking your fingers, moving them just enough so you could press the tips of your fingernails against the pads of his fingertips. 

Glancing down at your hand in his, he let out a deep breath, looking back up at your face. 

“Do you mean that?” he asked, needing to hear the confirmation from your own lips. 

You shot him a look, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. 

“You know I’m not a good liar,” you reminded, a certain shyness overcoming you as you struggled to hold his gaze, something about the intensity of the way he was looking at you flustering you to no end. 

Youngho huffed, a hint of amusement in his features that let you know he was about to say something to tease you. 

“And you know I would believe anything you say to me when you say it like that.” 

You sighed, daring yourself to bring one of his hands up to your face, letting yourself lean into the warmth of his palm. 

“Youngho,” you began, and Youngho was sure just in how you said his name, there was all the sincerity he searched for, all the vulnerability of yourself that you were showing to him. 

“To be a lady and for me to be like this with you... I need you to understand what this means for me… I need you to understand all that I am risking, and know that I find it worth risking for you.” 

As the words left you, you felt unbearably exposed under his gaze, Youngho’s silence making you want to reassure him, your hand that covered his on your face rubbing the back of his hand gently. 

"Do you believe me?" you murmured. 

Youngho didn’t know what to do with all the love he was feeling, so he did what felt natural to him. 

He let his hand pull away from your face, pulling you close to him so he could wrap his arms around you, cradling your head in his hand, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

“I believe you.”

In his arms, you felt the protection around your vulnerability, the intangible desire in your heart manifesting in the way you felt a sigh leave you, leaning into his embrace. 

=== 

And importantly, a lady like you should have a sacred regard to truth, for lying is a mean and despicable vice. 

Padding down the stairs on another morning, a few days after the night in the field with Youngho, you were going about what became your new routine, heading to the kitchen, ready to retrieve your share (and Youngho’s) of honey biscuits from your lady’s maid before you would head off to his studio. 

Except, today was different. 

You should have known something was off from the sympathetic looks you were getting from the staff since you came out of your room, not thinking much of it until you found your lady’s maid in the drawing room, seeing her slip a little pamphlet in your hands with an urgency that unsettled you, your gaze barely landing on the title before you heard your mother’s voice. 

“You,” your head snapped around at the sound of her tone, knowing almost instantly that the sinking feeling in your gut was not unfounded, “I believe we need to have a talk.”

Your gaze landed on your father who stood behind her, stoic and almost apathetic-looking as he simply stood there. 

With how angry your mother  seemed, you were surprised she was even talking to you at all. But as for your father? You felt it was worse, to be constantly searching for his gaze and not being met with it, as he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Following your parents up the stairs, your heart began to pound harshly as they entered your room, feeling as though its pounding stopped entirely when you saw your painting lying on the floor. 

“Is it true?” she asked, earning a frown from you. 

You glanced at your father, who had taken his place behind her, simply looking blankly at the floor. 

You frowned, “Is what true?” you dared to ask, watching warily as her jaw clenched. 

“It aggravates me how you still have the ability to act nonchalant,” she bent over, grabbing the painting so harshly that it made you grimace, “have you been acquainting yourself indecently with that painter ?” 

The way she spoke of his occupation was as though it was a crime, but that wasn’t your concern at this moment. You wondered how she knew, or how you should react, but like you said, you were never a good liar. Your expression alone was enough to give it away. 

“I want you to stop this immediately. You will not ruin your prospects, your reputation, your virtue, for a man who is not worth considering,” there was spite in her tone, the way she spoke about Youngho unnerving you. Though it all still didn’t answer your question of how she came to know about him. 

Your lips parted only to close again, unable to find the words you wished to express to her. 

“He is a good man,” was all you could muster, the scoff you received in return making you cower, feeling warm tears prick at your eyes. 

“Anyone can be a ‘good man’ ,” she told you, “being a ‘good man’ does not provide you financial security. Being a ‘good man ’ does not guarantee you a house. Being a ‘good man’ does not excuse recklessness.” 

You half expected your father to step in, to tell her to go easy on you. Or to try to soothe her temper so her words would become less cutting. But none of that came, even as you looked desperately at him for some signal that he would step in to help you, you continued to be met with the image of your father looking as though he had better things to be done elsewhere, dissociated from whatever was happening. 

You weren’t sure what hurt you more, the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed you or the fear that it was only a prelude for what was to come. It felt as though you were being made to choose between disappointing your family or losing and disappointing the man you loved. Neither of which you wanted, but you knew you weren’t going to have much of a choice. 

“I forbid you from seeing that man again. You will not leave this house if it is not for an event,” your mother spoke, tossing your painting onto the floor and leaving without another word, your father following silently behind her. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt your tears touch your lips, bringing your hand up to wipe your tears away and realising then that you were still holding the pamphlet your lady’s maid gave you. 

Bypassing the mocking title, you continued to read. 

It should have been obvious to you when you read your initial next to ‘Lady’, reading on in spite of yourself. 

‘... seen with a local painter in a position that shall not be described… Considering her sister’s success in marriage that elevated her to a viscountess, it must come as a shock to anyone for her to have looked much lower for her own marriage partner… a fling like this is surely only good for temporary excitement…’ 

You stopped reading, setting the pamphlet aside and burying your face into your mattress. 

How you missed your sister in a time like this, though you had no idea how you were going to explain this to her when she returned. 

You would soon find that your mother would do all the explaining for you, filling your sister in on all the details she’d procured from the scandal sheet while you were simply too upset to do any explaining for yourself. Frankly, the only thought on your mind was that you hoped Youngho wasn’t worried, since it had been weeks since you had stopped visiting his studio. 

Your sister’s husband, the viscount Jung Jaehyun, wasn’t helping either, insisting that he had a friend of his that he felt would be a suitable marriage partner for you. Your sister seemed to agree, casting sympathetic looks your way whenever the topic of marriage came up, but insisting in her own gentle way that perhaps it would be for the best to move forward. 

It was difficult to hear about how much property he had as the owner of a winery, his wealth or even his penchant for the arts because the only thing on your mind was the man with little to his name, sitting in his studio waiting for you to arrive. 

There was nothing left for you to do, not with how your mother wouldn’t speak to you or acknowledge you directly, not with how your father seemed to want to pretend nothing had ever happened to begin with, not with how you weren’t allowed to leave the house if it was not for social events now. It seemed the choice you were being handed on a platter was to be a good daughter, the product of all the conduct books you read; as helpless as it made you feel. 

===

You figured this was a rule you should have regarded more seriously, but a lady like you should remember that infallibility is not the property of man, or you may entail disappointment on yourself, by expecting what is never to be found.

Perhaps the higher power that was watching over you decided that things weren’t quite over yet.  

Because as you stood in the makeshift ballroom of your sister and her husband’s new house, the drawing room they had converted into a ballroom space for dancing and hosting, you couldn’t deny the way your stomach churned with anxiety at her husband’s excitement, insisting that his friend was to arrive soon. 

You were sure you’d tuned out the noise at one point, finding it hard to ignore the way you were feeling giddy (and not in a very good way), wanting nothing more but to be at home away from any potential suitors that weren’t Youngho. So, it was safe to say you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you when you saw the man walking in with the viscount. 

Dressed in clothes that looked even more elaborate and expensive than those you saw on Taeyong at the races, or even those the viscount adorned now, walking with the same air of calm confidence that you’d practically memorised by now. 

The same black hair, hazel eyes, dusty pink lips that grew clearer to you the closer they came to where you stood with your sister. 

None of it made sense, he shouldn’t even have been able to be here. 

You weren’t sure you were breathing, face to face with the very man that hadn’t left your mind for what seemed like forever. Your little mantra of love began to repeat in your head, as though it were natural for your heart to respond in such a way, desperate to let him know that his presence was felt. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho. 

You barely noticed how Jaehyun had introduced him, drawn back to the present moment with your sister’s voice ringing in your ears. 

“It is rather relieving to finally be able to put a face to the faceless Marquess,” she huffed in amusement, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Suh.” 

Marquess? 

You frowned, eyebrows furrowed and your gaze firmly fixed on Youngho’s. The marquess they had told you about for the past week, who had recently inherited all the property of his father who had passed, property including a winery. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what an arduous task it was to get Johnny to agree to attend today’s ball,” Jaehyun laughed, making your frown deepen, your sister being able to sense that this was more than just a displeasure that you felt towards the Marquess. 

Youngho’s gaze was apologetic, which had only served to upset you even more. You were trying to process all that was happening, but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions you were feeling all at once. 

Turning to you, your sister nudged you lightly, “Is something wrong?” 

You managed to tear your gaze away from Youngho, turning to your sister and taking in a deep breath, though it didn’t feel like you were breathing at all, the air not seeming to satisfy your lungs and making you feel as though you had to try again. 

“I need to get some air.” 

You started walking, but you weren’t sure where exactly your destination was. All you knew was that you were hyper aware of the fact that Youngho was following you and you didn’t want to be caught with him alone outside the building, not wanting your mother to be even more upset at you. 

It would’ve been amusing if the situation was different, feeling as though you were playing a game of cat and mouse as you tried to out-walk him in the confines of the drawing room. Youngho’s strides were always much bigger than yours, though, so you should have known that it was only a matter of time before he would have caught up with you.

“May I have the honour of a dance with you, Miss Y/N,” he spoke firmly, loud enough that the lady next to you had turned to you with an expectant look, wondering why you were taking so long to respond to him. 

It was unfortunate, how in a situation like this, you couldn’t exactly go against the etiquette rules you loved to flout. You knew that for as long as you were in this room, you had to acknowledge the truth that as long as you were not spoken for, you had no choice but to accept his offer to dance. 

You settled for a small nod, keeping your gaze low as you accepted his hand and let him lead you to where the other guests were dancing. You barely had time to adjust before you had to react quickly to the song, following the choreography with ease and perhaps even being slightly annoyed that Youngho was even better at it than you were. 

“Please say something,” he pleaded, making you shake your head, still keeping your gaze on anything but his face, not knowing what your heart would make you do if you were to meet his attentive gaze in this space. 

“No,” you muttered, “I’ve been too rude to a marquess all this time.” 

Youngho was barely able to stop himself. 

“Y/N, please.” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, tears welling up in your eyes as Youngho’s expression softened. You felt his grip on you tighten, steadying you, the same unspoken promise that you were supported even when you felt like your body would give at any moment. 

It didn’t make sense to you in your head. 

Someone like Youngho, who never underestimated you, who was always attentive to you, who read you like an open book and never held it against you. You didn’t think he would ever treat you like how your family did, hiding things from you, viewing you as a little child who was incapable of handling grown-up matters, confining her to her childish duties of pleasing others and arranging flowers. It was an awful feeling that came with the thought that Youngho, of all people, would ever subject you to such humiliation. 

“Why did you lie?” you frowned, swallowing thickly though it did nothing to the lump you felt in your throat, “did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle it? Did you find some kind of pleasure in making me a fool?” 

You scoffed, blinking harshly, “As if I haven’t had more than my fair share of that Young— Your Lordship .” 

Youngho frowned, “Why are you calling me that?” 

You sighed deeply, feeling breathless from both the choreography and your sheer emotion. 

“Is it not your title?” 

Youngho shook his head, more out of dismissal than denial, “What happened to ‘even if we met as nobility’? Did that mean nothing to you?” 

Your lips parted, offence in your gaze as you scoffed. 

“I’m upset, but do not think for even a second that I did not mean every word I said to you,” you told him, a firmness to your tone that made Youngho regret his words, “unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you.” 

Youngho paused, a tense silence falling between the both of you that contrasted the cheerful music echoing around the room. 

“It was not personal,” he murmured. 

You frowned, still unable to place what you were feeling, unsure how to convey it to him in a way that would allow him to understand why you were reacting this way. 

“It is always personal. How could you…” you averted your gaze, shaking your head, “how could you compromise me—”

“ Compromise you?” his tone was incredulous, eyes widening in shock, “I kissed you.” 

Clenching your jaw, you huffed, “Forgive me, truly, for finding it hard to see things for what they are. Forgive me for allowing myself to expect .” 

Your words made Youngho recall your meeting at the races, perhaps some things were best enjoyed without too many expectations . He begged to differ, though, he just wasn’t sure how to let you know that he was ready to give to you whatever you asked for, whatever you were expecting from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, frustrated at the environment the both of you were in, at the lack of privacy he felt here, at the way it prevented him from showing you and telling you all that he truly wished to, having to settle for pathetic apologies and pointed looks. 

You let out a sigh, “Just answer me one question.” 

Youngho nodded quickly, humming to prompt you to continue. 

“Were you ever planning on telling me the truth?” you asked, training your gaze up to meet his once again and trying to distract yourself from the way your heart still swelled with love for the one you gazed upon. 

“The day after that night at the church. I was going to tell you then,” he answered, sincerity in his tone, in the way he looked at you, in the way he held you. 

The day the scandal sheet was released.

You nodded, hearing the music come to an end as you let him go, feeling his hands slip from you reluctantly. 

Turning your head, you met your mother’s gaze. 

Youngho noticed the way you had tensed up and increased the distance between yourself and him, returning to the daughter raised by conduct books that your mother was pleased with. The ‘respectable lady’ that would continue to fight her urge to yearn for her love’s touch and search for his gaze in the crowd for the rest of the night. 

=== 

When considering marriage, a lady like you needed to make sure that arrangements offered equitable compensation as it were, for all involved and no one, including the extended families, was being shorted in the exchange.

“How was the ball? Surely it wasn’t so bad after all, wasn’t it?” Jaehyun asked, earning a sigh from Johnny. 

“No, it was the most horrendous torture ever imaginable,” he deadpanned, finding it hard to focus on the boxing match that was happening in front of him, wondering why Jaehyun decided to bring him here of all places. But he figured he wouldn’t have minded being her under any other circumstance. 

Wincing at the fighter who had taken a particularly bad hit, Jaehyun folded his arms across his chest, “Shame, though, I thought you and Miss Y/N would’ve gotten along particularly well.” 

Johnny frowned, “What makes you say that?” 

Jaehyun shrugged, his gaze still following the fight, “You know, I heard from her sister that she was involved with another man… a painter, if I recall correctly. And her mother didn’t seem to approve because of his status or something along that line…” he trailed off distractedly, earning an expectant hum from Johnny. 

“And?” he prompted, impatient now to know what was said about his and your relationship. 

“Oh, right. Yes, so we figured that it would be better to present her with some other options, you know? We thought introducing her to you would help her move on from it, but she’s been off ever since the day of the ball. Her sister says she’s never seen her like that before, going from being so insistent to so… emotionally detached from it all.” 

Johnny hummed, something in him feeling as though he needed to prepare himself to receive a piece of bad news, judging from the way Jaehyun sighed. 

“But I suppose her mother has worn her out,” Jaehyun sighed, “she’s been recommending another man to Miss Y/N, one she claims is more reasonable… you know, dowry-wise and all.” 

Johnny frowned, “Didn’t anyone try to dissuade her?” 

Jaehyun frowned, “I suppose that’s the thing, she hasn’t protested to it herself… my suspicion is that she’s afraid of disappointing her mother.” 

For some reason, Johnny couldn’t wrap his head around it, “And did you try to say anything?” 

Jaehyun shot Johnny a knowing look, “Believe me, I’ve tried. Miss Y/N was the one that told me it was alright.” 

“She did?” Johnny frowned, earning a huff from Jaehyun. 

“Do you see that man over there, standing by the table?” Jaehyun nudged Johnny, gesturing to the direction of the table with a nod of his head, Johnny’s gaze landing on a man who looked twice your age, counting money from bets he’d won in his hands. 

“That’s the man who is courting her,” Jaehyun told him pointedly, observing Johnny’s reaction carefully as the latter’s gaze stayed fixated on the man, a slight furrow to his eyebrows as he watched him.

Jaehyun continued, “His status is similar to theirs, so it does not require much of a dowry, which I suppose is what her mother’s so agreeable about. But… I think you can understand what I mean when I say I cannot seem to warm up to him.” 

Johnny watched the way the man’s gaze had followed a woman who had walked past him to get to her seat in the spectators stand, something about the way he looked at her unnerving Johnny, growing uncomfortable at the thought of the man looking at you in such a predatory manner. 

“And she has no complaints? About him courting her?” Johnny asked, still staring down the man as though he were trying to burn holes into the man. 

Jaehyun was growing frustrated, wondering how long Johnny was going to deflect the issue at hand with his questions. 

“Don’t you think you would be better off asking her yourself?” 

Johnny tore his gaze away from the man, staring blankly at Jaehyun with his lips parted slightly.

“My time away did not make me a fool, Johnny. It was obvious the moment I saw how you reacted to each other at the ball,” Jaehyun rolled his eyes, “do you suppose there were any other painters in town named Youngho that didn’t work in their own homes?” 

Johnny was at a loss for words, starting to understand why Jaehyun decided to bring him to a random boxing match at mid-day. 

“How long more are you going to spend sitting here and pretending you’re okay with it?” Jaehyun hummed, “you helped me before, and honestly, I’d be more frustrated with myself if I let you carry on like this.” 

Johnny’s gaze shifted to the fighters, then to the man, then back to Jaehyun, unsure what his course of action was going to be but knowing that he wanted nothing more than to go to you now. 

“Her parents are here. I suggest you go now, I can buy you some time,” Jaehyun told him smoothly, and Johnny wondered if this was how he must have looked before when he was aiding Jaehyun with his own love troubles. 

But there was no time for him to dwell on that now, already getting up and leaving as fast as he could to the address Jaehyun had told him. 

“Miss Y/N, you have a caller,” your butler informed you as you were in the middle of playing a piano piece in your drawing room, stopping yourself in embarrassment when you realised it was the piece Youngho told you was his favourite.

Though you weren’t exactly sure why you were embarrassed, it wasn’t as if your butler knew that. 

“Who is it?” 

“Lord Suh, Miss,” your eyes widened as the words left him, standing up from the piano and adjusting your dress, your hand coming up to your face, making sure there was no sleep in your eyes as you nodded at your butler. 

“Okay, you can send him in. Thank you.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Youngho entered, though the scene had come to mind many times before. 

You imagined him coming into the room with a dramatic profession of apologies, and another scenario where you imagined him to come to you with a sombre expression on his face, pleading with you to forgive him. You would be lying if you said you didn’t even imagine him simply coming to the room and kissing you, but of course, that was a little far fetched. 

What you surely didn’t anticipate was for Youngho to enter the room, a determined look on his face as he met your gaze, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Are you thinking?” he asked. 

Taken aback by his words, you tilted your head at him, confusion written all over your features. This definitely was not something you anticipated in your daydreams.  

“What’s there for me to think so urgently about?” you asked, watching as Youngho brought a hand up to press it against his forehead, letting his hand drop to his side. 

Shaking his head, he pressed his tongue in his cheek, a small huff leaving him, “Do you really want to wed that man? You cannot possibly be in love with him, you barely know him!”

His tone was insistent, bordering on desperate, a contrast to your still solemn expression, something you were falling back on in the hope that you would not start crying. 

“My mother knows him well enough.” 

Youngho sighed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, and you struggled not to let your gaze linger too long on his lips, shifting your gaze to look out of the window. 

“It is your marriage, Y/N. Not your mother’s, nor your family’s,” he spoke, softer now, but with all the same insistence as before. 

“Is it really?” you frowned, “aren’t all marriages these days purely business? When you marry someone, you’re marrying their family as well—weren’t you all too aware of this? Surely, this was why you chose not to tell me you were a marquess, was it not?” 

Youngho frowned. 

“That was not why I did not tell you. It was never about business to begin with,” he shook his head, pained to see your hurt being expressed in such a way, yet still unsure about how to voice out his thoughts. 

“You may take me for a fool, Youngho, but I know for a fact that you are anything but,” you folded your arms across your chest, breathing in deeply though it didn’t seem to satisfy you again, breathlessness creeping up on you, “what makes you think I am any different? How can you be so sure that I will marry this man for love?” 

Youngho’s expression turned even more serious at your words, holding a certain confidence to it that intimidated you, knowing you could never hide from him as much as you were attempting to do so now through your words. 

“I don’t believe you’d marry without it,” he spoke firmly, more as a statement, a fact. 

It made your mind go blank, knowing he was right. 

You shook your head slowly, your gaze hardening in an attempt to remain firm, “Whether you believe me or not, that does not change the fact that he has made his intentions clear. He is offering money and stability. My family can afford the dowry. I am in no position to refuse.” 

Perhaps you would be able to if he did something, you wanted to add. But somehow in that moment, you were afraid. The past few weeks have been a reminder to you of the helplessness you feared, the kind where you were unsupported, left to flail around for yourself not knowing what you were doing. 

This hardening of your gaze, of your words, of your heart, they were your last-ditch attempt at protecting yourself from that feeling of helplessness you were starting to grow familiar with in the past few weeks. You did not want to grow familiar with it, not for the rest of your life. 

“That man does not deserve you,” Youngho frowned, the way he looked at you with such sincerity making you avert your gaze, his attentiveness becoming too much, as if he was unlocking the part of you that yearned, telling you the things you needed to be reminded of. 

“I did not choose him based on how much he deserves me,” you muttered. 

“That’s because it wasn’t you choosing him at all,” Youngho shot back just as quickly, making you sigh. 

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a murmur as you felt your body yelling at you, telling you to take deeper breaths even though with each breath you took, it didn’t feel like enough.

You were starting to feel like the room was growing suffocating, frustration and longing and everything in between overwhelming you, “I do not have a choice—” 

“No, but you do,” he insisted, “you do have a choice. You can reject him and no one would blame you.” 

Your words were coming out faster than you could process now, only being able to focus on the boy in front of you and the way your heart felt like it was aching for that protection, that assurance, that Youngho allowed you to know. 

“And then what? Disappoint my family by saying no to the one thing they let me do?” you huffed, exasperated, “lose my parents’ trust because I wasn’t honest with them for once in my life?” 

Youngho sighed deeply, “What about love—” 

“And what about honesty?” You said, trying to breathe deeply but the ache in your chest made it difficult to, your fists clenching around your clothes as if trying to lessen the way it felt like you were being crushed. 

“Is that what you are ready to settle for, then?” Youngho’s tone was disbelieving, as if baffled that you were willing to sacrifice your needs and wants so easily, “mindless flattery from a man who is only honest about the fact that he sees you as a prize to be won?” 

Youngho regretted his words the moment they left him, seeing how you were leaning on the piano for balance, shaky breaths leaving you as your eyes welled up with tears once again. 

“I know!” You blurted, “... I know,” your hand came up to wipe your tears harshly, the other hand still gripping tightly onto your clothes, “It is not flattering to be desired… whilst not being loved.” 

Youngho couldn’t help himself now, moving without hesitation as he rushed over to where you were, his hands coming to grip your shoulders, letting you lean on him as he pulled you into his arms, your hands letting go of your dress weakly and falling to your sides as you let yourself remember what it felt like to be enveloped in this protection, in this support. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand coming up to rub your back soothingly, his hold unwavering as he waited for you to calm down. 

“Why are you doing this to me, Youngho?” Your voice was muffled through his clothing, your tears falling freely now as you cried, his hands still comforting you as he sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry for upsetting you, I didn’t mean to.” 

You frowned, daring yourself to pull away from where your head rested against his chest, looking up to meet his gaze, still wrapped in the security of his arms. 

“I’m upset… yet I don’t quite think that’s the word I’m looking for. I’m… at a loss,” you told him, seeing him press his lips into a firm line as he nodded at you slowly, prompting you to continue. 

“Having to listen to you tell me not to marry a man we both know I have no true desire to marry, that I have no affection for… it’s… Here I am, feeling chained to my guilt as a daughter yet not being able to find any part of me that is truly satisfied in making up for my guilt in this way, or fulfilling my ‘duty’ as a daughter through this obedience.” 

You swallowed, averting your gaze to glance at Youngho’s collar before bringing your gaze back up to meet his eyes, the same hazel glow in them that made you feel as though he were the sun and you were simply a sunflower, gravitating towards him. 

Youngho guided you over to the sofa near the piano, letting you sit down, one of his hands still placed protectively over your hand, something you very much appreciated, serving to ground you almost.

“I… I didn’t know what to think, you just stopped showing up and I hadn’t heard from you, I was… I was worried. And to suddenly hear that you were being courted by this man, I just couldn’t help myself,” Youngho admitted, though there wasn’t a trace of regret in his tone that he was here. He didn’t regret this. 

You sighed, the memory feeling almost fresh in your mind as you recalled it. 

“My mother wouldn’t speak to me for weeks after she found my painting, after she read what they said in the scandal sheet. Do you think I like having to be in this position? To desire to be loved by the both of you but to feel as though the two are mutually exclusive.” 

At that moment, it felt as though you were laying your heart bare to Youngho, feeling as though you were the man in the painting you saw in the church, stepping out of the safety of your boat into the raging waters because you saw the one you loved, because you heard them call you to step out, and so you did. Willing yourself to be vulnerable for this love you felt for Youngho. 

“I was upset because… well, how can you even think of asking me if this is what I want? How can you think that for a second I would want to trade you in for a man who cannot possibly compare to you?” you frowned, bewildered that he could ever think such a thing. 

“How could you think for a second that I would want to settle for that man’s corrupt desire?” you murmured, searching his gaze that you saw was growing more insistent. 

“Well, then, what if you had both? What if you had someone who both desired and loved you with their entire being?” 

You shot him a pointed look. 

You knew Youngho was one that enjoyed speaking hypothetically about things, but you didn’t think now was exactly a perfect time to be doing so. 

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you huffed, “Youngho, discussing hypotheticals is not going to make this situation any less real.” 

How could you explain this to him? It didn’t matter if it was someone who desired and loved you, you were only wishing that someone would be him. 

Youngho shook his head, eyes wide as if he were sounding out a new idea to you for his art piece, making your eyebrows lift in curiosity. 

“I know, but what if you already had someone who loved you? What if they were in front of you right now. Would that change your mind about proceeding with that man?” 

You frowned, “Youngho, would you just speak plainly with me? What is it that you are trying to say?” 

Youngho’s lips parted, huffing in amusement in spite of himself, gathering up the rest of his heart to present it to you. 

“I don’t know how much plainer I can get than…”

Youngho’s eyebrows lifted slightly, an almost pleading look to his gaze as you felt his hand squeeze yours gently. 

“Y/N, do you not see that I love you deeply?” 

There it was, the grip that caught you before you could sink into the raging waters, the security and safety that enveloped your vulnerability. 

Perhaps the question you were meant to ponder all this while wasn’t really ‘how willing were you to be vulnerable?’, but ‘how safe did you feel to be vulnerable?’. 

The answer was simple to you now as you looked at him. 

Simple, but far from simplistic. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you told him, watching how his expression softened, his hand over yours grasping onto you tighter. 

“If it’s the money your mother is worried about… I don’t care about a dowry,” he blurted, thinking off the top of his head, the sudden mention of a dowry making you laugh at the absurdity of it. 

“I know you don’t, you never had to,” you scoffed, still recovering from your amusement that he would think you cared about such a thing. 

Youngho’s eyebrows lifted slightly in question, more curious than challenging. 

“Does that fact upset you?” 

You hummed, bringing one of your hands to cover his, running your thumb over the skin of his knuckles in a way that made Youngho melt. 

“How do I explain this to you, Youngho?... You don’t care about a dowry? Quite frankly, neither do I,” you let out an amused huff, “I find myself unable to care about anything other than the fact that it was your hands, your eyes, your heart… that it was you who… let me know what it feels like to be immortalised.”

“It has ruined any chance of me considering anyone else, because if I am to be immortalised, if I am to be conveyed into art, if I am to be vulnerable, if I am to be held... I want it to happen by your hands,” your tone was firm, all the love that swelled in your heart finally making its way out of you and trying to reach his, “your hands and no one else’s, Youngho.” 

“Even now with the knowledge that you are a marquess, that fact has no weight on my decision to love you because I did not fall in love with a marquess . I fell in love with you, your soul. " 

Youngho didn’t think he was breathing. All he could focus on was your voice that rang in his head, sweeter than any melody you played on the piano, sweeter than any sound he had heard, laced with love and painting vivid colours on his heart. 

“I only ever have the privilege of one answer for the suitors I’m presented with… but it was an answer I was only ever willing, or hoping , to offer to you,” a hint of a smile played at your lips, “so, forgive me, for not caring about the dowry either.” 

Youngho’s lips parted, not finding himself thinking about his words carefully, simply letting his heart go before him in his words, his own love desperate to make its way into your heart and make a home there. 

“I brought something for you,” he began, using his free hand (simply because he did not want to let go of your hand) to reach into his coat, pulling out the leatherbound sketchbook you recognised from before. 

“Remember how I told you it was never about business to begin with?” he spoke, earning a nod from you, his fingers absently toying with the string of the worn sketchbook. 

“It’s because… I’ve seen how fickle people are. How they change the moment they find out you are of a certain status or possess certain wealth. It made me cynical for a long time,” this time, you couldn’t find it in you to look away, his gaze that was searching yours was far too beautiful to miss, “I didn’t trust people’s intentions because most of the time they really were only interested in my money or my family.” 

You nodded, prompting him to continue. 

“It’s why I never liked doing portraits,” he admitted, “they always felt cold . It was… overwhelming to me; the idea of immortalising a creature so fickle, so tainted by power and money. You could never really see the person for who they were, only the things they wanted to show off.” 

“So,” he let out a deep sigh, “I told myself that if I ever met someone who could see me as just a poor painter, with little to nothing to his name. Just me, with nothing but myself to show off, and love me in spite of that… then I’d consider. I know it doesn’t change the fact that I lied to you, but… I can’t say I regret it because you proved me wrong.” 

You felt your heart ache, wishing you could express to him just how much love you had for him, how much love he had been missing out on all this while. You wished to hold him in it for as long as you could. 

“You were the first,” he murmured, “to truly see me.” 

He pushed the sketchbook towards you, lifting your hand slightly to let it rest on the leather. 

You recalled his words, how showing you his sketchbook would be him baring his heart to you, and somehow the thought made a wave of emotion wash through you. This was his way of stepping out of the boat, rushing to you after your heart called out to him, willing himself to be vulnerable for love. 

“This,” he gestured to the sketchbook, and perhaps implied much more, “is yours now.”

Letting out a deep breath, this time his confidence showing in the firmness of his tone, the surety of his gaze, “I’ve come to realise that… it was always yours.”   

Letting go of your hands slowly, with all the reluctance in his being, he stood up, nodding resolutely more for himself than for you. 

“I should be taking my leave now… I… hope I’ve made my intentions clear.” 

And you let him leave without another word, watching as his figure disappeared out of your door, past the sunflowers in your garden that looked as though they too were reluctant for him to leave. 

Directing your gaze back to his sketchbook, you fiddled with the string, almost hesitant to open it out of a sheer want to treat it delicately. 

His sketchbook, his art, his heart that he declared was yours now, that was always yours. You saw it clearly once you undid the little knot that kept it closed. 

You saw it in the drawing of your hands on the piano keys, in the drawing of the view of your back as you walked away from him at the flower market, sunflowers peeking over your shoulder to look at him, in the drawing of your hands clasped in front of your dress holding the bundle of cloth wrapped around the honey biscuits. 

You continued to flip the pages. 

The image of your side view, playing the piano in his studio, the image of you tending to the flowers that he gave you, the view of you mulling the paint from where he sat on his stool. The view of you holding his sketches above your head as you decorated his studio. 

It was as though you were seeing yourself from his perspective, ridden with a certain affection and yearning that felt so intimate to be looking at in such a way, knowing it was his hands that had conveyed you into this… permanence. It was sureness found even in the strokes of graphite against paper. 

You dared yourself to continue to flip the pages. 

You noticed that there were even more drawings now, multiple drawings of the same memory, as if you were watching the moment happen before your eyes again. 

An image of your stocking halfway up your calf, your hands grasping it firmly by the hem. Another image of your hands around the delicate pink silk ribbon garter, in the middle of untying the garter. An image of your leg with the little sunflower on your ankle, another image of just that same sunflower alone. 

An image of you in the field with him that night, the mouth of the wine glass touching delicately against your lips, an image of the little smile you mustered after tasting the wine. An image of the smile that hardly left your face that night as you looked at him. Next to the image of your smile, a drawing of tulips. An image of his view of you as you lay your head on his lap, looking up at him, almost embarrassing you as you saw how much affection you could detect in your gaze even then. 

An image of your hand clasped around his, almost being able to remember the feel of his fingertips under your nails as you pressed them gently against his skin. An image of your eyes shut, lips gently parted, wildflowers peeking out from the grass next to your shoulders and his thigh as you waited for the feel of his lips against yours. 

The detail of your features in watercolour as you flipped the pages almost made you feel as though you were looking at a mirror. There was nothing cold about what you were looking at, but instead all the warmth that came with your soul and his, reflected on the paper. 

The whole sketchbook was filled with you, and in it, him as well. All the love he had for you in every line, in every shade, even in the pressure of his pencil against paper, in the colours that made his sketches come alive. This was his heart, for your eyes only. 

In short, you felt loved. 

Perhaps, this was it. The intangible thing you sought, love, made tangible in Youngho. 

=== 

Dancing was tricky business, as you knew. And a rule that you couldn’t help but call to mind now was that if a lady like you were to dance more than twice with the same man in the same night, or furthermore refuse to dance with any but him, you were basically announcing to the world that the both of you were engaged.

It was all that rang through your head as you stood with your sister as the viscount had just returned with drinks for the both of you, slipping off your gloves to accept the drink as you trained your gaze on where your mother was a little far off from you, seeming to be in an intense conversation with Youngho. 

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” you whispered harshly to your sister, anxious as you watched from afar. 

Her laugh caught you off guard, turning to her with wide-eyes. 

“What else do you think they could be talking about? You don’t suppose they would be engaging in such a fervent conversation about paintings, do you?” her tone was sarcastic, laced with amusement as you frowned, huffing. 

Sure, as you watched Youngho, he looked relaxed, radiating the same calm confidence as he spoke to your mother, even smiling while your mother’s expression remained almost surprised. 

You figured that was a good sign, right? As opposed to if her expression was sour. 

“I’m trying to read his lips,” Jaehyun murmured, “but I’m absolutely certain he just said ‘you have nothing to worry about’.” 

Your eyebrows lifted. Of course it would be Youngho, saying that to your mother of all people. That was almost as good as pointing at a table and demanding for it to get up and walk.

Your mind was absolutely racing as you saw her nod, already making her way towards you, with Youngho following a few paces behind her. 

Reaching you, you exchanged a look with your sister before turning your gaze towards your mother. Jaehyun stood beside her, looking on with evident amusement at the scene playing out before him. 

Letting out a tired sigh, she lowered her voice to a murmur. 

“I do not know what it is about you that has seemed to have caught his eye,” she looked as though she were in disbelief, “But the young man was so insistent on getting my approval for him to pursue a marriage with you. Judging by his demeanour, his background, I find no complaints.” 

Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, glancing at Youngho who stood behind her with a certain sense of pride that glowed within you. A pride that came with knowing that this was who he was— insistent, charming, sincere— and that did not change with his social status. 

“He insists that he has already asked for your permission, is that correct?” 

You tore your gaze away from Youngho, meeting your mother’s gaze with a firmness unlike Youngho has ever seen you show your mother, his own little pride glowing in his heart as he watched you. 

“He has,” you told her, “and I have granted it to him.”

Your mother’s eyes widened just briefly, surprised at your tone, yet feeling as though she should have seen it coming at the same time. 

She simply let out a breath through her nose, nodding. 

“Then I expect you to see this through,” she told you, as though it were an instruction, “for a man with his status to be looking so favourably upon you, it is a miracle , if anything. Do not ruin this opportunity.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that played at your lips, amused at the way your mother had no idea who Youngho was, and that she would continue to have no idea that he was the same Youngho she was forbidding you to see just weeks before. And you intended for it to stay that way, yours and Youngho’s little secret. 

“Oh, don’t worry, mother. I definitely won’t.” 

Turning to give him a sweet smile, Youngho felt his heart jump in his chest as he extended a hand towards you, asking you for a dance with such politeness that it almost made you laugh. 

Following him onto the dance floor, you assumed your positions so naturally that it was a given that anyone who looked in from the outside would be able to tell that the two of you were well-acquainted.

And as you started to dance, somehow, it felt like Youngho was the only one you could focus on in the room. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

Your little mantra of love began to echo once again with each beat of your heart, begging to reach his heart that you almost didn’t notice yourself saying his name. 

Youngho smiled, a certain knowingness to his playful gaze. 

“Yes, my beloved?” 

Your lips parted, poorly hiding the way the words had sent warmth all through your body, the feeling of his hand pressing against yours as you waltzed, the intimacy of the choreography and the way he was looking at you making your head spin. 

“Beloved?” you echoed, implication behind the word making you lean into him unconsciously, burying yourself in the security you felt in his hold. 

Youngho let out an amused huff that turned into a giggle that bubbled out of him, “You sound surprised. It is no secret that I love you, Y/N.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“My head is spinning,” you admitted, earning a dramatic gasp from him, giving you a playful sheepish look. 

“Sorry, perhaps I dressed too nicely today,” he drawled, the teasing lilt of his tone making your smile grow. 

“Are you teasing me?” you scoffed, your smile removing any possible trace of menace. 

Youngho pressed his lips together, the softest of smiles on his face. 

“Not in the slightest bit.” 

Feigning a glare at him, it didn’t last long the longer you held his gaze, the both of you poorly stifling your joy as little giggles threatened to escape you. 

“I’m not going to impose on you,” he began, sounding breathless from barely having recovered from his bout of giggles. 

“That’s questionable,” you took your chance to quip, earning a scoff from him. 

“All I’ll say is, I’m going to ask you for a third dance. And what you choose to respond with is entirely up to you.” 

Your tongue peeked out to wet your lips, the gesture making Youngho’s gaze shift briefly from your eyes to your lips, evidently having to force himself to bring his gaze back up to your eyes, looking at you with all the affection you wished you could immortalise in a painting. 

Nodding at him, you let yourself enjoy the rest of the dance with him, smiling until your cheeks hurt. And you let it continue as he asked you for a third dance, the both of you not giving it a second thought as you continued to relish in each other’s presence, in each other’s touch, in each other’s love. 

Oblivious to the murmurs and gossip that the both of you were inciting, you were only able to focus on him and him on you, protected and enveloped in the love you both shared no matter how exposed you felt in the room, just as how it should’ve always been. 

Conduct books be damned, here you were, simply a lady in love. 

#johnny seo #johnny seo au #johnny #johnny suh #nct #nct johnny #suh youngho #seo youngho #nct 127 #nct 127 johnny #nct127 #nct127 au #johnny au #johnny suh au #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #nct oneshot #johnny x reader #johnny seo x reader #johnny suh x reader #regency au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct fic #nct au #nct 127 fic #nct 127 au #nct fanfic

[thedocs-in]

Military School Pt.1

Sorry this took so long to get out, a self-indulgent Cecilxreader fic that I started to write took over my life for a couple on months. And then school started.

But I wrote this about two years ago, and I only meant for it to be shared with people on this Cecil server I was in. But, considering its gone now, I figured why not. And Cecil is supposed to be like, 14 or 15 in this.

This is part one of a three part story. The second part should be up possibly by the end of the week. Gotta make some edits to it first.

Plot: Cecil gets into a fight that nearly gets him expelled from high school, and almost gets sent to military school.

Link to Pt.2

TW: blood, injuries, and mentions of violence and sexual harassment (very briefly on that second one)

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

Sitting there in an uncomfortable chair, Cecil leaned forward. His elbows resting on his knees and a bloody rag pressed against his nose. Though, given the fact that his shirt was already covered in his own blood, the rag was pretty much useless. Craning his neck, he looked at the senior who sat across from him. The senior he’s labeled ‘Jackass’ looked like shit, his shirt stained with blood. The skin around his nose and one of his eyes starting to turn purple.

The senior pressed a bloodied rag into his face, as his lip had been busted and his nose broken. Two of the seniors’ fingers were in a makeshift splint; and while he had heard something pop, he wasn’t sure if they were broken or just dislocated.

But it didn’t matter; he was still screwed regardless. Up until this point he had gotten away with getting into fights with assholes or bullies. Middle school kids were too embarrassed that they got their ass kicked. Sure, there were times when someone would snitch, and he’d get in trouble. But most of the time he’d get a warning or detention, considering the other kids never got hurt enough to warrant suspension, or worse, expulsion. But high schoolers were different, you fight back, hurt their ego, and they’ll find a way to make your life miserable; especially if they had been on top of the food chain.

But here he was, sitting outside the principal’s office contemplating everything that went wrong, how he let his temper get the better of him.

Craning his head up, he got a better look at the ‘jackass’ sitting across from him. And he was met with a glare that could melt steel. Lowering the rag, he checked his nose; thankful that the bleeding finally stopped.

He returned the dirty look to the senior, scrunching his nose in the process. Which only sent a wave of pain through his face, and he was convinced that it was broken. It wasn't the first time it's been broken, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But knowing his dad, a trip to the emergency room wasn’t likely, as his dad would rather just set it at home.

Looking at the floor, he stared at the ugly linoleum. He could see a few stray droplets of blood on the ugly brown linoleum, that was probably outdated when it was put down. And he wondered who had the bright idea to choose brown of all colors.

But his thoughts were interrupted when he heard a shouting match break out behind him. The door to his right muffled the voices, but he quickly straightened up when he heard his dad shouting.

The ‘Jackass’ spoke up, “Sounds like you’re in trouble you little shit.”

He looked at the senior and could see that he had a shit eating grin on his face. But he watched as the smug look turned to regret as blood started to run down his chin, and he moved the rag from his nose to his lip.

“I wouldn’t have kicked your sorry ass if you had just left my friend alone.” He spat back.

He leaned back in the chair and looked up to the stained ceiling, attempting to make sense of what was being said. All he could tell was that it didn’t sound good for him. Occasionally he could make out his dad insulting whoever else was in there.

The shouting quickly died down, and he heard a third voice talking, then footsteps.

On his right, a door quickly opened, and he turned his head to look. Standing in the doorway was short and portly man who looked both terrified and exhausted.

He sighs, “Both of you in my office, now!”

Forcing himself up from the chair, he reluctantly walked through the doorway. Quickly spotting his dad standing across from the ‘jackasses’ father.

His dad quickly looked at him, and ice filled his veins. He could see that his dad was not happy. Catching his eye for a moment, he quickly looked elsewhere as he walked into the office. While he was never scared of his father, for once he was nervous. The fact that this fight had gotten so out of hand made things look worse for him.

As soon as he was within grabbing distance, his dad pulled him close. Quietly seething at him through his teeth, “You are in so much trouble!”

What little color there was in his face left as he rarely saw his dad this angry.

The portly man walks around the room and sits down behind his desk. On top sat a little placard, ‘Principal Owens’.

With a sigh, the principal sat down. “Mr. Stedman, I’m afraid we have a serious situation on our hands here. I don’t take kindly to violence occurring on school grounds, especially when it leads to serious injury. And to be completely honest Mr. Stedman, this isn’t looking good for your son.”

He felt his chest tighten. And while he wanted to defend himself, he bit his tongue right as the ‘jackasses’ father started to yell.

“I want that little bastard expelled and arrested! Look at what he did to my son!” The man spat, gesturing to his son’s injuries.

Principal Owens cuts in with exasperation, “Mr. Lawson please, before any decision is made, I want Mr. Stedmans’ to explain himself.”

Now with everyone’s attention turned towards him, his mouth suddenly went dry, and he had no idea how to explain himself. Where to even begin, and if they would even believe him. Considering it was his word against ‘jackasses’ and his cronies. He had a few friends that could certainly vouch for him, but he didn’t want them involved in this mess.

He could feel his dad’s grip on his shoulder tighten, and in that moment, he was almost too terrified to even look towards his father. Taking a deep breath, knowing that even if he told the truth, he could still be screwed. “He’s been harassing my friend for days. And when I went to talk to him, to tell him to leave her alone, he took a swing at me. I didn’t start the fi-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Mr. Lawson lost his grip on his son for a moment as the senior attempted to lunge at him, calling him a liar. Thankfully, his dad quickly put himself in between the two teenagers, and Mr. Lawson pulled his son back.

Principal Owens stood up quickly and slammed his hands onto his desk, “That’s enough! I will not have any more fighting! Especially in my office.” Looking over to Mr. Lawson he said, “Control your son!”

He watched as the ‘jackass’ huffed in anger.

As soon as things started to calm down for a moment the principal looked at him, “Cecil, what do you mean he’s been harassing your friend?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he began to explain things. “All of this started two weeks ago, when he started to harass my friend. He kept making all sorts of sexual comments towards her, or him and his friends kept harassing her after school. I went to go talk to him, to tell him to knock it off. But all he did was attack me. I didn’t go looking for a fight, but no one else was telling him to stop.”

As the words left his mouth, he could feel the tension growing in the room. But he noticed his dad’s grip loosen a bit.

The principal narrowed his eyes at him, as he leaned back into his chair. “And why didn’t you think to report this to the office? And why hasn’t she come forward?”

What anxiety he felt, was quickly replaced with anger, “I tried, and no one did anything! She tried, but no one would take her seriously. If you really don’t believe me, ask her. Ask the teacher that caught the ‘jackass’ messing with her yesterday.”

He still couldn’t remember his name, though at this point it wasn’t worth trying.

“Young man, I will not tolerate that language in my office or my school.” Owens said. “Which teacher are you talking about?”

He wracked his brain trying to remember who had caught the older student, but his memory was failing him. “I don’t know, I think it might’ve been the P.E. teacher. I wasn’t there, she just told me about all of this, this morning. She said it’s been happening after school for the past two weeks. She said that the teacher saw and stopped it but didn’t do anything else.”

Principal Owens sighed and rubbed his face. And for what felt like minutes, everyone was silent.

His dad cleared his throat, “Principal Owens, I’d like to know what you plan on doing? I agree that what my son did was wrong, but if what he’s saying is true, I hope ‘jacka-’, Mr. Lawson’s son is punished as well.”

Biting his tongue, he had to stop himself from laughing at his dad’s slip-up. Over the past couple of years, many of his teachers had complained about his colorful language. Resulting in a lot of parent teacher conferences, where they quickly learned where he got it from.

But before Principal Owens could respond Mr. Lawson interjected, “Are you kidding me? My son is the victim here, I want the little menace arrested.”

He felt his heart stop for a moment and his dad’s grip tighten again.

“Now hold on.” Principal Owens says. “Before the police get involved, I want to make sure that everyone is telling the truth.”

Mr. Lawson’s face was turning red, “I know for a fact that this isn’t the first time that little bastard has done something like this. Everyone knows he’s done this before.”

“Sir please calm down; I know all too well about Cecil’s previous incidents. I’ve seen his records, but his past incidents have never been like this. And I don’t think the police need to be involved yet.”

He internally breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the cops wouldn’t be involved just yet.

Lawson opens his mouth to start again, but Owens stops him, “I think the best course of action, for now, would be suspension for both. I want to see if what Cecil say’s is true. If it ends up being a lie then your son can return to school immediately, if not, then he’ll have to serve out his suspension. And he will be put on academic probation when he returns.”

‘Jackass’ begins to whine, “What?! You can’t do that? I’m needed on the team. I need this to get into college.”

The older Stedman cuts in, “Kid, if you have to rely on to being a football player to get yourself into college, you probably shouldn’t be going. Besides if my son is lying then you have nothing to worry about.”

Both Lawson’s looked at his father, moving their anger from Principal Owens to the older Stedman.

Before either Lawson could say anything, Owens speaks. “Now Mr. Stedman, I cannot let Cecil off with just a warning, he did injure another student. If he’s telling the truth, he’ll have to serve out his suspension, and a few weeks of detention when he comes back. But if your son is lying, I will be forced to expel him.”

His father, now much more levelheaded, spoke. “I understand.”

“Now please, go home. I have an incident report to fill out.”

As he and his dad walked out of the principal’s office, his father spoke to him quietly, “We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

He nodded his head, “Yes sir.”

#cecil stedman #invincible show #invincible #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: harrasment #also i'm not joking about that self indulgent fic #i literally started it back in july and it's still not done #it won't be until the end of the show probably #considering i'm writing it as the show continues #and i haven't even reached the events of season 1 #but it's like 14 chapters as of rn #almost 15 #and its 190 pages #the lack of xreader fics for cecil drove me to do it #its shamelessly self-indulgent #also part two focuses a lot on cecils relationship with his dad #his dads name is lyle btw #i've got tons of headcannons for cecils family #as well as for cecil himself

[give-soup-please]

hi! I was wondering if you had any writing advice? Im currently collecting it to find something that works for me and im just wondering about other peoples processes when it comes to plotting out a story.

(i'm not sure, but this may be the first time someone on anon has asked me for writing advice. i feel like this is a milestone dslfkjdslkf)

so! i am very much a 'write by the seat of your pants' style kind of guy. i don't do big outlines, i don't do summaries to keep track. but, there are a few things i do which help me stay focused. and there are a few things i do to help the creative process in general.

and this got long, so it's going under a cut lol

first things first, when i get to the end of a writing session (which for me lasts between 30 minutes to 3 hours, depending on how much the hyperfixation has a choke hold) i make sure i know where i'm headed next, by putting the next plot point into a bracket. i'm never very specific until the words for the first draft are actually typed out, but just the next broad idea that i want to bounce off of. here are a few from my older GO fic, 'bookstores, bentleys, and everything between'

this is what an average thing looks like, though i have been known to get very shitposty with them as well. the shitposting type happens when i have been writing for far too long, and am in desperate need of a break.

if no one else is going to see these, then have fun with them.

here's another, longer version with details.

i'm glad i do stuff like this when i reach a stopping point, because i've lost so many good ideas over the years assuming i'd remember where i was going when i get back to the doc. and i never do.

the other main bit of advice i have for story construction might be a bit controversial. i call it, 'chase the fun'.

very simple. very complex. it's both. it's a thing.

basically! i don't write in chronological order if there's something exciting too far away. i despise moments where i think to myself, 'oh, there's going to be a kickass moment in chapter 12 where there's going to be this cool action scene, but i'm only two chapters in. i guess i'll have to write all that other stuff before i get to the cool scene :('

don't do that shit! it'll eat at you, and you'll find yourself losing enthusiasm and getting frustrated with your project. i dislike writing in chronological order of a story because it's extremely limited. so!

chase the fun!

write the cool scenes, the action scenes, the self indulgent stuff. get it out of your system, and then after you've written the stuff that surrounds it, stitch it all together during the editing process. not only does it feel great to write all the cool things, you can often get inspired with new ways of going, 'how do we get here'? when you head back in. and you can add ass kicking foreshadowing and all that groovy stuff people like. stitching together everything and making the timeline correct during the editing process is mildly irritating, but i'd rather do that than plod along, desperately wanting to get to the coolest parts. go with the flow, let the inspiration take you where it takes you. don't hold off on it because you want to write everything in order the first time around.

'writing by the seat of your pants' also allows for 'idea stacking', which can be an important part of the process for more complex works. take, for example, my latest GO fic. i'll be brief and avoid spoilers, but i think it gives you a pretty good idea of how i plot my stuff out.

concept: i would like crowley and aziraphale to be my godfathers, so i can have some found family/comfort vibes. but we need a few roadblocks in the way, so it can be on the slower side, and not rushed. what can i do with my character that will add difficulties to their relationships?

idea stack 1: maybe he had a godfather before they came along, but he's missing.

sub idea 1: that would be a great source of angst for my character, actually. imagine not being able to find someone you love. loads of grief, there, and uncertainty.

idea stack 2: well, if my godfather is going to be a counterpart to aziraphale and crowley, maybe he should have powers too!

sub idea 2: my IRL godfather who i am referencing in the story practices magic. let's throw that in there, but make him much more powerful.

idea stack 3: how would aziraphale and crowley know that my fictional godfather can do powerful magic? well- maybe he left something that jay has. a necklace, perhaps. and it's very enchanted.

sub idea 3: of course, now we have to work out how my godfather knew how to enchant necklaces, and why he has special powers. and if he has special powers, where the heck is he now?

idea stack 4: so! new plot thread unlocked. my character's godfather has vanished without a trace, leaving behind a powerfully enchanted necklace. aziraphale and crowley are trying to work out whether or not they should be concerned about this, and what heaven or hell is doing interfering with this character's life to such a major extent. mystery abounds!

sub idea 4: so, is my fictional godfather of heaven or hell? he must be high ranking if he can enchant a necklace to such a crazy extent. i'll do research into angelic and demonic hierarchy, and make a few decisions on where everyone is placed.

idea stack 5: (REDACTED BECAUSE OF SPOILERS)

and so on. this is one grouping of ideas that spitballed because i thought about the implications of the previous idea. if you do this a few times in the right places, you've got yourself a nuanced and complex story. keep in mind, all this above developed over the course of a few weeks, and wasn't all immediate. still fun though. ideas shouldn't be isolated, i think they should connect to other story elements.

hope this helps!

#personal #answered ask #writing advice #long post

[rosedosed]

🌻 🌻 🌻 !!!!!

HIIII HI HI THANK YOUU 🥰

1. There’s Talks about two friends and me moving in together and though I’m a little careful (I’ve seen many friendships torn apart after becoming roomies) I’m CAUTIOUSLY VERY EXCITED!! I currently live in a small studio apartment with very little interaction between the housemates and I love a little personal space but Bro I Miss being having roommates. I don’t mind getting most of my social kicks from going out and meeting people but going on holiday I’m always hit with how pleasant it is to live with a whole bunch of friends around me at all times.

2. Jumping off 1^, I’ve also noticed I benefit a lot from having people around me as an artist. Art and writing (my big passions) are incredible but they’re also very SOLITARY experiences. I’ve noticed that many artist-influencers (especially on tiktok) are really good at editing their videos to make it seem like art is a quick, fun, relaxing and social process, but in practice art-creation takes fucking hours and usually those hours are spent in isolation. As much as I want to draw for the rest of my life, I notice that sitting hunched over a tablet for half a day without having people around me to pull me back to earth when I get too lost in the sauce just isn’t super good for my mental health, so I cannot wait to move into a home with palz and Exist & do Art Together

3. Now that I’m already monologuing lets make it 3/3; I notice that many artists stop drawing as much as soon as they leave high-school/adolescence. This is super understandable (adult life is busy as hell) but many of them (me included) are a little sad about it. Here’s what I’ve done to remedy this a little bit & keep drawing consistently as an adult;

Figure out why art appeals to you, figure out why you gravitated towards art, why you need it, and then listen to that need. If you create art to tell stories; tell stories. If you create art to make money; sell merch or take commissions. If you create art purely for yourself; DO THAT. If you wanna retain a hobby make sure you still do it for you. And if you find out that you don’t really feel the need to create art anymore don’t you dare resent yourself for it that’s fine. You’re not defined by what you create, you’re defined by what drives you & if creating art doesn’t drive you that’s totally fine you can do whatever you want forever! 💖

Find your Artist Identity Sweet Spot. I, for example, don’t find the life of a full-time freelance artist appealing. It sounds stressful and not suited to my needs, that’s why I combine it with two other part-time jobs and never refer to myself as an artist in a commercial way. What’s more, I try to make space for art as a social activity to meet my extroverted needs. Live drawing! Collaborations! Art-dates! Figure drawing! The lifestyle of the solemn solitary artist just doesn’t suit my golden retriever ass no matter how much I thought it had to, and the sooner I figured that out the sooner I could work to fit art into my life more comfortably. Don’t try to fit some arbitrary artist mold. It doesn’t exist and it’s only gonna make you sad. There is no The Artist, there is only YOU; THE ARTIST.

Speaking of you; draw for YOU I cannot overstate this enough. Appeal to YOURSELF and you’ll always have an audience. Cringe culture is FAKE. Online art discourse is a BLACK VORTEX. Following your passions is BASED and you have to do it RIGHT NOW. I’ve been unabashedly drawing SELF-INDULGENT TTRPG CONTENT for an audience of 7 for the past 2 years and I’m so in my own front-seat about it. I’m much happier than I was trying to appeal to ppl who only appreciated my art when I deliberately tried to cater to them. I promise; if you feel like people’s expectations are limiting you in what you truly want to do; there’s people out there who will truly appreciate your work and trying to cater to those who don’t is only gonna piss you off in the long run. Draw whatever makes you happy I don’t give a fuck what it is as long as it makes you happy.

Sorry for talking so much here’s a picture of a mural I saw yesterday

#answers #cluusheen #idk where this RANT came from SOREY

[mhsargent]

Practice, practice, practice

“Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.”

― Robert A. Heinlein

I stopped writing - in that active, artistic sense - in my early 20s, shortly after leaving my eldest children’s mom (a reflection-confessional for another time.)  In the 2 ½ decades since, I have written, but sporadically and either in my role as a student or in my role as a teacher.  I have completed a master’s degree, and a great deal of reflective writing was a part of that. However, it was very much couched in an academic context, and my motivation for completing the writing was entirely about earning a certification, not about sharing what I had learned.

Something changed (or clicked, or hatched, or emerged, or something) a few years ago.  I discovered I had something I needed to say, and, strangely, it wasn’t about me.  Still in the context of work, I started writing a paper (a small book in the end) outlining the foundations of teaching in an inquiry context (I will be making that document public very soon.) Composing and editing that document allowed me an opportunity to reconnect with writing.

I have recently emerged from a very dark and difficult period related to my ongoing bout of Chronic Migraine.  Quickly, for those who do not know, I have had Migraine my entire life (no, it is not just a headache) and this is the second period in my life where my Migraine status has been “chronic.”  This particular period has been going on since October 2013, with more intense and less intense stretches over those nearly 10 years.  The past nearly 10 months have been particularly hard and dark, but I have recently come back to some semblance of life!

One of the first things that I had an overwhelming urge to do, once I could think again, was to start writing. And I did - I wrote things I expected to write, and then I went on to things I wasn’t sure I was ready to write, and then I started planning other pieces of writing I had no idea I had been thinking about.

And from all this, I realized how important writing is to me - as an activity, as a form of expression, and as a way to recognize my own thinking.

The quote at the top of this blog I first read as a teenager, and it resonated strongly with me then.  My younger self’s writing was undoubtedly and (retrospectively) uncomfortably masturbatory.  Which, I suppose, is fine.  Writing can often be an indulgent process.

But writing has changed for me in the decades of my hiatus.  I am less satisfied with self-indulgence with my writing.  I am more interested in grappling with issues in the outer-world rather than the issues of my inner-world.  And, for all those times I do need to spend some time on my inner-world, I now have this blog space and all my self-indulgence can be poured in here. 

But this space is about more than just self-indulgence.  I’ve set up this space for myself to “work out” in.  Writing takes practice - like with all other things, it has a set of muscles, both literal and figurative, that need to be exercised. I have discovered that, although I am not entirely out of shape, I can certainly improve my conditioning.  Additionally, writing to meet an assignment is very different from writing for the public.  

This process of writing and posting for any and all to read forces me into different considerations as I lay out these words and sentences.  As they emerge from my fingertips, I hear my voice and I wonder about how it will be received.  Who will stay to listen?  What will they hear?  WIll they listen again in the future?  

This new motivation, this new intention for my writing means that I need to learn a new way to listen to my voice.  When I was younger, I listened to what I produced with the intention of making myself sound better - improving the writing so everyone would know how clever and smart I was..  Now, I find myself more interested in making the writing more effective for the audience.  I am less concerned with what the audience thinks of my writing, and I am more concerned with whether the audience connects with my writing.  In other words, I find myself concerned about wasting the audience’s time and energy.  

Annie Dillard, a writer whose writing moves and inspires me, offers much by way of writing advice; I find myself often returning to this one:

One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better.

Annie Dillard (https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/books/99/03/28/specials/dillard-drop.html)

And so, I write.  I lay words out in lines.  I seek to make them alive and present for the reader. I practice. I post. And, as I practice, and post, and as I wait to see if I have an audience, I will go wash my hands.

[arrowdibble49]

Life today will be more exciting than ever. It's hard to think about where it might bring you.

I would like to say hello. Tanisha I'm Tanisha. I'm a divorcee who recently got married. I had to go through a difficult divorce. cc clip converter Although it wasn't a long process, it was quite painful. One night I've come home to early to find my husband with another woman. It's quite shocking. My beloved husband of 12+ years abandoned me and began searching for the most perfect for other women. After much thought I finally decided to let it all go. I've tried a variety of ways. My girlfriends invited me out for drinks and my boyfriend took me out for dinner and we went out together to paint and drink. It was a never-ending cycle of self-deprecation and self-loathing. But I have found ways to stop hateing myself. And, I started hating the ex-husband.

It was his the fault of his. He destroyed my tranquil, happy, and idyllic life filled with daily pleasures and late-night tea party. The relationship we had was not one of family, and she ate our dog and attempted to keep it even though she wasn't a fan. I had to figure out how to get back at the guy after weeks of stalking her fake accounts on social media. It's very useful. You can track your ex on social media. You can also change your name and hit the"friend" button. Most people don't refuse hot girls who are trying to make friends. After a while, I started to notice his new passion. He started to respond to different rap songs. It's an occupation, a pastime, but he declared that this would be his occupation. He started to become too attached to his dreams and started to gain only a handful of Youtube followers. Years went by and nothing was ever successful except for these hilarious reactions videos. He would swear, laugh, scream, fall on the floor and even lay on his stomach but it's just another unproductive rant that is useless. You have no other words. Here are two strategies I came across to indulge in his latest obsession. In the beginning, I reported his YouTube channel's videos to copyrights. He was using legitimate videos and tracks made by commercial artists to film his sloppy reactions and then release them. Youtube removed 12 of his YouTube videos. That's an excellent beginning. Move over to Facebook. After being removed from Youtube, he copies those videos. Now, I just claim that the video belongs to me and Facebook removes it from his account and blocks him for 2 weeks. Nice, I say that! Twitter was finally accessible however they were unable to remove his videos no matter how many attempts I made. It didn't matter. I was able to remove 34 videos. The second part of my revenge consisted of to take down the videos and uploading them under my own name. Here's where things get tricky First, I had to claim my ownership. Facebook didn't care that I was a young director. I downloaded the videos on Youtube as well as Facebook and altered them using the Adobe video editor. It was hilarious. Videos remained online for more than four months, before being taken down. I have about several of the videos that I haven't edited and put on reshare but I'm hoping to do it in the near future.. My revenge is out of control and takes months to finish however, at the same time I'm not having any other issues going on, so why not?

#converte youtube mp4

[layzeal]

What would Wei Wuxian canonically wear at each point of his life: A Self-Indulgent Analysis

The novel isn’t very descriptive at all when it comes to WWX’s outfits. All we know is that he began wearing black after he crawled out from the Burial Mounds and didn’t stop since, but even his black outfits can tell a story so!! Let’s see what we’ve got (fun fact: not even the red ribbon is mentioned! only as an easter egg that showed up in the incense burner extras two years later!! buuut i’ll be considering it canon here because it’s fitting and also who cares)

This is analyzing how each adaptation dolls him up with and which one had the best idea according to me, based on fully unbiased points such as “i like it” or “i think it’s neat”, or even “this doesn’t make any sense why is this here?”

i’m really just here to show my thought process of why i like each of these outfits for these events and have no intention of “convincing” anyone of anything, so if you’re wondering “Hey op do you take constructive criticis--” no i do not, let’s go

WARNING..... LONG, VERY LONG POST

Edit 1: Change of preferred design for Ressurection Edit 2: Correction about Qiongqi Path outfit Edit 3: added special mention from new audio drama episode!

1. CR Study Era / Yunmeng Da-Shixiong 

Winner: MDZS Audio Drama (SpoonKid’ & Tai’s art)’s Gusu white guest disciple robes and/or YMJ purple disciple robes

Special Mention: CQL

Sorry guys but there is only one correct answer here, and that is: PURPLE PURPLE PURPLE PURPLE PURPLE!!! he is the YMJ DA-SHIXIONG, there is just NO WAY he would wear literally any other color!!! “Oh but Madam Yu had him wear different colors because he’s not part of the family” THAT DOESNT EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE, HE’S STILL A DISCIPLE!!! AND A VERY IMPORTANT ONE AT THAT. It’s purple. that boy wears purple and continues to wear purple all the way until Lotus Pier falls

If i’m feeling extra self-indulgent i’ll have him wear white during his CR study era because i can’t see the Lans enjoying a bunch of different colored uniforms in their highly aesthetic home and also WWX in Lan white is incredibly seratonin-inducing, like what’s next?? Gonna get married to a lan and wear it everyday??? heh. but yeah in my heart they all wear white, and if not, WWX has to wear purple, none of that red-and-black thing most of the fandom sticks to

CQL Special Mention

 i LOVE the choice they went with for the white disciple robes!! unlike the AD which has LWJ wear the same type robes of the guest disciples, CQL was very throughout in giving the disciples different styles of robes WITH COLOR ACCENTS!!! TO IDENTIFY MEMBERS OF EACH SECT WITHOUT BREAKING THE AESTHETIC. 10/10 big brain idea, love it!!

HOWEVER i cannot give CQL the cake because.... WWX does not wear purple or any outfit that identifies him as a YMJ disciple, WHICH DRIVES ME INSANE. i know that WWX occupies an awkward place in the sect where he is more than a disciple but less than family, but having his clothes always be too different to fit one or another just... idk, it takes me out of the story everytime. AND THAT RED..... LOOK, WE’RE GONNA GET THERE, BUT IT IS!! NOT!!! TIME!! FOR HIM TO BE WEARING RED!!!! a big flaw here is that already he has too much of the aesthetic he wears as YLLZ, so when he actually transforms it’s just kinda???? okay??? what changed???? not a fan, should have gone with either a lighter blue or more of a purple tone, and REMOVE that red from the skirt, her time will come, just not now!

EXTRA SPECIAL MENTION: Baoshan Karo’s illustrations for the CR era. god i’m SO HAPPY that WWX in Lan guest disciple robes are officially a thing in some editions of the novel now (1) (2)

2. Qishan Discussion Conference

Winner: MDZS Manhua’s red ceremonial uniform

Special Mention(?): Novel cover by Qianerbai

This one was eaaaasy because it’s one of the few occasions where we’re told what Wei Wuxian is wearing, which is the “red, round-collared robe with narrow sleeves, tied with a belt of nine rings—the juniors’ ceremonial uniform during the Qishan Wen Clan’s Discussion Conference” (fanyiyi translation).

CQL doesn’t cover this arc so it’s out. The Donghua still keeps them in those initial designs, the Audio Drama’s only art of this moment "First Meeting with Wen Ning" has him in YMJ purple (which i would be happy with in any other occasion), so all we’re left with is the manhua!! my second favorite adaptation wahoo!!

the artist maotuanxjj made us all a favor in making WWX look extra handsome in his red uniform which follows the novel’s description to a T, so well done!! amazing!!! 10/10!!!! (can i just mention how i love this style of bangs for OG wwx? i wish the manhua had kept it that way ahhhh)

Qianerbai Special Mention

So i wanted to put this here because YES we do get to see him in the red junior uniform, but......... this is the novel’s 3rd volume, and i’m quite sure it’s meant to represent the Phoenix Mountain hunt, which they were NOT wearing red for, so??????????? anyway the uniform is still perfect though, just not on the right moment of the story

3. Wen Indocrination Arc

Winner: MDZS Audio Drama (SpoonKid)’s purple YMJ disciple robes

quick and simple: the answer is the same as the Yunmeng Da-Shixiong, purple!! which once again, SpoonKid is the only one who has represented as such in an official art, so here it is two more of them, as a treat.

4. Yiling Laozu

okay you guys will have to be very patient with me now, because what the fandom mostly refers to YLLZ is actually 3 different stages of his life (+1 bonus) which directly affect whatever he is wearing, and the only thing in common they have is that WWX will be wearing black (OR NOT?)

i went back and forth with how to present this one, and in the end i decided i won’t be announcing a “winner”, because most adaptations only have one look for him in this stage (a great look let’s be real), but it’s not particularly realistic or even canon-compliant for it to be so, so i’ll be looking at adaptations that do change his look during his era and see which are more fitting for each moment

4.a) The Return

Favorite outfit: Donghua, Manhua & Audio Drama’s black/red large robes with wide sleeves

no competition here AT ALL, this outfit SLAPS!! if i have one (1) complaint it’d be the donghua’s fire motif on the sleeves, it just doesn’t make sense for him to wear something so similar to QishanWen’s uniform, but other than that the aesthetic is on point!

the large robes make WWX look bigger, more intimidating and mature. THIS is the look of a man who spent 3 months in hell, eating corpses and fighting the resentment just to crawl out half a ghost half a human. the silhouette is so different from what he had before, it really feels striking!!

about the colors: THIS is the one point in the novel where we know he starts wearing black and red on a daily basis! and it is no coincidence his color palette is the exact same as the ghost flute Chenqing, they’re one in the same, carved into a different shape the Burial Mounds, made for the purpose of leading the dead.

Red is a very strong and lively color, but it’s also a color of extremes. it can mean the most positive and the most negative things, and for Wei Wuxian, what will be very telling about his fate and mental state is how much of it is present in his outfits. He’s always had a red ribbon on his hair, the strong, bright and passionate boy that he was, but things have changed,  wei wuxian is back, but he came back wrong. Pay attention to the red from now on 🔴

for many people, the outfit above is not only his “i’m back baby” outfit, but also the one that defines him for the rest of the following events, and that’s perfectly fine! it is one HELL of a good design! buuuut since i’d never make things easy for myself, let’s look at some other ones

4.b) Sunshot Campaign

Favorite outfit: CQL’s black robes and red inner robes with narrow sleeves and shoulder padding

Special Mention: Zelda CW (i know she’s not an offcial MDZS artist but i NEED her art to explain my point here)

NOW is the time for the red skirt to appear!! man can you imagine if they hadn’t shown him in black and red before and then boom! he shows up in this color palette? it’d have been soo good. ANYWAYS, notice the colors!! Red inner robes, black outer robes, fancy shoulder padding, a red skirt that feels quite striking. Remember what i said about WWX and Chenqing matching and being one in the same? in this stage of his life, such resemblance is even more important, you CANNOT separate WWX from the Ghost Path at this point.

RE: The design, this is a wei wuxian who has now returned to the cultivation world. He took a nice bath, had some soup, took off those clothes that he probably stole from corpses, took his YMJ money and got himself a uniform to kick some QishanWen butts! i like this one for the Sunshot Campaign much more than his poncho look from earlier because i just find it a loooot more fitting for a soldier, ESPECIALLY ZeldaCW’s interpretation over there with the shoulder padding and sleeves that almost look like a cape (and the small YMJ lotus symbols around)

The silhouette isn’t as intimidating as before, but it doesn’t have to be, he’s no longer a resentful ghost haunting the dreams of Wen soldiers. He’s a commander, carrying a military tally of his own, with the favor that the right hand man of Sect Leader Jiang ought to have. He’s become a respected and feared war hero, but that people still look down upon due to his cultivation and refusal to carry a sword. That made him have to carry himself in a proud and arrogant way which years later even WWX himself will recognize as obnoxious. ALL I’M SAYING IS, i find this clean silhouette and design much more fitting for this stage of his life than the loose and ruffled look he had previously, ya feel me? More military-feeling, less angsty ghost man.

(also this is my fav look for YilingWei Sect AUs but that’s neither here nor there)

4.c) Burial Mound Settlement

Favorite outfit: CQL’s grey+black, coarse overalls with red sleeves and belt

(farm boy wwx is SUCH a treat for us, thank u xiao zhan)

LOOOOOVE THIS LOOK SO MUCH!! One major irony in MDZS is how WWX is named the “Yiling Laozu” and is at his most feared in THIS stage, when he is actually in his most harmless form. CQL in general really nailed the vibes of the Burial Mound Settlement as a farming community, we see people in coarse clothing doing all sorts of manual work, there is really no difference from them and any other farmers, no identification at all that these people are Wens other than their surname. And people think he’s forming his own sect, pfff

at this point WWX is really only worried about 1. keeping the barrier of the BM safe 2. keeping everyone fed 3. locking himself in his cave and working on his inventions . As much as he IS still doing plenty of use of demonic cultivation, it doesn’t come close to how he was using it back during Sunshot, leading entire armies of corpses everyday with nothing but resentment. Here, the Ghost Path is still part of him, but it doesn’t define him anymore, he’s much closer to a poor scholar than anything else, and his clothing reflects that!

anyway, coarse materials, slim silhouette, presence of red but much less saturated, looking very soft and cozy, 10/10

Special Mention!!

Spoonkid’s YLLZ!WWX from the new incense burner Audio Drama extra! Notice how the YLLZ is also wearing comfy clothes instead of the usual robes she’s drawn him in for mid-sunshot campaign! We know that the incense burner puts wwx’s in his original body, likely the one from shortly before his death, so it makes sense he’d be wearing something more casual like this!

EDIT

BEFORE WE HEAD TO THE NEXT ONE

so something i had COMPLETELY overlooked and it’s 100% my fault is that, for Jin Ling’s 100 day celebration, Wei Wuxian buys and wears a new outfit that is white. YEAH. I never noticed it, and a apparently many people didn’t either? Thanks to my dearest HellingLaozu on twt for pointing it out!

Unfortunately, however, no adaptation gave us this outfit :’( we were robbed!!! interestingly though, by the time WWX gets unfrozen and heads to Nightless City, he is wearing black once again! Maybe WN and WQ changed him? no idea! could have been an overlook on MXTX’s part, could have been implied in some untranslated part, I’ll have to analyze it more in-depth later!

Since we have no visual reference of him wearing white robes on Qiongqi Path, I’ll maintain my pre-edited text below that assumes he buys a new black outfit instead

EDIT: so it’s technically not official art, but Changyang (that one official artist) did draw the one and only art of the YLLZ in white i’ve ever seen, and it’s gorgeous, check it out!!!

4.d) Nightless City

Favorite outfit: CQL’s black robes with bright red at the sides + red inner robes and cuffed sleeves

Special mention: Novel cover by Qianerbai

now this.... this is A Look. do i even HAVE to tell you to look at the colors and the presence of red? gosh, it’s almost popping out of the screen, it’s incredibly telling to what is happening in the story now

the reason i particularly love this look for the Qionqi Path and Nightless City events is that we ARE TOLD that WWX used WQ’s money to buy not only the pretty tassel pendant for Jin Ling’s gift, but also to buy a new outfit for the ceremony! (edit: it was a white outfit. i’m silly. pls honk my clown nose) GUYS, HE DOLLED HIMSELF UP TO MEET HIS NEPHEW, he wanted to make a good impression so bad 😭 goddammit jin guangshan

anyways! the outfit above is very fitting for it! as always all we know is that he was wearing black, and of course WWX wouldn’t want to give up his YLLZ vibes, he still needs people to fear him if he wants to keep the Wens safe, but the outfit is very nice and clean. You can see it’s nothing too fancy though, nothing too elaborate esp compared to what he used to wear before, but it’s good enough to meet with the Jiangs again! it’s not like the Jins would like him even if he came dressed as an emperor. (edit: this paragraph doesnt rly apply anymore but i still like it, so it stays)

so during the day it’s just that: nice, clean, still striking but not too intimidating. During the NIGHT though??? ohhhh that red starts POPPING so hard it’s almost all you can see, him and Chenqing are once again matching perfectly, and after losing his two closest friends and hearing of how these “righteous people” are vowing to invade their settlement even though they’ve promised not to hurt anyone else if the wen sibs gave themselves up? well, he’s ready to commit some murders <3

if you asked me “hey lace what would you wear to crash a party and go into a hopeless descent into madness as you lose everyone you’ve ever loved?”, probably a nice lil outfit with some satured red on the sides.

Qianerbai Special Mention

I can’t help but feel like that CQL look look was inspired by th *checks when the 2nd edition of the Pinsin edition was released* [it was July 2019] [i am now VERY confused] ok so i was gonna say CQL took inspo from this novel cover, but i just realized as i type this that this cover was released long after the show finished filming so now i’m??? HM??? COINCIDENCE??

anyway this look that WWX has in the qianerbai novel cover is VERY good too, has all of the pros i mentioned above when it comes to color and “yeah i can visit carp tower and see my nephew in this AND kill a bunch of people 3 days later”. if the CQL look had a red belt i would honestly be even more sold! honestly if it wasnt for the white inner robe, this could have been the winner as well!

5. Ressurection

Winner: MDZS Donghua’s black/red short outer robe and white underrobe

EDIT - NEW WINNER: MDZS Manhua’s black short outer robes w/ red accent and white underrobes

[so yes the text below was for the donghua, but then my dearest @10000111100101100 brought attention to WWX’s ressurection look in the manhua and WOW, somehow i’d forgotten about it!! and it’s even more fitting!! so yeah new winner <3]

GOD I LOVEEEE THIS LOOK FOR MXY!WWX SOOOOO MUCH, i may be a bit of mxy simp we all know that but ugh!! it’s so good!! i forgot the name rn but these short robes coupled with the disheveled hair and trousers is just. idk, it gives him such a youthful look that is especially fitting for the absolute gremlin energy that WWX brings upon ressurection!

the outfit is dark, but it isn’t like what he wore during his YLLZ era. Of course the black and red are still very pronounced, he did just get dragged back from the dead by a demonic ritual he wrote down himself, and has no qualms about commanding corpses, digging graves, and creating talismans as soon as he can walk again. my man is back in business!! though of course, his mentality is different now, he’s fully aware that he’s got nothing rooting him down, no responsabilities, no one to protect, free to do whatever he wants!! and then promptly forgets all about it as soon as few teenagers look like they need help lmao

basically: this wei wuxian is very dependent on guidao, but thanks to his new freedom, it’s not to a level that could endenger him or cause major problems if he lost control. This outfit passes the message well by still having dark colors, though mostly on a grey scale, with red left only for some accents on his lapels/belt/ribbon. he doesn’t look intimidating, or fancy, or scary at all, he’s really just vibing, good for him!

also is that a white inner robe? ohoho... some changes are already beginning to take place

6. Present & Post-Canon

Winner: MDZS Audio Drama’s black outer robes + white inner robes and pants, with a red accent only on the ribbon/chenqing/belt

Special mention: CQL’s post-carp tower black outfit + white inner robe

if this post feels like i’m tooting the horn of the MDZS audio drama it’s because i am. SO!! for those who don’t know, the AD’s design for WWX is quite unique! in all versions he’s always seen wearing a dark robe with loose sleeves on top of a white inner robe. his pants are usually white as well and so is the belt

do you notice the almost complete absence of red? it’s usually left only for his ribbon, and more rarely, his belt, but that’s it!! of course, through most of the present timeline, chenqing is nowhere to be seen. obviously that doesn’t stop wwx from using demonic cultivation, but once again, it is in a far smaller scale than he did back in the day, and usually only low level spells (that on his hands become powerful)

all of that red has beem almost completely replaced by white, and if that makes you think that it’s because he now has lan wangji by his side to protect him, congratulations, you get a kiss on the head and a cookie. the word that comes to mind for me is: soft. this is what this AD outfit makes me feel. Soft. WWX is no longer controlled by his debts and duties, he doesn’t have to solely rely on demonic cultivation to protect himself, LWJ offers him that freedom and protection now, what he’s been craving since his first life, and that’s visible not only in his color palette but in the silhouette as well: his sleeves are long and flowy, but his black robes don’t outright consume him as they did back when he first crawled back from the burial mounds. LWJ’s influence is seen in his new easygoing disposition, that unlike his youthful energy, it’s far more calm. he’s matured and grown into that love and trust and man it feels SO good to see!!

CQL Special Mention

i always really liked this cql outfit, and for quite the same reasons as i’ve mentioned above! the feeling of calmness, trust and safety it gives to WWX is so great it makes.... well, soft! a total lack of red, a black robe over white inner robes (LWJ’s... inner robes), and it’s very fitting for this part of the narrative as well. WWX just woke up from being stabbed at Carp Tower (which in the novel is also when he starts noticing his own feelings for LWJ) and things get quite sweet and domestic. LXC tells us the story of Madam Lan, cql wangxian have that nice little moment in the snow that totally doesn’t end in sex, they see the rabbits together, leave CR, wwx plays wangxian.mp3, they either meet mianmian (cql) or jump into a pile of hay together (novel) and it’s basically just all so so sweet.

the reason i can’t give it the cake though it’s just that it would be better imo if it followed the AD footsteps and gave him loose sleeved instead of narrow, and added a bit more white, just to REALLY show LWJ’s influence in his current mental state, but other than that it’s a very nice looking outfit, with great vibes, very simple but very domestic!! love it!

i ended up putting waaaaay too much thought into all of this lmao, but anyway!! these are the outfits i believe are the most fitting to each stage of WWX’s life, according to the novel’s descriptions and my own personal interpretations. i love how all the adaptations expanded a little bit into it and allowed us to pick and choose our favorite ones. MDZS is one hell of a good book but it really is made even better with the added thought of fan and other cretaive insights

if you made it to the end, congratulations, i honestly didn’t think anyone would read this *gives you another kiss on the forehead and a cookie*

#mdzs #the gif isnt serving any purpose i just think he's beautfiul #my goal in this fandom is to ignore all of the popular and repetitive discourse #while having very strong opinions about crap that does NOT matter #and god i even wanted to talk more abt LWJ but that isn't happening this post is already a MONSTER #the WWX brainworms have completely eaten my brain. oh well. enjoy! #modao #lace speaks

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

#writers #fanfiction writers #writing encouragement #writer appreciation #writer support #writer struggles #writing motivation #writers tips #for writers #omg am I struggling. #hope these help you beautiful people #my writing #it’s a lil thing

[egcdeath]

act natural

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: sometimes, you just have to share the bed. 

word count: 2.4k

warnings: fluff, sharing a bed, idiots in love, cheesy

a/n: this is really just an excuse for me to write a lot of self indulgent bants, but it’s also a part of @stargazingfangirl18’s soft!dark challenge, and i decided to write something soft and use the prompt of only having one bed! (p.s. i like did not edit this at all so if a few words are used a lot pls forgive me) 

Dinner at the safehouse was finally wrapping up after a long day of getting your ass beat by an angry android and a few enhanced teenagers. You and everyone else around you seemed to be more than exhausted from the extensive day of revisiting deeply repressed traumas, and petty arguments between teammates over who was truly at fault for every predicament you found yourselves in.

You took a long and final swig from a beer bottle, glancing up to Bruce and Nat as they stood up and pushed in their chairs, retiring for the night. 

“Thanks for hosting us, Laura,” Natasha offered, grabbing her plate from the dinner table, and dropping it off in the dishwasher.

“Of course, guys. Any time,” she gave a half smile to her friend, then looked back at the table, where everyone else had taken the memo, and found themselves somewhere in the process of leaving the table, or grabbing their dishes, “but before you all go, I wanted to warn you that someone else is gonna have to share a room tonight.”

You glanced over at Steve, who was on your left, and Tony, who was sat at the head of the table. You and Steve shared an awkward chuckle at the thought of being in the same bed, not even considering the similarly uncomfortable situation of sharing a bed with Tony. 

“I think I’ll be rooming alone. These two lovebirds can share,” Tony chided before either of you even had a chance to think of a response. You looked back over at Steve, whose cheeks were currently dusted with a light shade of pink, and the bigger man quickly looked away from you.

“Tony, you know we are not- you know what, nevermind,” you huffed, deciding the argument was not worth it. 

Tony shook his head as he dropped his dishes off in the dishwasher. “So no objections?” he asked teasingly, eyeing you both with a smirk on his way back from the kitchen. “Why am I not surprised?” You could’ve sworn you heard Clint and Fury laughing to themselves before excusing themselves from the table, and dispursting though the house.

Besides the slight humiliation of being teased for your situation, you weren’t too concerned about the act of spending the night, or next few nights with Steve. You and Steve were friends, or something like that. Just a few pals with crushes that you refused to admit to each other (or yourselves).

Pushing this thought aside, you grabbed the neck of your empty beer bottle, along with a few pieces of silverware and marched off to the mechanical cleaner yourself. You dropped off the things that needed to be cleaned, tossed your bottle in the recycling bin, then went to turn away when Steve grabbed your arm, automatically catching your attention. 

“Is this okay with you?” He asked, letting his vice grip on your arm go.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you upstairs,” you muttered before speeding off, and heading upstairs where you strolled into the only vacant room, with the door wide open, and both your own and Steve’s duffle bags on the floor. 

You made a mental note to thank whoever brought them in (probably Laura), and dug through your bag to find something even slightly comfortable to sleep in, eventually settling on an oversized shirt and your favorite cotton shorts. 

You had just barely finished changing in the tiny closet when you heard the soft click of the room door, notifying you of Steve’s arrival. You slid open the closet door, and made a beeline for the bed, flopping onto the left side, and reaching for your phone as a distraction. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Steve asked, searching through his own bag until he found the only clean comfortable pair of pants he had in there, that just happened to be a jokey Christmas gift donned with a red white and blue color scheme, and graphics of mini shields on it.  

“What the hell, Steve. Of course not,” you set your phone down so that you could get a better look at him. “We probably have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” You could live with that excuse, especially considering that it would not be very becoming of you to tell your crush that missing an opportunity to sleep in the same bed as him feels like a federal crime. 

He stood up from his squatting position, squeezing into the tight space of the closet so that he could change into the corny pants, and finally get out of his clothes from the day, “I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Well, they won’t be as long as you stay on your side, okay?” You said petulantly, setting two pillows across the middle of the queen sized bed and attempting to ignore the excited butterflies in your stomach. 

“I will,” Steve responded, exiting the closet slipping into the right side of the bed cautiously, and looking at the wall that was facing him.

You glanced over at Steve, and when you caught wind of his shirtless torso, you couldn’t help but to look away with a warm face,“this is so awkward now,” you said after a beat. “Why couldn’t you have roomed with Tony?”

“Tony is the worst bed mate ever. Total blanket and pillow hog,” Steve chuckled, attempting to ease up some of the tension.

“You’re no saint either. I’ve heard you’re a cuddler,” you bantered back, allowing yourself one more glance at the man. Steve seemed to be having the same thought as you at the same time as you, as your eyes briefly met. 

It was uncomfortably silent in the room once more, and you reached over to your nightstand to turn off the bedside lamp, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Steve,” you turned your back to the border of pillows, fell into a fetal position, and squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that you’d be able to find some sort of peace after such a bizarre day. You tried not to dwell so much on the horrors you’d been forced to face earlier, and instead relied on the rhythmic breathing coming from the man next to you to ground you.

----

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but a jolting of your bed, and a bit of a commotion coming from somewhere in your room pulled you away from your unsettling dreams.

Blinking yourself awake, you uncurled your body, and rolled over to look at Steve, whose legs were thrown over the edge of the bed while he panted heavily.

“Steve?” you slurred sleepily, “you ‘kay?”

“’m fine,” he yawned.

“Well you woke me up,” you mumbled, throwing your head back against a pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was having a shitty dream anyway.”

“Really? I was too,” Steve refused to look at you, staring blankly at the wall.

“So tell me about it,” you hummed.

“It’s just… I keep thinking about how I missed out on so many things from the past. I could’ve been happy, living out my days in a semi-peaceful and familiar world. Not anything like this.”

You sat up as you listened, pushing aside a pillow from the border you’d constructed to move closer to Steve and set a reassuring hand on his back.

“I guess I just wish that I was there. With everyone and everything I used to know.”

“But it’s not all bad, right?” you offered, and Steve shrugged before looking down. 

 “I’m sorry. I really am. I know that I’ll never truly understand that, but there’s nothing any of us can do about it now. You’re here now, and you have no other choice but to make the best of it. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but if you spend all of your time in the present lamenting about what things could’ve been in the past, you’re just gonna be miserable forever,” you rambled sleepily, words slurring occasionally. 

“Your experience is so unique, so I could be getting this all wrong, but there are plenty of good things here in the now. I mean, a world without the internet? I don’t know if that’s a world worth living in,” you chuckled softly, and were joined in your quiet laughter by the man on the other side of your bed.

“Seriously, though. I know you can’t control your dreams, but maybe your subconscious is letting you know that it’s okay to let go. Of like, the past. It might just be time for you to move on and be happy. I’m sure that Peggy and everyone else from your past would’ve wanted that for you too.” In the dark, you saw the silhouette of Steve’s head nodding. 

“You always know what to say, huh?” he asked, kicking his legs back over onto the bed while you scooted back over into your previous space. 

“I’m like half asleep right now, Steve. If you asked me to repeat half of what I just said, I would not know what to say,” you giggled. 

“You wanna talk about your dream?” Steve asked in a concerned tone. 

“Mmm, I actually just wanna go to sleep. As crazy as that may sound,” 

“Is there anything that I can do to help you not have another bad one?”

“Hmmm,” you pondered, becoming a bit more lethargic by the moment. “Spoon me?”

“As you wish,” Steve happily obliged, grabbing one of the pillows from the middle of the bed and adding it to his stash of pillows. 

You threw a pillow from the border between your knees, and received a strange look from Steve. “What? I heard it’s good for your back.” He still didn’t seem convinced. “Stop being so judgy and cuddle me already,” you murmured, turning your body so that you could lay on your side.

Steve scooted closer to you, and you pressed your back to the front of his chest. He tossed an arm over you and somehow managed to pull you even closer to him. You swore you hadn’t been this comfortable since you left the womb, and you nearly purred in response. 

“Can I make a request?” he asked.

You simply nodded.

“Can we just… talk until we fall back asleep?” 

“That’s really cute,” you mumbled into your pillow. 

“You just have a relaxing voice!” he defended playfully.

“You are such a dork,” you giggled. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Just tell me about… I dunno, anything.”

“That was so helpful, Steven.”

“My bad. Tell me about your favorite… mission?”

“Mm, probably that one time you and I had to go undercover for like a month to bust that arms dealer.”

“Which one?”

“Some dude in the Midwest. Can’t remember his name.”

“Oh yeah, yeah I know who you’re talking about.”

“It was fun being your life partner for a month. We were really good at being domestic.”

“Hmm, now that I think about it, we really were. Do you remember that cookout?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed at the memory. “Everyone else was getting so drunk, but you just… couldn’t. They were like Joseph, you’re such a beast, and shit. And who would’ve guessed that you, the old timer would be such a beast on the grill.”

“Well, who would’ve guessed that you were so good at cornhole?”

“Was I really that good? Or were you just really bad? Like really bad, especially for someone whose skill set revolves around having good aim,” you teased.

Steve scoffed and laughed, shaking his head at you. 

“How didn’t those people recognize us? I just don’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised how much a beard and dyed hair can change your look.”

“I guess,” you sighed softly, and set a hand on top of Steve’s. “Does this feel counterproductive to you? We’re just sitting here giggling. We’re probably getting less tired.”

“I guess I am less tired. But I’m also not thinking about the impending robot apocalypse.”

“Well now that you brought it up, I’m thinking about the impending robot apocalypse. You better fix this, Rogers.” Emboldened by what must’ve been the butterflies in your stomach falling asleep, you began to roll a bit in his arms so you were facing each other, kicking away the pillow between your legs in the process. 

“How can I make it up to you?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“You’re the man with a plan, right? Think of something,” your lip quirked slightly in a smirk.

Steve leaned in just the smallest amount, before a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head. “I got it. We can do one of those one word stories until we fall asleep.”

Well, that’s not exactly how you thought this moment was going to go. 

“Okay, I’ll start then,” you nodded, pressing your head down against a soft pillow, and looking up at Steve, “once.”

“There,” Steve added.

“Was.”

“A.”

“Death-bot,” you giggled. 

“Okay, Y/N. No. No more stories. We can just listen to each other breathe now until we fall asleep like before since you wanna ruin the mood.”

“What mood? And you listened to me breathe?”

“What else was I gonna listen to?” he furrowed his brows, “it’s too late for this anyway. We can talk in the morning.”

“All you had to do was tell me that it’s way past your bedtime, and I would be understanding. But goodnight anyway, Stevie,” you cracked him one last smile, not budging from your position as you closed your eyes. 

It was silent for a few minutes before Steve whispered up out of the blue, “you still awake?”

You slurred something into the pillow, much more asleep than awake. 

“Well, I really like you a lot. Maybe one day I’ll get the guts to tell you that when you’re not completely out of it.”

You grunted as a response, and Steve couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face, not while he was falling asleep, and certainly not during his rather pleasant dreams.

——

You just couldn’t seem to catch a break with your wake up calls. While you and Steve seemed to sleep through the rapping against the door, and the door itself opening, you both seemed to become aware after the artificial shutter of an iPhone camera flooded through your ears.

“You guys just looked so cute, I wanted to archive this moment for the rest of time. And I’m sure the team will be glad to see that you got along well last night,” Nat teased as your eyes widened and you shot up. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, by the way.”

Well, you two were going to have a great time explaining this one. 

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #avengers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #chris evans x reader #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Sovereign Talks (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil Genre: Bit of angst sandwiched between two pieces of fluff Rating: T for language Notes: Another partially/selectively mute reader story! Again, this is somewhat self indulgent, essentially being a self-insert story with edits to make it better for a wider audience. PS Daniela says some stuff that's kinda insulting, though it's out of misunderstanding rather than poor intentions, and she tries to make up for it. Also, some of the descriptions of the reader's muteness might not make sense to everyone, as I'm essentially describing how it feels for me, personally. Summary: Daniela's favorite servant is sweet, charming, eager to please, all the things she wants from a romantic partner. But there's one detail she's never quite understood. An argument, a discussion, an inevitability.

Try as you might, it was nigh impossible to please your employer. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong, and Daniela Dimitrescu was more than pleased to point it out to you. At least her intentions weren’t severe. It didn’t really bother her if you missed a spot while dusting, or if you accidentally stumbled upon a ‘private’ conversation. What mattered to her, at the end of the day, was having material to tease you with, or ‘bargain’ with. She’d approach you slowly, musing out loud about your chores. Then she’d point out a flaw, smirking ever so slightly, before placing a finger beneath your chin. You’d make awkward eye contact, desperate to get out of the situation.

And then she’d tell you exactly what she wanted from you.

Most days it was simple enough. Or at least it had been at the start, when she first sought you out. ‘Carry these books for me’, she’d say, beckoning you to follow her. ‘Make a copy of this poem so I can return the book to Duke’, she’d command. Every single time you were powerless to refuse. Hell, you couldn’t even say anything if you wanted to. So you did as she asked. In time, you came to realize the truth behind her actions, the center of her motivations: She wanted to spend time with you.

You had been baffled, at first, to connect the dots in such a way. But Daniela made no attempt to hide her feelings, letting her touches linger on your skin, smiling without any cruelty when you were near. Once, she had even covered for you after you broke a vase. When you had tried to protest, hands waving, mouth refusing to speak, she had shrugged you off with a simple ‘you are worth the price’. Ever since then, the two of you had been rather close. Sure, she had never officially asked you on a date, but she had held your hand while the two of you read. And she had held you, swaying back and forth, as music played in a distant room. Then there were the times she caught you in the corridor, pressing you against the wall for a quick kiss… or a long one, that is. Certainly that meant something? Otherwise you’d look quite silly, blushing as hard as you tended to.

Eventually your concerns subsided considerably. It took a long, difficult conversation, however, and an argument you’d never forget…

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

“Have you read Crier’s War yet?” Daniela asked, looking at you over her own book. The two of you were in her personal study, near the library, lounging in peaceful quiet. Well, it had been quiet. At her question you glance up, ensuring you made eye contact before shaking your head no. “I think you’d like it. Impossible love between two people from vastly different cultures, who start out opposed… sounds familiar, hmm?” This time you nod, laughing a little under your breath. Then you’re returning to your novel, oblivious to the way your partner is watching you, her eyes narrowed. When she catches your attention once more, it’s with a question you had hoped she would never ask. “Why don’t you talk?”

Trying to hide your discomfort, you practically bury your nose in your book, refusing to look up at Daniela. In response she grabs your notepad, slowly sliding it closer to you. For every second of silence she moves it another centimeter. With a slight groan you give in, snatching it from her hands, but sending her a glare as you do. Quickly you grab your pen and scrawl her a note. Not an answer, rather a question of your own.

“Why does it matter?” Clearly that wasn’t what she was looking for, as she leans back and gives a groan of her own.

“Seriously? I’m just curious. You can laugh, groan, make other, nice little noises… I just want to know how you work,” Daniela explained, frowning all the while. Admittedly, you understand where she’s coming from. But that didn’t mean that you were terribly comfortable with this conversation. In fact, it’s a subject you’ve been dreading ever since the two of you started ‘dating’. How exactly were you supposed to explain your condition? Especially without being able to talk directly through it?

“It’s complicated,” you write, angling the paper so Daniela can read it from her side of the table. But she only spares it a quick glance, before staring hard at you again. “Fine, babe. My mouth feels like static. My tongue is heavy, and trying to talk is like walking when both your legs are asleep. There’s never not a lump in my throat.” Now she’s reading attentively, frown vanishing, replaced by a confused expression. Shifting awkwardly, you internally pray that she doesn’t have any follow up questions. Alas, there are no gods on your side this day.

“Did something happen? Or were you… born like this?” Daniela asked, watching you closely. Frustrated, you give her a pleading look, hoping that she’d get the message and back off. Instead she doubles down. “We could arrange for a doctor to come out here, if that’s what you need. All you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. It’s a multifaceted issue, and-” you have to turn the page to continue writing at this point- “a very personal one. But if you must know, it has to do with my anxiety.” There’s a pause, and for a few seconds you think the conversation is over. The relief that floods your chest only lasts a single moment. Then you’re face to face with Daniela, who’s leaning across the table, eyeing you with an expression you can’t make sense of. Now your heart is racing, leaving you trembling.

“So… it’s not a matter of whether or not you can talk at all? It’s a choice?” Daniela questioned, sounding aggravated. Instantly you’re shaking your head, scowling at her interpretation of your words. “What, you’re saying you can’t even relax enough to talk around me? Your fucking girlfriend?” This was exactly the sort of thing you had been worried about. How could you expect Daniela to understand the way your mind locked your jaw in place? How could she ever realize how terrifying the whole castle was?

“Calm down and let me elaborate, please,” you write, as fast as you can. But Daniela yanks your notebook away from you, tossing it to the side. All you can do is stare at her in shock. This was more than just a misunderstanding, this was her actively sabotaging your only reliable method of communication.

“You want me to calm down? Can’t you see why I’m upset? I just found out my partner isn’t comfortable around me. We could have been talking all this goddamn time! Why haven’t you told me this before? Why haven’t we worked on this?” Daniela was practically yelling now, and both of you had risen to your feet. You’ve backed away a meter or so, only for her to close the space between you, one hand cupping your cheek. No matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to look her in her eyes. “C’mon, please,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Tears are starting to cloud your vision. “Say something. Anything.”

Wordlessly, you pull yourself from her grasp, too overwhelmed to do anything other than let your feet carry you out of the room. Half to your relief, half to your misery, Daniela doesn’t lift a finger to stop you.

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

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since you ‘talked’ to Daniela. Ever since, she had been avoiding you, and you her. Hell, for three days you struggled more than usual to communicate with anyone because you hadn’t dared to go back for your notebook. In the end someone had found you a new one. It didn’t quite feel the same though, considering your normal one had been a gift… a gift from the very person who had taken it away from you. For two weeks it had felt like every single thing was another reminder of your loneliness. You wanted desperately to fix your situation, but had no clue where to even begin. Until an irritated Cassandra hatched a devious plan, that is.

You weren’t privy to the specific details of her scheme, and could only guess as to her motivations (presumably being annoyed by Daniela’s sulking). All you really knew was that one moment you were following the middle child, supposedly to assist her with organizing something, and the next you were being shoved in an unfamiliar room. Inside, Bela was trying to stall Daniela, making up a ridiculous excuse for her to be there. As soon as you entered, the eldest daughter made a beeline (flyline?) towards the exit. Before either you or your girlfriend could process what was happening, the door had been shut and locked, trapping the two of you within.

“What the fuck?” Daniela asked, temporarily ignoring you in favor of pounding on the door. It didn’t budge, unsurprisingly, but someone outside did yell in response. Not that you could make out what the muffled voice was saying. “Ugh, I swear I am going to kill them for this.” Unable to get out, she finally turns to look at you. In an instant the anger drains from her face, replaced with a bittersweet smile. There’s enough tension in the room to weigh the corners of your lips down. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you can’t quite look Daniela in the eyes. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, if they’re going to be assholes, we might as well make the most of it, right?” She asked, voice a million times softer than you would have expected, considering your previous conversation. With that she moves to sit down, gesturing for you to join her.

“Mmm?” You ‘say’, really just making a confused humming sound. For once, you do want to talk. More than any other time you’ve wanted to. But your tongue was caught in the bear trap your teeth represented, preventing almost any sound from escaping. Still, this is a side of Daniela that you do not often see, with how prideful she tended to be. All it takes to get you to move is for her to pat the spot next to her. Then you’re shifting, blushing hard as you lower yourself onto the couch. Not quite ready to meet her gaze, you stare at your thumbs, twiddling them like an anxious child.

“Bela seems to think that I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you,” Daniela mused, more to herself than to you. One of her hands slides towards you, however, eagerly intertwining her fingers with your own. After two whole weeks of isolation… it’s an amazing feeling. “I said something stupid. It’s been driving me mad, and I have no clue what to do about it. Fuck-” she flinches as she speaks, eyes clamping shut- “I just want to fix this. I want you to feel good around me. I want you to feel the same way I do. More than anything, I want to be your safe haven.”

Your eyes meet, finally, as warmth floods your chest. Words fail you, as they are wont to do, so you leave them behind. Instead you reach for your stars- the body of your girlfriend, pulling yourself into her arms. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, you are smiling softly, overwhelmed by the embrace. Soon enough you can feel Daniela rubbing soft circles into your back with her fingers. She presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head, enjoying the hug too much to pull back even the slightest bit.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything to make you more comfortable?” She asked, for a moment not even realizing the difficulty you would have with responding. Finally connecting the dots, she changes the position of her arms, ensuring that you could stay in her lap while still being able to gesture with your hands. Instead of replying, your first concern is to gently cup your girlfriend’s cheek. Then you place a kiss on her forehead. “You’re my everything, you know that, right?” Daniela whispered, sounding almost in awe. Suddenly you’re possessed by a rush of courage, clearly bolstered by her affection, and you move without thinking. You lean back in for another kiss, hand moving to the back of her head for stability.

Both of you are smiling now, even as your kiss gets more intense, the two of you pressing against each other as best as you can. One of Daniela’s hands runs itself through your hair, before taking it in a loose grip. All you can think about is how right this feels. Your heart is racing, especially as your girlfriend switches to an open mouth kiss, letting her tongue slide across your lips. It catches you off guard, and you need to pull back to catch the breath she had so eagerly stolen. Even then you swear you can feel her pulse pounding just as hard as yours is.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” Daniela murmured, embarrassed, worried that you had stopped for a very different reason. In response you shake your head a little, then practically smother her face in tiny kisses. She’s giggling at that, grinning, all of her anxiety fading away. Most of yours does too. Everything feels perfect. So much so, in fact, that you feel something you haven’t felt in almost an entire year: The loosening of your jaw muscles. Clarity unstiffens your tongue, making age-old static clear up. Can I…? You wonder, wanting so desperately to use this opportunity as best as you can. After all, who knew when you’d ever be this comfortable within the castle again. Hell, the thought alone makes you more nervous, and you struggle to think of something, anything, to say.

“L-l… Love,” you stuttered, barely getting the syllable out, mouth feeling incredibly dry, mind racing, hating how it sounds because holy shit you haven’t talked in a year and was Daniela going to hate your voice and forget all about what you were saying and ruin the moment or worse was she going to hate you or thoughts thoughts pounding in your head like a hurricane, because because because-......................... Anxiety, above all else, was an asshole. One that had prevented you from hundreds of conversations, and limited a thousand more. Now, moments after finally speaking, your mind is on the brink of a tear-worthy breakdown. But you’ve said your piece, and by God has it been received.

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!” Daniela cried, equally overwhelmed, for a far different reason. She’s holding you as close as she can, burying her face in your neck. Likewise you rest yourself against her, letting your eyes drift shut, happy beyond description. There were still things you had to talk about, yes, and you would once more have to rely on your trusty notebook. Daniela had a lot to learn, to understand, but this was a start. More than that, it was the first step after the mending of a broken bone. Everything to come would be far, far easier, a labor of love done fearlessly.

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

“Should we open the door now? Or at least unlock it?... How long does it take two idiots to stop being mad at each other?” Cassandra asked, leaning against the hallway wall. Meanwhile Bela had her ear to the door, straining to hear what was going on within. Sure, she had gone along with her younger sister’s plan, but she hadn’t been entirely convinced that it wouldn’t end in disaster. Then again, so far so good. No yelling, no (loud) crying, just some quiet words from Daniela. Maybe they’re working things out, Bela thought, starting to smile. And then she heard something she’d never forget…

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!”

“We are not opening that door,” Bela replied, suddenly, her ears burning red. She didn’t know how things had gone from so quiet to so potentially dirty in such a short amount of time, and she did not care. Without even a hint of an explanation, she turned to leave, desperate to get certain mental images out of her head...

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #yes the ending is a bit of a joke #ps i know it might not be everyone's cup of tea #especially since the reader does end up saying something #i went back and forth on that part for awhile #but again this is really self indulgent #and personally it worked better for me?? #like i can occasionally force myself to say something even when my mouth isn't cooperating #and if anyone can make me do that it's someone i love #like my best friend who i kind of also loved romantically at one point #this is a literal example #anyway enjoy

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Little One (M)

Jung Hoseok Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: You find yourself in a position where you must choose between certainly addicting or below-average satisfaction for the rest of your life.

•••> Pairing(s): Hoseok/Reader

•••> Requested by Anon: “Hey I was wondering if you could possibly do a Hoseok smut oneshot and like hes a super dom? Love you 💜”

•••> Word Count: 6.41k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Tags: smut | ceo!au(?) | office!au | Hoseok!AU | Strangers to Lovers | Dominant!Hoseok | Submissive!Reader | 

•••> Warnings: smut, slight impreg!kink, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, mention(s) of masturbation, slight choking/strangulation, spanking, dirty talk, slight mention(s) of BDSM, dom/little one relationship, hobi is filthy, but he’s also respectful, cursing, pining, mild stalking?, alcohol use

Copyright © 2020 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for the request, anon! Sorry, it took me like a week to get it done, but here it is! I hope you enjoy :) I didn’t go back and edit it so please excuse any mistakes.

~#~

The light from the chandeliers of the ballroom dimmed as the night came undeniably closer to its end.

The event was organized by your company- a Friday evening to relax and celebrate the closing of another fiscal year. The flurries of snow that dusted the sidewalks outside the venue served as a reminder that the year, in itself, was coming to an end too.

Smooth, Christmas-themed jazz music acted as a factor in your sleepy demeanor, relaxing you into a comfortable glow of warmth despite failing your mission.

You were here strictly on business; there was no time to mess around and slack off. A handful of flutes of champagne and a double pour of whiskey- which you hardly ever drank- were enough to relax you and make you confident in the success of your duty to find a proper suitor to make you cum tonight.

In the past, you had tried flings with acquaintances and a few friends, but they had turned out to be absolutely disdainful in the fact that, despite them, you had only cum twice at the hands of another in the last year and a half. Instead, you wanted to give a one night stand a try- purely for research purposes, of course. Who knew? Maybe you were into the riskiness and detachment of it all.

As the hours passed, however, you found yourself slowly resorting to the quiet and dark corners of the room, sipping on another flute of champagne in hopeless surrender with your warm buzz fading pathetically.

Unbeknownst to you, a set of dark eyes had been tracking you for a good portion of the evening. On the prowl for its prey, the owner of those eyes weighed the options sat before him, but he needed to make sure you were alone before he could risk indulging too far.

There was no ring on your finger; no one bringing you a drink; no one you interacted with longer than a short greeting and the occasional hug.

It didn’t take him very long to realize that you were incredibly and unbelievably by your lonesome.

He couldn’t help the smirk from pulling up the corner of his lips while his friends spoke loudly around him. From his seat at the table, he had a perfect view of where you stood in the shadows, however, staring too hard could prove to be the downfall of his plan as he did not want to get caught. Instead, the glass of scotch in his hand held his gaze while he rolled the sphere of ice around it in thought. He would have to be patient.

He recognized the look of defeat when he saw one. He read the way your flawless lips had slowly formed a permanent scowl of self-pity as the minutes turned into hours.

What a pitiful look on such a gorgeous little thing. He mused in thought.

By the time your phone read 12:45 am, you accepted defeat in its ugliest form. Shoulders no longer held back with your chest out and back no longer purposely arched to attract anyone, you allowed yourself to slouch.

Fuck it. You thought. Guess it’s just another date night with my magic wand.

Sourly, you left the large room to retrieve your dress coat from the coat check counter, pulling out your phone to order your Uber once you gave the desk man your ticket.

In your hunt for a ride and the slight tipsiness of alcohol still in your system, you failed to notice the presence of someone behind you.

“Excuse me, Miss.“ You jumped, knees slightly buckling in the process, and turned to find a slightly familiar man dressed in a finely-tailored Armani suit standing behind you.

“Jesus.” You mumbled before speaking up. “You scared me.”

“I apologize for the intrusion.” He laughed, sending an unexpected rush of flutters through your chest and straight to your lower belly. “I just couldn’t help myself in worrying if you were going to get home safe.”

You studied him for a moment, trying to remember who he was. His undercut, despite being a more unpopular haircut around the office, exhumed modern professionalism. A few of his black hairs that were gelled back had fallen over his forehead after several hours of holding its form throughout the night. Milky brown eyes and a narrow nose sat upon his lightly tanned but beautifully contoured face with a dark pink set of lips to grace his regal-like look.

You couldn’t help the sense of familiarity as you gazed at him. Instead of addressing his statement, you blurted out your thoughts, curiosity getting the best of you.

“I’m sorry, but… do I know you? You look so familiar to me.” He was about to respond when the desk man came back to the front with your coat in hand. Before you could reach out to grab it from him, your mystery man was taking it from his grasp.

“I’m Jung Hoseok.” He smiled, holding your coat out for you to place your arm in. So he’s a Jung, huh? Maybe he’s related to the chairman. Would be a nice snag for the night.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hoseok. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You held your hand out to shake his once you successfully slid both arms into the coat. With a smoothness uncanny to any man’s hands you’ve ever felt, he took your fingers in his grasp and leaned down to touch his lips to your knuckles.

“Believe me, Ms. Y/N.” His eyes lifted to meet yours as the warm surface of his lips met your skin followed by the warm teasing exhale of his breath. You suppressed a whimper from growing in your throat. “The pleasure is all mine.”

He stood straight abruptly, shocking you out of your stupor. “So is Uber your way of getting home tonight?”

“Ah, yes. I’ve had a few drinks and I was planning on it, so I didn’t drive here.” You replied to him, hoping he would fall for the action and jump in. He nodded his head in understanding whilst you falsely resumed the task of securing a ride from a few moments ago. Please ask to take me home. Please don’t be nonchalant.

“Are you returning home alone?” Hook, line and sinker.

“Yes, I am. I do have a cat to welcome me though, so no need to worry.” You joked, hoping to push him along and give him the hint that you were very single and very available at the moment.

Deciding that your conversation should be taken outside and away from the prying eyes of your associates, you made your way out the door and into the crisp night as you spoke. The small flurries of snow began lightly pelleting your face, catching on your eyelashes. Hoseok followed close behind you, intent on listening to what you had to say.

You came to a stop on the sidewalk and faced him, shivering slightly.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your homecoming with your cat. I’m sure he misses you dearly.” He smiled smugly, his breath forming visibly in front of him. Wow. So he’s an intellectual. He knows the game.

Fine. I’ll play.

“The homecoming won’t be too glorious. He doesn’t even greet me at the door.” You faked a pout.

Hoseok took a step closer, eliminating some of the distance between the two of you and effectively removing acquaintanceship from the air between you as he spoke. His previous polite behavior wavered slightly, transitioning your small talk “Oh? Is that so? Why?”

“I’m pretty sure he hates me even though I feed him and give him a roof over his head every day.” You chuckled with an air of breathlessness. “He’s a brat.”

“And are you?” He took another step and circled his arm around you to place his hand on your lower back, chest lightly brushing against yours. He was radiating an incredible amount of heat through the layers of his suit. You almost missed the random question with the way your vaginal floor tightened in anticipation.

“A-am I what?” You stuttered, looking up into his eyes and quickly crumbling. You hoped that he would catch you past the heady sensation of lust that crowded your veins.

“A brat.” He graveled, lifting his hand to pinch your chin between his thumb and index finger. You gasped and couldn’t help bringing your lower lip between your teeth as you were rendered silent, biting down in an attempt to use the pain as a distraction from the pooling of desire in your belly and panties. Good god, he just went right in.

Hoseok’s thumb brushed over your trapped lip, dragging it out and pinning it below his nail before he leaned in. His lips, inches from yours, held your attention and his eyes, locked on your own lips, grew dark with arousal. You thought he was going to kiss you but, instead, he only tutted and answered his own question for you. “So you are.”

The taste of his breath on your tongue was sinful with the tangible scent of his scotch overpowering the aftertaste of your whiskey and champagne. His cologne surrounded you, turning your body into a live wire as your olfactory senses were ambushed with his masculine musk.

“I’m going to need an actual answer when I ask you this, little one.” He whispered, lips mere millimeters from brushing yours. All you could do was gulp and nod in suspense of his question- but he wasn’t having it. He squeezed your chin sternly. “Verbalize.”

“O-okay.” You croaked through the lump in your throat. Hoseok smiled and released your chin from his grip, sliding his hand to your cheek to caress it instead.

“Good enough… for now.” He drew his own lip between his teeth as he slightly pulled away to scan your body in his grasp. His eyes locked on yours again, the closeness of his face scrambling your thoughts completely.

“May I be the one to take you home tonight, Ms. Y/N?” He asked genuinely.

With almost no hesitation, your desperation rose to the surface once more. “Yes. Yes, you may.”

It took mere seconds for Hoseok to back away and wave his hand in the air before a black SUV pulled up in front of the two of you. Grabbing onto your hand, he tugged you towards the vehicle.

“Mine or yours?” You asked as he opened the door for you to slide yourself across the leather seats to settle towards the far window. Following suit and settling behind the passenger seat, he spoke.

“Hm… Are you alright with coming to mine?” He asked, crowding himself on you as he shut the door behind him. His closeness was suffocating- in a good way. The way you felt the heat from his face on yours reminded you of just how close the two of you were about to get.

“I’m alright with anything, Hoseok.” You breathed, eyelashes fluttering in pure bliss. Your panties were clinging to your heat uncomfortably, begging to be removed.

“Be careful of what you say, darling. I might get a little excited.” He laughed lowly. Turning to his driver, he quickly ordered him to take him home. For a brief moment, you wondered what his place looked like and where it was.

Hoseok’s beauty was uncanny; even in the dark, you marveled at his features as the shadows of the street lights passed over them. His hands were constantly attached to you yet no kiss had been shared, causing your nerves to run rampant with tension and excitement.

After a short fifteen-minute ride, the vehicle pulled up in front of large gates and you gazed in wonder at the house that stood behind them. Situated up a small hill past a large courtyard with a giant fountain in the middle was a mansion. The mansion, from what you could see in the night, was dark brown in color due to the bricks it was built by. The fountain lit the front of it in a soft multicolored glow as it transitioned between colors.

“Wow.” You breathed, eyes locked on it as the gate opened and you were dropped off at the front steps into the cold of the night.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” He asked from behind you, his body heat immediately returning to your cold form.

“Absolutely.” You turned to him as you whispered, noticing the snowflakes gathering in his hair. Even as your bones chattered from how little your dress and coat properly covered your body, you still felt the heat of want flooding your veins and warming your blood deliciously. Looking into his eyes felt like the call of the wild, the sun, and anything and everything that could cause the bout of excitement and pure joy in your heart.

You just hoped he was able to make you cum tonight. At this point, with his beauty and smooth game, getting you to cum was just a plus.

“Y/N.” He muttered, taking a step to you while pushing you against the large front door to his manor.

“Yes?” You answered nervously, heart racing in your chest. Could he hear it?

“May I open my door?” He chuckled. You quickly looked behind you and realized that you were blocking the slot for his key, quickly moving to the side and rushing an apology with a blush on your cheeks. Looking at the ground, you waited until he opened the door behind you to look back up.

He was pulling you by the waist into his foyer before you could fully look at him again. “C’mere.”

Shutting the door behind you, he pressed you against the wall and pressed a kiss to your lips unexpectedly. Finally. Oh, good god he tastes so good.

His lips moved tentatively at first, smoothly molding yours to his will and pressing against your body with his. Hoseok placed his hands on your hips, sliding them delicately up your sides to your shoulders and under your coat, sliding it off with ease. He was pulling away before you could fully kiss him back, your lips chasing after his in dislike of the loss of contact.

“I’m sorry,” He heaved. “I couldn’t control myself for a moment.”

“No, Hoseok,” You whispered, sliding your hand to the back of his neck and bringing his face back to yours. “It’s okay. I want you to.” He pulled you tightly to his body with a hissed breath between his teeth.

“What? What do you want me to do, Y/N?” He picked you up by the backs of your thighs and you squealed in surprise. Automatically, you locked your ankles around him, cocktail dress making it easy to spread your legs. Hoseok continued to speak before you could reply, carrying you up the stairs as you stared intently at him. “Do you want me to nail your pussy into the bed? Do you want me to rail you until you lose your voice? Do you want me to spank you until you get welts? What? What do you want me to do?”

Wow.

Again, he made you speechless. The way his change of pace had victoriously shut you the fuck up for the second time was shocking. 

Hoseok shoving you against the wall next to a door and grinding his hips into your own pulled you from the silence-rendering shock.

“Fucking speak, Y/N. What do you want?” He said sharply.

“I want it all- all of it. Please.” You were quick to reply as his domineering tone sunk into the pores of your skin whilst you whimpered from the friction. He only smiled and took one hand out from under your leg to open the door.

“As you wish, little one.” He smirked. Swiftly, he brought you into the dark room. How he found his way to the bed, you were unsure, for even a person living in a room for years has a difficult time finding their way under such circumstances- and he was carrying you. Regardless of your wonder, you still felt the cool sheets of his bed below you as he threw you onto it with a grunt.

You laid there in the dark, confusion following when he did not follow you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, eyes attempting to adjust themselves. Hoseok chuckled, the sound ensuring you that he did not move from his spot in front of you.

“I must undress first before I can fuck you.” He laughed lowly. You blushed again, realizing that the removal of clothes was definitely a necessity. You moved to strip off your dress when he abruptly stopped you. “No. Don’t. I will undress you.”

You laid back in wait, listening to the ruffling of his clothes as you heard the articles hit the ground one by one. The sound of his belt unbuckling reawakened the jitters in your limbs, excitement reappearing in the form of more of your juices in your panties.

A deep ache sat itself on your clit, pulsing away with your heartbeat in an almost painful sensation. Trembling, you reached a hand down to relieve some of the pressure that built up over the past hour, emitting a quiet sigh from your lips once you lightly cupped your heat.

Briefly, you felt the mattress dip in front of you before his body covered yours. Tearing your hand away from your pulsing heat quickly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to allow him to slot himself onto your body. The warm, smooth skin of his arms underneath yours felt heavenly yet extremely intimate.

“What do you think you’re doing, little one?” He muttered onto the exposed skin of your neck, grinding himself into you and eliciting a mewl from your throat. He cracked a hand down on the side of your thigh, the hot lick of pain doing wonders to your clenched core.

“I’m sorry,” You whined as he slowly rocked against you again. “It was just hurting so bad.”

“Don’t touch yourself.” He said, pulling away to glide his hands over your calves and thighs. “That’s my job.”

In the darkness, you were beginning to make out Hoseok’s figure; a dark and foreboding form that covered your own- and he was moving downward.

“I was watching you all night.” He pressed his nose to the skin of your inner thigh, inhaling deeply. “And I just can’t find it in myself to believe that someone let you go to that thing alone.”

It was hard to think with Hoseok so close to where you needed him, but it didn’t stop the words from slipping past your lips. “Well, you obviously came alone too. How did someone let you go alone?”

Hoseok chuckled in response, tracing his nose up to your hamstrings before moving further, passing your hip bone to trail over your underwear.

“I have a very particular taste in women and you happen to be the one I was looking for.” You froze for a moment as you felt his teeth on your skin, goosebumps littering your skin again. “You smell so damn good.”

He passed his nose and mouth over your abdomen before you felt his mouth latch onto your panties and bring them down. Your heart rate picked up once more.

“Hoseok.” You breathed, watching his figure as he pulled your underwear to your knees before grabbing them with his hands and sliding them the rest of the way off.

“Y/N.” He whispered in response. “I’m going to ruin you.”

Hoseok slid his hands back up your legs, sliding under your dress and grabbing it to pull it off you.

Once your dress hit the floor, you expected him to go for your heals, but all he did was sit back and stare.

“Y/N, before we start, I must insist that you choose your safeword.” His large hand made itself present on your naked waist, gripping it lightly.

Shock filled your veins and caused a mild sense of panic within you. “S-safeword?” You stuttered. He was one of those people? Fuck. I’ve never done anything like that before.

“I assure you that I will not bring you harm and that we won’t do anything like that… yet.” You quivered under the word. “Things like that require a contract so that I have your explicit consent. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

“That’s…” You trailed off. “Actually amazing.”

“What, that there’s a contract?” He asked, scooping his arms under you to pick up your body and move you to the headboard.

“No, that you’re actually asking.” You replied, staring at the contours of his body that was now punctuated by the small amount of moonlight streaming in through his window.

“I can promise you that I never do anything like that without asking.” His voice, volume a mere breath, feathered deliciously over the skin of your chest as he looked down at you. “It’s why I am asking you to tell me what you want me to do. I don’t want to become a danger to you.”

You raised your handle to cradle his cheek, wondering how in the world someone who looked like this could be a danger to you, however, you knew that there were much more dangerous games to play than the one you had played with him earlier.

Hoseok leaned into your touch as you spoke with a newfound sense of confidence in his words, an unfamiliar sense of reassurance filling you. “My safeword will be consent, then. And Hoseok? Ask me what I want and I will answer you.”

“Y/N.” He hovered over you to ghost his lips over yours. “What do you want me to do?”

You moved your hand from his cheek to tangle in his hair. “I want you to touch me.”

“Thank god.” Hoseok delivered a soft smack straight to your heat as he smothered you with his lips, the quick contact forcing a whimper to burst from you into his mouth. He was quick to smooth it with a caress of his fingers straight to your clit, shock subsiding into pleasure.

At this point, you’re drenched. Constantly flexing your walls around nothing had created an accumulation of your wetness between the lips of your pussy. Hoseok groaned when he began spreading it around your bundle of nerves.

“May I eat you out? Please?” He pulled his lips from yours and pressed his thumb to you, softly rubbing circles. Your thighs spasmed every so often.

“Yes, Hoseok, yes.” You wobbled. His lips and eyes, now visible, pulled into a grin as he lowered himself down your body.

Without warning, he pressed his face into you, tongue out and lips agape. Immediately, you brought your hands to his hair with a low, breathy groan building in your chest. He started with zero hesitation.

Hands holding you by your thighs, he licked once, then twice, and then shoved his tongue past your folds to slightly enter you. You couldn’t help the groan as it escaped you, tossing your head back and widening your legs for him. He removed one of his hands from your leg, realizing he didn’t need to do much to keep you pliant, and used it to spread your lips further apart.

Blissed out and not paying attention, you didn’t feel his eyes on you as he surveyed your body, growing dangerously hard as he watched you slowly rock yourself into him. Your breasts swayed just slightly with the movement and his hungry eyes struggled to capture your entire body all at once. Experimentally, he slid a finger into your heat, loving how one of your hands that was tangled in his hair yanked back to tangle into your own.

He dropped his tongue back to your clit as he watched your body, a beautiful instrument that he was playing to produce the most beautiful sounds he ever heard.

You were in complete bliss. Hoseok laved his tongue over you in rhythm with his finger as he began pumping you. You couldn’t think straight anymore. The texture of his tongue was slightly rougher than the fragile skin of your folds, sending you into a quivering mess as you felt it attack you with fervor.

It wasn’t long before you were approaching your first orgasm that Hoseok added a second finger, the feel of the stretch paired with his tongue truly exquisite. You were losing your mind if your wails of pleasure were any sign of that.

The knot that began forming in your lower belly had begun to pull your legs closed as it was pulled tighter with each stroke of Hoseok’s tongue and fingers.

“Hoseok-“ You moaned past your labored breaths, gasping aloud. “I think I’m-“

“Then cum on my face, little one. Give it to me.” He moaned with you, pumping his fingers into you with the pads dipping against that specific spongy spot within you.

To say your orgasm was glorious was a heavy understatement. Your legs clapped against the sides of his head, trapping his face against you as he pulled his fingers out, tongue pushing past your folds into your pussy to welcome the juices that rushed out of your tremoring walls. His lips sloppily locked with you as if in a heated french kiss, driving you to a babbling mess whilst you let your climax riddle your body into a trembling heap. Breathless and high with ecstasy, you felt the strokes of his tongue lick you up and assist your spasms of sensitivity.

“Fuck.” You croaked, staring up at the ceiling which you then noticed was graced with a large chandelier, the crystals twinkling in the moonlit room like stars. Hoseok moved over you again, obstructing your view with his face that glistened with your release.

“Y/N,” He whispered, voice almost straining. “What else do you want me to do?”

You took a moment to look down, noticing his considerable, weeping erection mere inches from touching your skin with a pearly bead of cum at the tip glinting at you teasingly. Your mouth watered despite your post-orgasm stupor. He’s fucking huge.

Your response was almost automatic and robotic as you lifted your eyes back to his.

“I want you to fuck me. Now.”

Hoseok was quick to kiss you again, groaning with relief while he lowered his body to yours. The sheen of sweat that covered your skin caused his to slightly stick to yours. The weight of his cock on your stomach and the taste of yourself on his lips only made you press your shaking body up to his in anticipation, locking your ankles around his back.

“Y/N,” He muttered in between his kisses. “You may call me Hobi if you’d like. My full name is a little difficult to scream coherently.”

“Hobi?” You tested the name on your tongue, distracted, before smiling at him. “I like it.”

“Very good. Use it as much as you’d like.” He smirked, reaching for his cock to rub it into your pussy lips, spreading them slightly so that it massaged your clit and folds. The halted groan that Hoseok choked down proved that the feel of you on his dick affected him just as much as the feel of his dick affected you. “You’re wet as fuck.”

“Only for you.” You moaned, widening your legs to allow him more room. You held your breath as he gripped himself and positioned.

Slowly, Hoseok entered you. You were wet and prepared enough that the stretch of his girth was only mildly uncomfortable- not painful. The hiss drawn in between his clenched and bared teeth made you bristle with pride as you were able to make him feel good.

You watched the way your bodies slid together, inch by magnificent inch. The sight overpowered any previous exhaustion you felt from the first orgasm. You became completely hyperaware from the way he had seemed to reach the end of you, stuffing you full, with a bit more of him still unsheathed. Dammit. You want to fit him all.

“Shit.” He spluttered and hiccuped, causing you to realize that he was holding his breath. “You’re tight.”

Gathering your legs up into his arms, he began fucking you just as you wished.

He began his pace brutally, hips snapping into yours with abandon and stunning precision. Despite wanting to watch him, your eyes couldn’t focus, constantly fighting the urge to roll to the back of your head. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he leaned over and spread you wide.

“H-Hobi.” You sobbed. The sounds of your pussy slurping on Hoseok’s dick was ungodly, yet you couldn’t help but love the sound of him invading your depths with your body greedily taking him in.

You felt his cock deep within you as if he was pushing into your lungs with each surge of his body into yours. Could you breathe? You quickly determined that yes, you could breathe, because of the loud sounds that you made that were a mix of gasps and screams.

Sweat began dribbling down Hoseok’s forehead, gelled hair now damp and falling over his face into his eyes with a look of determined ecstasy plastered across his features. His eyes, accompanied by his drawn up eyebrows, focused in concentration on where your bodies met before scaling up the expanse of your bodies, locking on your breasts bouncing with the hammering force. Hoseok brought his hand down to rub circles into your clit so that he could watch you squirm even more.

Still sensitive from your first orgasm, the second came to you much quicker. With Hoseok grunting over you, his dick railing into your heat like a jackhammer, and the feel of just him, you were coming undone quickly. Grasping onto his neck with one hand and using the other to dig your nails into his back, you began caving in on yourself, unable to leave any muscle relaxed whilst your climax approached. Your legs tensed, heels digging into the globes of his ass to bring him on top of you.

“You really want my cum, don’t you?” He chuckled darkly, to which you only managed to nod and release a quick mhm. Hoseok’s growl in your ear only brought you closer. “I’m going to pump you full of my kids, little one. Just be patient.”

But being patient was impossible with the way he was in your guts and the fact that he had slowed his rhythm in exchange for more depth. Stroke after punishing stroke, you could feel his tip battering your cervix, the slight pain making for a dizzying sensation as it mixed with the onslaught of his thumb on your swollen nub. The concern that he could possibly get you pregnant was only an after thought as you were on the pill, but you had to admit that thinking about taking Hoseok’s seed straight into your womb was a sinfully pleasing idea.

He was much too deep; too far into the pits of your stomach for you to fathom how you had never been fucked this thoroughly before. You were going to fucking die. You were going to be killed if you didn’t stop it now. There was no way you wouldn’t come back begging for more if you didn’t stop now. He would own you because you would be obsessed- but he would want nothing to do with you come morning.

You desperately tried to escape him, legs digging into the mattress to push yourself away in order to gain some sense of mind, but you only crowded yourself further into the headboard with Hoseok following you, wrapped around you, on you, in you- everywhere. Hoseok delivered a solid smack straight to the underside of your ass, the ‘clap’ resonating through the room and mixing with the slurping sounds of your body eagerly pulling him in.

“Don’t you run from me, baby. Take it like a big girl.” He smiled devilishly whilst wrapping a hand around your neck, forcing your gaze to meet his. You sobbed loudly, clawing at his back in a fruitless attempt to detach him from your body. Hopelessly, you tried to press your hand to his stomach in an effort to push him away.

His grip tightened slightly on the sides of your neck, effectively leaving your airway unbothered yet the blood flow to your head stinted. “Move-” He thrust into you roughly, triggering a cry from your lips through the lightheaded feeling of being mildly strangled. “Your fucking hand.”

What was the damned safeword? Your thoughts were jumbled as you tried to remember it, yet you found yourself wondering why you were trying to remember when he wasn’t hurting you in the slightest. The ache in your cervix was an unholy and iniquitous sensation that you found yourself literally drooling out the side of your mouth for. You were fucking addicted to it.

“Hobi!” You cried, tears welling up in your eyes as you called for him. You couldn’t wait any longer. You were about to cum and nothing could stop it. “Hobi!”

“Cum on my dick, Y/N. That’s it. Swallow me up.” He muttered softly, aggression in his tone completely gone as he softened his hold on you in order to focus on ravishing your heat.

You brought him in one last time, body seizing and clawing for him as if you wanted to completely absorb him into yourself, before your orgasm exploded on you in the form of your juices rushing from your snatch around his girth. Mere moments after, before your orgasm was done climaxing, Hoseok came with a curse, pressing himself entirely inside you to spill his cum onto your abused cervix.

In the decrescendo of your orgasm, you found your mind and body unreservedly satisfied.

This man, Jung Hoseok, was a god- in the purest human form. Your entire world was shaken as he panted over you, sweat dripping down both of your bodies. It was no use trying to reason any other way that he had ruined you for any other man on the planet. You had gone through such a dry spell only to be welcomed back by him? You were going to be one spoiled brat if you ever hoped to bed another man again; you knew that, even as a one-night stand, there was no other like him.

With a sore, pulsing body and a slowly calming heart, you watched him as he removed himself from the bed. “Hold onto yourself for a second, will you?” He asked, bringing your hand down to stop his cum from leaking out of your depths. The touch of your fingers on your heat warranted a gasp of oversensitivity, causing him to smirk at you while he got up. He seemed to smile to himself as he mused, “Maybe next time.”

You watched him as he approached a set of doors in the dark, contemplating his words. Next time? My god, yes, please.

Reaching for a towel, you got a divine view of him from the back, perfectly muscular, and plump in the right areas. He looked as if he was sculpted by the Greeks themselves.

You tried to speak but your voice cracked into silence, making you clear your throat to try again. “There’s a next time?”

He turned around quickly with the dark towel in hand, stalking towards you. “If you desire one, that is.”

“Oh! I do very much…” You trailed off as you realized how fast you were to respond to his statement. You grew quiet in embarrassment. “… desire a… next time.” All Hoseok did was grin down at you, eyes flickering to your hold on your core. He was quick to help you clean his essence from your body while he chuckled.

“I guess I made a good impression on you?” He laughed lightly as you laid there, vulnerable and spread out before him in the glow of his aftercare.

“You could say that…” You blushed, turning to look out the window into the night, grateful that it was too dark for him to see the embarrassing flush.

“I hope I satisfied your needs, Y/N. Please tell me if I didn’t.” Hoseok turned serious, lightly placing his fingers on your arm in a feather-light caress so that you would look at him.

“No! No.” You were quick to jump in and assure him. “You were… amazing. The best I’ve ever had, in fact.”

“Really?” He asked whilst tossing the soiled towel to the floor. “And why do you say that?”

You shrunk under his gaze as he laid back in the bed with you, circling his arms around you to roll the two of you over to the side that wasn’t wet with your cum in the sheets. He wasn’t going to kick you out? No. Don’t jump to conclusions. He’s probably just trying to be nice. “Let’s just say that my past escapades were a little less than satisfactory.”

Hoseok sat with his elbow propping him up so that he could look down at you.

“Y/N,” His eyes turned concerned. “When was the last time you had a proper orgasm?”

Stupidly, you replied almost monotonously. “Uh… a few nights ago with my vibra-“

“No. No.” He chuckled, cutting you off. “I meant when was the last time someone else gave you a proper orgasm?”

“Oh, god.” You laughed. You raised your hands to cover your face. “Probably about… ten months ago? Give or take.”

“That explains the brattiness earlier.” He snickered. You only looked at him in confusion. 

He looked back at you, waiting for you to understand, but you were only drawing a blank. Hoseok looked down and grimaced in disdain, shaking his head slightly. With his free hand, he placed it on the side of your neck, thumb brushing your cheek delicately. “You haven’t been taken care of, little one. Would you like me to properly take care of you?”

Hoseok began to lightly trace patterns with his thumb while his eyes searched yours for an answer. Gulping, you nodded and breathed the word ‘yes.’ Are we about to go again?

“Good.” He said lowly, ghosting his lips over yours. Oh fuck, we’re going again. Your heartbeat skipped back into the race, accelerating in speed.

As quickly as he leaned into you, he pulled away and stood up. “We’ll start by getting something to eat because I’m hungry as fuck and I didn’t see you eat anything at the ball. What’re we feeling, McDonald’s?”

And good lord. If you weren’t addicted and stupidly in love then, you were now.

~#~

If you’d like to read more of my work, feel free to check out my Series Masterlist! If you’d like to read my first fic, check out the DHYB Masterlist!

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[everything-laito]

About the theory that maybe Laito doesn't like to be touched as much as he says he does.

This was submitted by @grs-wonder320! I did not edit anything in their response (or the title), I just added paragraph breaks so it's easier to read. I'll put my response below as well!

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I am not the one who asked this question, but I would like to take this opportunity to express my personal opinion on this question. As it turns out, I have a completely different opinion than Corn. That is to say, I believe that there is a good chance that Laito does not like to be touched.

Rationale: I believe that there is a psychology of "excessive pandering to those things that are disgusting or painful to you," and I think that this psychology makes us appear to be happy on the surface, even though we actually dislike them. There are many exceptions to this rule. You may be thinking, "No, no, there are many exceptions to this rule. It is true that this rule does not apply in all situations. It mainly works when he is playing a pervert. So, why does he dare to act perverted in the first place? Most of the time, it's because he wants to be smoked out by the people around him. Why do you want to be smoked? ↓ I don't want to attract them to myself. ↓ Even though he doesn't want to be around other people, he is very sociable (compared to the people around him, that is). So it's hard to imagine why he is annoyed by human relationships like Subaru. ↓ Then there is a good chance that they want to hide something or smoke you out because there is something they don't want you to know. ↓ There is often a pattern of people who want to hide the fact that they are actually perverts, so they pretend to be sane on the surface.

In other words, the Laito that is ostensibly acting as a pervert is _____? Yes, that's what I mean. (What do you mean?) It's almost impossible to play a pervert to hide a pervert, isn't it? Most of the time, people play a false image to hide the opposite nature. In Laito's case, considering what happened in the past, it can be seen as "I'm acting perverted because I want to hide the fact that I'm hurt, and I don't want to be aware that I'm hurt, so I'm acting perverted as a self-suggestion.

There are not many people who can be sincerely friendly to the events that hurt them. In the first place, being "hurt" proves that there was something disgusting about you, so we can conclude that Laito is likely to have an aversion to sexual things. I think this explains the psychology that exists in Laito. Back to the topic at hand, I think it's hard to believe that Laito likes to be touched.

In Corn's answer, he used the example of "Laito trying to get me to touch him", which I think can also be explained by the aforementioned psychology. I, too, have a desire to challenge things I dislike (although this is due to overcoming my weaknesses and seeing things that scare me, and is not the same as Laito's), so I think it is entirely possible for someone to "dare to do something they dislike. Also, there is a high possibility that Laito is not aware of his own aversion to sexual matters, and if that is the case, everything is "true" in his mind, so naturally he would not be aware that he is doing something he dislikes. It could be called an unconscious act of self-harm. In the real world, you can only be aware of it when someone points it out to you, or you break your body by going over the limit. I think Laito has that kind of thing too. (Especially Laito in MB). This concludes the explanation. Thank you very much for reading this far!

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First of all, I'm unsure what you mean by "smoking out," If you could provide clarification on that, that would be great! I think I know what you mean by it, I'm just a lil confused and hope I didn't misinterpret it!

I do agree with you on your psychology on the excessive pandering part! That's exactly what Laito does most of the time, it's what fuels his facade! As for touching, I do think that speculating it could go either way. I do think Laito is touch starved though. Sure people who are touch starved might not want to be touched. I have thought about it since I made that post and honestly, he might want to be touched just like he wants to have genuine love, but he's insecure about it almost.

However, if he was excessively pandering about being touched, he might have done that more often. The only time where he asks Yui to touch him throughout the entire HDB game is only in that supposed mutual masturbation scene, and his heaven scenario. He is known to have a masochistic streak regardless. The other times its Yui either pushing him or slapping him etc. (I'm planning on going over his masochism on a later date)

Laito excessively panders when he says absolutely wild shit that makes others uncomfortable, or gets Yui to be unnerved.

In my previous post, I did say that he could be playing it up! But the fact that he doesn't have Yui touch him until late game does say something. It shows that he's opening up and being more vulnerable. Sure this is HDB Laito and we don't really get much of his facade cracking in that game compared to MB+. Late game HDB Laito is able to let down his guard slightly, since he knows he has Yui wrapped around his finger. The thing is, his excessive pandering to him being a pervert is typically used for manipulation. Your psychology checks out in everything else about him, I do agree with that. But as for touching, that doesn't really "prove" to Yui that Laito's a pervert.

If Laito wanted to utilize touch as a facade of control, he would have done it earlier. Instead, he used other methods to give Yui a false sense of security at times, which he used to break her down further. Could he be doing it in order to show Yui he doesn't have a weakness? He could, but once again when it comes to topics or situations where he doesn't want to be involved with, he acts aloof and avoids it at all costs while changing the conversation. That's my rationale on that. The fact that he has such a different reaction being touched vs his other activities that could be considered as "excessive pandering" is a lil ~sus~ as they say. Or inversely, maybe Laito doen't address the fact that he likes being touched because he might consider genuine thrill as a weakness but maybe he gets desperate. He's desperate for legitimate compassion, the mans needs it.

As for challenging things you dislike, that also checks out in general. However, when it comes to Laito, he likes a sense of control and security. Instructing Yui to touch him gives that sense of control, but also lets him be slightly vulnerable. It's not even that vulnerable because if she does anything that could potentially harm Laito, he would be able to stop it in an instant.

He doesn't like challenging himself, and we all know this. His facade was created so he doesn't have to challenge himself to get over his past trauma. It's to avoid it and not challenge it instead.

I do think that Laito is incredibly self aware and self unaware at the same time. It's a little paradoxical but I feel like he knows he has a facade, but again, he tries to avoid the fact that he does have one and that his facade is true. We do know he's self aware through drama cds and what he says about himself in the games. They're vague, but once you know his character, you know what he's talking about. The fact that he projects onto Yui also says a lot about that.

Also, a little side note as well, in MB he does have consensual sex with Yui. Before that scene happened, he was being extremely vulnerable and a good chunk of his facade broke down. There's a certain tone when you know Laito's being serious and taking down his mask, and that's exactly what he did in that MB scene. Here's a quote from it:

Laito: For some reason, I feel strangely refreshed. Don’t you think that’s weird? I couldn’t get your blood out of my head for the longest time, but it finally calmed down. Right now, it isn’t your blood, but instead I want to hold your warm body close like this… And kiss you…I want to indulge in your body until I’m sick and tired of it. Nfu~

In this scene, Laito was happy crying, which was something he was not familiar with but also hasn't experienced before. It's an involuntary bodily function, yet he was confused by it. This just shows he is genuinely happy, and the fact that he says that he genuinely is admitting to what he wants for once, I don't think it's excessive pandering in this scene, it's him developing. You could argue that he got over his aversion to being touched in this scene. There's a couple asks in my ask box that's related to him and sex, which I will also get to sometimes this week. But that's a different post.

Again I think it could be argued either way, but that's my thought process behind this aside from what I previously said! There's just a lot to think about when it comes to this, and we won't know unless if something is said in canon! But Laito's incredibly complex and there's several factors that explains his behavior.

Hope that makes sense! And once again, thanks so much for submitting! I love hearing people's opinions and their own thoughts that either confirm or challenge my own, so thank you for that! This one definitely got me thinking more. That's the beauty in analysis! Each person takes something different from the text!

And who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind in the future!

#submission #analysis #diabolik lovers analysis #dialovers analysis #dialover analysis #diabolik lovers #dialover #dialovers #laito sakamaki analysis #laito sakamaki #sakamaki laito #raito sakamaki #sakamaki raito

[aces-of-the-center-court]

hello dear anon, when this request came, I was already in the process of writing for the setters (Kageyama, Kenma & Oikawa) for this particular prompt as well, so I have decided to just combine all five into one! I hope this is ok, thank you so much for requesting! :)

warning: long post ahead.

Sakusa Kiyoomi:

When hanging around him and Komori, it would mostly just be you and Komori talking

He would find you strangely intriguing at first because of how similar you were to him in the sense that you both despise germs, but he would still be closed off in the beginning

Gradually as the two of you get closer, he would slowly initiate conversations with you in spite of how useless, unnecessary or unimportant it is

“Where’s Komori?”, “Have you eaten?”, or “Good morning.” – Alrighhht perhaps not too useless but the conversations usually end after your response unless you decide to follow up

When it’s just him and Komori, he would sometimes ask where you were and if you were coming despite it being volleyball practice (which means you would not be around by then)

Yes, to be honest, he would have realised his feelings for you even without Komori pointing out for the 937820th time and jokingly teasing him

He would handle his feelings for you quite well and not act any differently from before – he would listen when you’re speaking, sometimes ask questions or even insert some prickly input before being cut off by Komori

Would not show his feelings for you and would likely take a while to consider asking you out

Each time he sees you, the words he wants to tell you – his confession – would be raging to come out of his mouth so badly he’d lose count of how many times he had stopped himself

Likely to bluntly confess his feelings for you out of a blue, even if you’re not alone with him, be it the classroom, during lunch with other classmates around etc.

I really like you… he would think, “I really like you” he would let out on accident

When those words came out of his mouth, he would be visibly surprised and stiffen up, hoping you did not just hear that

You would have obviously heard it, no matter how noisy the class is, and would recognise that voice anywhere – with or without mask

Sharing the look of surprise on your faces, when you look at him, his eyes would widen and he would flush pink to his ears

Your face would also redden when you noticed his change in demeanor.

Miya Atsumu:

This boy is sure experienced in handling his fangirls, but not so much his rival

Surrounded with fangirls that would unconditionally validate whatever he says, he’s never met someone so insistent in trying to prove him wrong until he met you

You two would constantly battle one another in wits until one of you out-argue the other

Though the battle results have been pretty even thus far, frustration from being proven wrong on multiple occasions would accumulate in him

He’d find himself thinking back on some of the debates and think of some comebacks he should’ve used, then mentally prepares for the next dispute

He’d slowly find the disputes fun and enjoy spending time squabbling with you

Though he’d hate to admit at first, he would know that he’s starting to look forward to the next time he sees you

Would find you more and more amusing the more he learns about you through bickering

He’d realise that he’d want to know more about you – is there more to you than a rival he constantly bickers with?

“You know, I’ve been thinking. It seems that we got off the wrong foot,” he’d say during the next encounter with you before the squabbles start, “how about we start over and get to know each other better instead? Who knows? We could be more than rivals.”

“And risk getting trampled on by your fangirls? Yeah I’ll pass.” You would refute by habit

BUT. THIS. BOY!! Even if you had rejected him 100 times, he would ask you out 101 times

Even if you treat him coldly and ignore him, he would persistently try to get closer to you

Gradually, he would make it quite obvious that he has feelings for you

Would casually tell you multiple times that he likes you though you would just ignore him

He would also continuously act sweet and flirtatious towards you and sometimes even sly to make sure he gets to spend some time with you

If he were to get disturbed when you two are alone, he would be very upset – very, very, annoyed and pissed

And if ever, his fangirls do go threatening or intimidating you, he would be the first to know and immediately send those flies away

You would also progressively start to find him amusing in his stubborn ways and would decide to indulge in him more frequently

Atsumu would have definitely picked up on this and for the 102th time, he would ask you out  ⁠— this time, he may not just be left disappointed with your answer.

Oikawa Tooru:

This man here is very experienced and thus would easily realise his feelings for you early on

He would just be outrightly flirting with you, like he does with many

The difference is that he would find himself naturally gravitating to you and possessing this feeling of wanting to talk and be with you

It might be because he finds you easier to talk to since you understand him well underneath his flirtatious and easygoing front

His flirtatious remarks would hold more meaning and truth to his feelings when it’s meant for you than for others

Would flirt a lot more when with you compared to others

Even among the crowd that he’s flirting with, he would make the most eye contact with you

Due to his flamboyant attitude though, despite sometimes playing along with his flirting, you would not take his advances seriously obviously

He would realise so and decide to start being more serious in pursuing you

While flirting as usual, he would casually add in comments like “You’re the only one for me~” to which you would wittily retort, “Yeah right, how many ‘only ones’ do you have?”

“I’m serious.” He would say in a deep voice, free from his usual flirty tone as he locks eyes with you

He would want to make sure you’re aware of his feelings for you so that you would start seeing him in a different light

To show the sincerity in his confession, he would stop his flirting altogether and would only focus his attention on you

When you notice the changes in him and his flirting, you would start to take him more seriously

He would take his time before conveying his renewed confession to just have some quality time together with you genuinely

He would be very straightforward when confessing his feelings for you though it would be out of the blue, perhaps when you’re walking home with him and just chatting casually, he would declare his feelings there and then.

Kozume Kenma:

Other than his games, Shouyou and volleyball, Kenma was starting to have you on his mind more than he would like to admit

Whenever you’re with him, he would feel his heart throbbing and would be very conscious of it, causing him to stiffen up especially when in close proximity with you

As he’s unfamiliar with these types of situations, he would not know what to do and may act awkwardly around you as a result

He would think to himself that this is not the type of situation or position he should be in due to his self-consciousness and how it disrupts his rhythm

It’s tiring to keep feeling like this… maybe I should just put these feelings away… He would decide to try to brush off these feelings of his

Despite that however, he would find that his eyes unconsciously drift to you whenever you’re around

He would also start to talk more about you or bring you up in conversations e.g. “y/n seemed a little tired today, I wonder what’s wrong…”

Kuroo would have quite instantly notice the change in Kenma and tease him, asking why he’s so concerned about you lately and if he likes you

He would be a little annoyed at Kuroo and put off his comments, saying that he’s just worried for you as a friend

Although he wouldn’t admit it at first, he would later realise after contemplating Kuroo’s remarks that he does seem to have feelings for you

Subsequently, he would try to have more contacts with you by initiating interactions

Would express his feelings in his own way, that is, in game – giving you special limited edition items to help you win and level up for example

If he senses some competition (e.g. someone flirting with you) he would feel annoyed, but would not express it and would just be quieter than usual

At this point, it’s safe to say that most of the team would have realised what this new change in Kenma means

With Yamamoto trying to exert his seniority in his experience with unrequited love, he would try to give him advice on how to ask you out etc while Yaku would tell him with a warm motherly smile and happy tears in his eyes that he can come to him if he needs help

Basically, the team would be very supportive (while teasing him occasionally) which would annoy Kenma a whole lot to be honest

It would take him a lot to actually confess to you but when he does, it would be when you two are alone, probably in a space he’s comfortable, and tell you his feelings forthrightly.

Kageyama Tobio:

Whenever you’re around, he would feel himself heating up

In class or during volleyball practices, he would constantly be distracted with trying to figure out what he’s feeling or with thoughts of you

If possible, he would wish to put these feelings to an end so he could focus on volleyball, but things have been this way for months now

After a long contemplation, he would finally decide to seek Sugawara���s advice but face much trouble describing his feelings and end up replacing words with “bah” and “gwah” instead

Despite the initial difficulty faced while trying to understand Kageyama, Sugawara would shortly come to an understanding and explain that what Kageyama is experiencing is a crush he has on you while slightly teasing him and tousling his hair saying how he has grown

Though he would still be confused after hearing it and unable to comprehend his feelings, he would try his best to act as normal as possible around you – not without failing completely

He would be very conscious of your presence and start acting weirder unintentionally

Concerned, you would confront him to clarify if you’re making him uncomfortable

“No, not at all! That’s not the case! It’s never been!” He would insistently deny in an awkward manner, leaving you to heave a huge sigh of relief (even though you would still feel that something is amiss), and you would return to your usual smile

At the sight of your smile, he would start getting flustered all over again

What… why is my heart palpitating even when I’m not engaging in any physical activity? It was at this moment that he would finally understand that he does, in fact, likes you

After this realisation, he would always be a little restless around you

He would also quite often offer you his packet of yoghurt or milk and share the food he has on him, but would yell at Hinata if he tries to steal a piece

When he gradually feels comfortable enough to confide in you, he would bluntly confess in a descriptive manner

“My face feels hot and my heart races when I see you or think about you, which I can’t help but always do by the way. I don’t know what I should do…”

Basically, he would describe the way he feels for you in an attempt to seek help from you about this foreign emotion

#headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x reader #kenma kozume #kenma x reader #kenma x you #kenma kozume x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama x you #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff

[aotimagines]

Aperture [1]

Hey. Remember when this blog hit 5,000 followers and I mentioned I was going to be writing something self-indulgent? The moment has finally arrived, lol. The idea spiraled way out of control before I could stop myself so here we are. This is probably not what the anon meant when they sent this in, but I couldn’t stop myself from plotting this story out. It’ll probably have around 8-10 chapters and I want to be realistic and say I’ll be able to update frequently, but there are no promises. My goal is for a new chapter every two weeks, but it’ll probably be closer to once a month. It will contain NSFW at some point, so minors do not interact. To the anon who sent this request in almost a year ago, I am so sorry this has taken me this long to write. I apologize and hope that this suffices. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

“Could you lift your head and look towards the camera, please?”

Your breath was nearly whisked away from your lungs at the sight of your model’s eyes flickering towards you, the intensity swirling behind his irises rooting you to your spot. They reflected the ocean itself—deep, vibrant, and tumultuous just like rolling waves and you felt yourself drowning at sea. You could barely tear your eyes away from his ethereal beauty; from the sharp angle of his jaw, to his sinewy, sun-kissed skin. Each and every ripple of muscle resembled someone akin to a Greek statue over real life and the longer you looked at your model, the more difficult it became to stop your eyes from gazed lower…

Immediately, you brought your camera back up to your eye to conceal your reverie and took another photo, peeling the camera back to examine the frame you had just taken with more intense than you should have. “Great!” Your voice came out rushed and quick—high and pitchy. You wanted to die right then and there on the spot, but you needed to act more professional even if you couldn’t resist the temptation to ogle your client’s perfectly sculpted, perfectly nude body.

It was wrong. It was beyond heinous but, the instant Eren Jaeger walked out to your photoshoot and shed his robe, his stunning looks had been on your mind. As a professional photographer, you had seen your fair share of models, both nude and not, so why were you acting so ridiculous? There was something undeniably electric about Eren and the way he was able to express so much emotion through his eyes alone. After having worked with him for only an hour, you could definitely see why he was scouted to be a model. There was an air of shyness that radiated off him despite the wave of confidence that brimmed so brightly from within. It was cute, which felt foreign and almost like an insult when thinking about the man standing before you.

Still, you needed to maintain your composure and do your job. You could allow yourself to be dazzled by your model for a moment, but now you needed to get back to work. Standing, you exchanged a friendly smile with Eren and motioned to his hands, pointing out, “Do you mind if we get some close-up shots of the watch? I know the campaign said that they wanted a full body shot, but I’d like to give some other options…”

“Sure,” he agreed, his electric gaze never leaving your face even as he held out his wrist and loosened the tension. Immediately, you snapped into your role as the photographer and began taking photos, unaware that you inching several steps closer.

Captivated with the elegance of his long, deft fingers, you became enraptured in your own little world and mindless gave instruction and praise, your prior embarrassment all but gotten. You were unaware of the way Eren’s eyes were glued to your every expression; the way your tongue would push through your lips as you found an angle or shape you liked. As exhilarated as you were to photograph him, Eren was, in kind, just as thrilled to way the way you worked. It was difficult tot keep cool and focus on his job with the way you moved around him, the sheer delight across your face almost tangible. He had been subjected to many photographers, some good and bad, but never…

“Okay!” Your voice dragged him from his thoughts, your lips curved into a soft, gentle smile. “I think we got it? Good work, Eren. You were great.”

“Ah—thanks,” he replied, the fabric of his robe hitting his shoulders before he realized it. One of the assistants must have gotten it for him and it took him all but five seconds to realize that he was still standing before you, naked. His cheeks heated up, a tennis ball lodged in the back of his throat, but he managed to force out, “You were a good photographer. It was, uh…easy to follow your instruction.”

You were positively beaming by the time he glanced at your face, eyes wide and sparkling. “Thank-you! That means a lot, especially since I’m kind of new to working on a professional set and everything.”

“Seriously!” Eren couldn’t believe that he was still continuing the conversation—continuing to praise you, a complete and utter stranger—but here he was. Eren was not the type of person to be physically attracted to anyone right off the bat, but there was something so…mesmerizing about you that he couldn’t bring himself to stop talking. “It was a nice shoot. I didn’t even realize we were here for a couple hours.”

“Me either,” came your confession, camera clutched between your hands. “You take direction really well. Oh!” As if an idea just came to your head, you moved to the monitors behind the lights and popped out your SD card, gently sliding the chip inside the reader. Angling your chin, you glanced up at his features, your eyes shining with complete and utter excitement. “Want to see some of the shots? I usually offer to let the models see so they can view the before and after.”

“Uh…” Eren contemplated it for a moment, his mind very cognizant of the fact that he was still only wearing a robe. You seemed completely oblivious to it, which dashed some of his prior thoughts. A moment passed by until he cracked a smile and moved closer to gaze down at the computer monitor. “Sure. I don’t really get a chance to see what I can improve on, or anything.”

Your fingers clicked open the file folder, pulling up the images you had taken not even ten minutes ago. Scrolling through, your eyes darted from one side of the screen to the other as if making mental notes about which ones you wanted to save for editing, later. “Here—this one is really nice,” you said, double-clicking the image until it was pulled up for Eren to see. Despite his nudity being on full display, Eren couldn’t help but notice how…tasteful it was done. Truly, like mentioned in the job description, his focus was on the multitude of watches adorning his wrist, but there was something else about it that…

It was like you had managed to dig deep inside of him and photograph his soul; his emotions. Everything was displayed in his eyes and it took Eren a second to recognize himself. His silence made you worry, hastily bringing up, “Of course, they will look better with editing in post, but—”

Eren shook his head, cutting off your explanation before you could really begin. “No, it’s—it’s not that! Really, the photos are…” He floundered for the right word to describe what you had created; what you had managed to pull out of him and then captured on film. No other photographer had managed that before, so to see himself like that was a little…

“It’s different,” he concluded, gaze still lingering on the images on the screen. “I’m not used to seeing myself look like that. You’re an amazing photographer and I’m sort of struggling to come up with a better compliment than that.”

Visibly, you relaxed upon hearing his praise, pride swelling inside your chest when you realized that he liked the photos. “It makes it easier when my model is able to pull from within, too,” you countered, finally looking up at him after what felt like an eternity. Eren’s eyes met yours and it was like a magnetic field was drawing you closer to him, but you refrained from your urges and settled for exiting out of the photos. It took everything inside of you to swallow back the attraction and fascination that was bubbling inside of you, which only made you antsy and anxious to begin the editing process.

“Anyways, I should let you get dressed. I’m sure you’re itching to get out of here.”

“Ah, right.” Reluctantly, Eren broke eye contact first and stretched, the fabric of his thin robe inching higher against his toned thighs. You jerked your head away from him to conceal the heat crawling across your cheeks and praised whatever deity above that Eren hadn’t paid any attention to your sudden shy demeanor. He seemed to think to himself for a moment before exhaling deeply and walking off, leaving you to skim through the multitude of images you had taken.

A period of time passed because, the next thing you knew, Eren was back by your side, his silky, chocolate-colored tresses pulled back into a bun that rested at the nape of his neck. Small hairs framed his face, only fanning the fuel to his already handsome, boyish looks. You swallowed thickly and offered a smile, rising from your chair to ask, “You heading out?”

“Yeah, but I actually wanted to ask you something, first…” Eyebrow quirked, you watched Eren rock back and forth on his feet, a nervous energy teeming off of him. While the two of you knew nothing about each other outside of first and last names, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was typical behavior. He seemed to self-assured whenever he spoke. Was there something wrong with the photos after all? Before you could ask, Eren’s hand shot out and encircled around your wrist, preventing you from turning away or moving back to your computer screen. “Listen,” he pressed closer, temporarily catching you off guard with how bold he was being, “there’s a party happening later tonight. I really don’t want to go, but my manager said it’d be good for connections and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”

“Why?” The question escaped your mouth before you could process what was happening, confusion written across your features. You didn’t pull away from his touch, however, and repeated after a moment of clarity, “You barely know me, Eren. We’re strangers. Shouldn’t you invite one of your friends?”

Eren fell silent for a moment before an uncharacteristic smirk danced across his lips. There was something fierce about the glimmer in his eyes and his body language exuded an amount of confidence he had only displayed the instant his eyes locked with your camera lens earlier that afternoon. He leaned in closer, studying the way your face heated up, before murmuring in a low tone, “I saw the way you were looking at me, earlier.”

Embarrassed, you averted your eyes to the ground. “I’m—I’m sorry! Really, I sometimes get lost in my work and you are beautiful, so I…got swept away. It was unprofessional and I swear it won’t happen again, if we happen to work together.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Eren chuckled, the sound so dizzying that you felt yourself drawn to it—to him—like a moth circling a flame. This was a dangerous game you two were playing and you weren’t sure what kind of out come Eren was looking for. Rather, he released your hand and stepped back, the intensity gone and replaced with a softer, kinder smile. “I liked your photos,” he simply stated, his hand resting against his hip as he continued to stare at you. “And you liked what you were able to get out of me. I just thought it’d be a good opportunity to each to know one another.”

“Professionally?”

“Both,” he easily quipped with a shrug of his shoulders.

You ran a hand through your hair, teeth catching your inner cheek. “I don’t know.”

“How about this.” Eren reached for the sharp on your desk and ripped the cap off with his teeth, balancing the piece of plastic between his two lips. Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand again and began to write numbers into your palm, a string of digits staring back up at you. “When you decide what you want to do, you can text me. Even if you don’t want to go with me, specifically, it’d be a good idea to make connections. You said yourself that you’re new to the industry.”

You had said that, didn’t you? Eren’s number stared up at you, silently replaying your words from earlier like a broken record until a heavy, shaky sigh pulled from your lips. You didn’t know what his intentions were, but you figured that you could worry about that, later. Even if you couldn’t decipher Eren’s true nature, the prospect of getting your name out to more people in the industry was too tempting to ignore. “But what do I wear?” you asked weakly, watching as Eren’s features lit up like a light.

“It’s cocktail, but whatever you have should be fine. I really don’t care about what other people are wearing, either way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh genuinely at this, pointing out with amusement dripping from your tone, “Aren’t you a fashion model? Shouldn’t you care about stuff like that?”

Eren scoffed, lips twisted into a smile. “Nah. That kind of stuff is stupid.”

“But then why…?” You stopped, shook your head, and moved to the desk where your cellphone rested. Holding it up, you tilted your head to the side. “So, I’ll text you? I’ll need an address, you know.”

Eren’s name was being called from across the building—probably whoever he brought with him, you noted—but his eyes still lingered on you even as he began to step away. “It’s for seven-thirty. See you!”

You watched as he jogged away until he was completely out of sight, your heart hammering against your ribs repeatedly. You weren’t sure what the hell had just transpired, but the area where his fingers brushed your skin tingled pleasantly as an aftershock effect.

You were way, way in over your head.

#eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren scenarios #eren jaeger imagines #eren imagines #snk imagines #aot imagines #mod elle #idk what else to tag this as #i hope you guys enjoy #srry for all the eren content later #but i warned y'all that i was going to be a lil self indulgent and here it is lol