#first is just me practicing drawing grass lol

[i-can-not-art]

Been calling them the surprise adoption trio

Higher quality version of the 1st one:

[scarafvcker]

CAN I REQUEST HUMAN AFAB READER LOSSING IT TO SCARA? I NEED MORE AUS WERE WE LOSE OUR VIRGINITY TO THAT PRETTY MAN

synopsis: scaramouche lets you stare at his pretty self (i.e. he’s making you look into his eyes while he fucks you lol)

cws: virginity loss, exhibitionism, choking (done properly!! pls learn how to choke ppl if y’all are gonna do that), degradation, mean scara, cumshot, no aftercare, afab!reader

word count: 1300+

a/n: this one’s for you anon :) enjoy~

scaramouche knew he was attractive. he was made to be perfect—carved from a white tree by the electro archon herself. he was aware of all the stares he would get and he never really cared for anyone who gazed at him for longer than necessary, never even sparing them a glance.. but you however..

you’re supposed to be helping him on a mission right now. you’re supposed to be staring up at the false skies of teyvat. you’re not supposed to be staring at him. you’re not supposed to be making his shorts get uncomfortably tight. you’re just his underling, just some fatui soldier on his squad. you’re just a human, just a weak human who should be grateful to even breathe the same air as him—let alone, stare at him.

so how did he end up in this position—hovering above you as you lay on a blanket spread out onto the grass, one hand above your head to hold himself up while the other was plunging in and out of your cunt? it all happened so quickly—from stares to glares, hisses to kisses. he had just wanted to put you in your place and this certainly wasn’t the way he intended this to go but who is he to complain when he’s got you shivering at every little touch? you, the oh so strong soldier on his squad. you, the annoying human who shamelessly stares at him everyday.

his indigo eyes are gazing into yours with a dangerous glint and his lips are turned up into a sadistic smirk. he looks fucking beautiful like this—hovering over you while his long and slender fingers graze over every inch of your ridged walls. he’s spent over an hour stretching your virgin hole with just his fingers and each plunge draws out an obscene squelch that you’re sure your fellow soldiers could hear from inside their tents.

it’s glaringly obvious that he doesn’t care about whether or not people could hear or see you getting finger-fucked by your harbinger. he keeps pushing his digits around your walls, occasionally prodding at that squishy spot that has you biting back a moan. each time he grazed over that spot, your hole drenches his fingers more and more, practically drowning his hand in your lewd juices. his smirk grows wider when he decides he’s had enough fun, shoving his fingers as deep as they can go before curling them against that spot repeatedly.

his pace was rapid, the tips of his digits abusing that spot with no mercy. he reveled in the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the way your warm walls twitched around his fingers, the way you couldn’t hold back your sounds, the way your breathy gasps turned into broken moans. he had your body shaking, had you falling apart on just his fingers for the first time tonight, had you failing to hold back your desperate pleas. he slipped his fingers out of you, popping them into his mouth as he tasted your slick. his eyes were still on you, waiting for you to look back and him and when you finally did, he took his fingers out of his mouth with an obscene pop! “didn’t i tell you to keep your eyes on me?” his voice was as smooth as ever and you didn’t miss his threatening tone. he clicked his tongue, using your shirt that was bunched up over your chest to wipe his saliva off of his hand as he sat up on his knees and pulled down his shorts, “those eyes better stay on mine this time.”

you could only catch a glimpse of his cock before he sheathes it into you slowly. his eyes were darting between yours and the place where he was connected to you, making sure you kept eye contact as he watched the way his pretty, pink tip disappeared into your tight hole. he groaned at the squeeze and kept pushing in while his hands flew to the blanket above your head. he want back to staring into your eyes as he slowly filled your virgin cunt, “feel that? feel your harbinger stretching out your pussy? hah.. what a slut you are.”

he gave you barely any time to adjust to his intrusion, slowly pulling his hips back a tiny bit before pushing forward again. the sounds of his hips meeting yours harmonized with the squelch of him fucking his cock into you. he slid his left hand up the blanket, bringing his forearm to rest flush against the ground while his right hand gripped at your jaw harshly. his breath began to tickle your face as he picked up his speed, unblinking eyes staying locked onto yours as he pulled out to the tip before slamming back in with a well aimed thrust of his cock to your a-spot.

you were getting wetter and wetter with each thrust, the friction and each slam of his cock to your a-spot worked together to provide enough of your slick to make the painful stretch a little more bearable. you couldn’t hold your voice back, letting out loud moan after moan as he continued to fuck himself deep inside you. god, this was much rougher than you expected for your first time but with the way he’s glaring down at you while his lips curl into a smirk, all your complaints disappeared—perhaps out of fear or arousal.. or both.

you wrapped your legs around his hips, hands dipping into his silky lock and heels digging into his lower back. eyes trained onto each other as the two of you let indecent sounds reverberate through the silence of the forest, for sure to wake the soldiers sleeping only a few feet away. his hand slides down your jaw to your neck, fingers pressing into the sides to cut off just enough air to get your head all fuzzy while he keeps pounding into you roughly. you’re seeing stars and not just the ones in the sky, your eyes can barely focus on him but you swear his smirk is getting bigger and bigger with each passing second and the tone he speaks with only confirms it, “quiet, slut. you’re gonna wake up the entirety of teyvat.”

ever that sadist he is, he only pounds into you with fervor—slamming his tip into that squishy spot at an inhuman pace just to draw out as many of your sounds as he can. “fuck, listen to your slutty pussy begging to be filled up.. you want that, huh?” he lets out a deep chuckle when you nod your head frantically, only able to let out a slurred ‘uh-huh! uh-huh!’ he starts to fuck you even deeper, his tip hitting your cervix at an inhuman speed, “such a fucking whore. go ahead and cum on my cock, then i might give you want you want.”

his words make the knot in your stomach snap, bringing your body to a shaking orgasm that only intensifies with each thrust he keeps giving you. despite your best efforts, your eyes are rolling into the back of your head once again and through your high, you can hear him click his tongue before releasing his hold on your neck. he pulls himself out of your twitching hole, pumping his cock above your cunt as you look up at him through teary eyes, “i told you to keep your eyes on me. stupid slut can’t even listen to a simple order.”

he clicks his tongue once more before you feel the warmth of his cum splattering onto your abused pussy and just as quick at it happened, it’s gone. he tucks himself back into his shorts, standing up and wiping the sweat off his forehead before walking away. he doesn’t even spare you a glance, leaving you shaking on that blanket with his cum dripping down your cunt. “if you want it so bad, go ahead and fuck it into yourself,” he snickers as he heads into his own tent.

[vitaminseetarot]

PAC: What Hobby Should You Begin Next? 🎨🛶📯

Sup y'all, it's time for a new pick a card reading (this one's especially for you night owls out there as I'm posting this at midnight lol). Ideally, I'd like to post one PAC every week after this but eh, lettuce see about that. 🥬👀

This pick a card was inspired by the remaining energies of late Taurus season. The grass is bright, the air is warm, the flowers are blooming, and it's brought out the artist in me. While I've been finishing a leisure painting, I stopped to draw out some cards to help out anyone who's in the mood to do something fun in their spare time but could use some direction or guidance.

Pick any one of the four Prism Oracle cards below, or its corresponding crystal/emoji, to see what hobby you could explore next, or if there is a hobby you enjoy that is calling for your attention:

Pile 1 - Consciousness + Moonstone 🌙 Pile 2 - Happiness + Carnelian 😊 Pile 3 - Creativity + Amethyst 🎉 Pile 4 - Determination + Citrine 🧭

Pile 1 - Consciousness + Moonstone 🌙

77 Beginnings, Sound+Resonance+Frequency, The Musician, Capricorn Rising - Aspire; Page of Swords, Page of Wands, 9 of Cups, Knight of Swords, XI Justice

Wow, pile 1, I think you have the most obvious answer of all four piles. You're very drawn to pursuing something musical. It could be in a variety of ways. You might try singing, writing a song, playing an instrument, learning to dance, or perform in musical theater (the purple curtain in the Justice card definitely brings theater to mind). You could enjoy collecting vinyl records, or producing music through special programs and apps. You may desire to publish your music online, or dream of going big on stage and signing major contracts with labels. Two Pages tells me you're most likely into more than one thing, as plenty of musical artists can multitask.

Your pile was the only one to get two Prism cards at first as Anxiety initially wanted to pop out. It's also clear that with two Pages and the Beginnings card, you're very new at this hobby. There's an over awareness of this fact, that on some level you may not know where to even start. There's some doubt I sense that you feel you can't be at the level you wish to stand on. Capricorn energy wants to reach for the very top of the ladder in accomplishment; it is a steady energy although not intent on settling. I get that there are many people here who greatly look up to an artist and wish to have their same talents. Try to look past the smoke and mirrors of all the top 40's singers and know that music is way more accessible than it's made to look.

Try embracing the newness of this pursuit, pile 1. It's okay to be a little lost, or feel that there's a long way to go. The only way to go pro is to start small and grow. There are a lot of free resources online for learning music (try out musictheory.net for free lessons) and free vocal technique lessons on Youtube. Some people are very lucky to have the chance to start learning at a young age, but if we were to set a rule stating that only those who did so could play, that would leave a lot of creative geniuses and successful musicians out of the frame. If you're learning to play the keyboard, practice one song or even one note at a time (doesn't have to be Chopsticks, lol). Consistency is key.

When the inspiration and joy to explore music finally strikes you, take the time to really dive in and make something small. If you're trying to write a song, start with a jingle. If it's music theory you want to go over, start with just 1 lesson and see how it feels. If you're learning to dance, begin with warm ups and slow music before working on the more intense songs. Are you looking for writing inspiration? Keep plenty of notes on hand and learn how to identify music so you can easily write a melody down (there are empty music notebooks for this). If this is something you would like to do in the long term, then continue to practice with that perspective by not overdoing it to compensate for "lost time". You are exactly where you need to be on your creative journey.

Pile 2 - Happiness + Carnelian 😊

66 The Selves, You Belong Here, The Wise One, Cancer Moon - Intuit; X Wheel of Fortune, Sagittarius ♐, VI The Lovers, 9 of Pentacles, XVI The Tower

What's going on, pile 2? With the Selves card above Sagittarius, I'm getting that a lot of you may be interested in pursuing theater or comedy, whether that's stand up or it's simply channeled through the projects you create. Your next hobby may involve incorporating a lot of humor into what you do. This pile is the most multifaceted of the four, with many differing hobbies, so I'm going to list a variety of different talents, but what binds them all together is the need to express one's own (very) strong opinions for the world to see.

You may want to be a photographer who documents unusual things, or write something that makes a powerful statement. There's a need here to let go of any of the anxieties that come with expressing your authentic self, because while those feelings are natural, listening to them too much will dampen your creative drive. This is the group that wants to make very surreal graffiti art or provocative dance routines. With the Tower card, here, I feel there's a need for the shock and awe to get your inspiration buzzing. On the gentler side, I can see some of you getting into something nature based like flower printing and permaculture but the caveat is that it's a reflection of your genuine self and beliefs in some way. With Wheel of Fortune, some of you may feel an urge to learn about tarot or pendulum reading, as these things are typically categorized as "unusual".

You may also get into traveling to stay involved in your hobby, or it requires roving about in some way. To break down creative blocks, it might help to actually move yourself to a different location. It doesn't necessarily involve moving to a whole new place, it could just refer to another part of your home or you may benefit from walking or dancing to decompress. I feel that moving your body will stimulate your creative ideas to flow through. A small number of you may have considered trying out extreme sports like free climbing or parkour. I don't really need to mention that these can be incredibly dangerous, so some of you may like something similar like skateboarding or gymnastics as well. It doesn't have to be intense, just active.

With the Lovers, there also exists a social aspect to your hobby. You may be drawn to share you hobby with a friend or with partners. It will greatly help you to be in an environment that supports your avant-garde tastes and not settle for less. It's not always easy to put shocking art with profound messages out there for the world to make sense of it, though some make it seem that way. It's easy to pretend that negative feedback doesn't get to you, but only accept constructive criticism as that will feed you more than shocked reactions. You cannot afford to have others in your life discourage you, as your skill sets require a lot of space for growth. Nourish relationships that want to celebrate your talents with you. Find a community that loves what you love, and wants to see you happy with what you do. Embrace the wild side of your artistic abilities.

Pile 3 - Creativity + Amethyst 🎉

54 Security, the Messenger, The Aspirant, Aries Sun - Assert; 2 of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, 0 The Fool, Aquarius ♒, Virgo ♍

Hello, pile 3. With the 2 of Pentacles, many of you may want to explore a hobby that is both online and offline, or the internet and social media are major components. If you like making artwork, you could be into digital art or simply want to upload images of your offline work for others to see. With Virgo, some of you may have a lot to say, by starting a blog or online journal documenting your life or interests, or you could try out freelance editing. If you were a youtuber, you could be really good at creating epically long videos about niche topics, or short videos explaining how to do a certain task (like tiktoks that showcase a person's routines and what cleaning products they recommend).

I see that this is the pile of innovation, as the Creativity card shows a lightbulb. You could have various ideas pop up in your head, only to feel unsure of how to approach them. Your attention span could split into a variety of different mediums for getting the idea out. Aquarius wants to take its genius energy and spread it around the world. For a lot of you, social media will support your ideas by broadcasting them. Your hobby may directly involve interfacing with others; your creative spark is not for hiding away. Web design, for example, is a hobby but it involves creating something that others will directly interact with. Your work is meant for a wide audience, should you choose to put yourself out there.

This may not always be easy for you, since there could be a pull towards more stable and predictable activities. There's a nervousness here, kind of like imposter syndrome. You may get a really cool idea for a mobile game app before you or someone else goes "but that's an unrealistic goal to spend so much time and effort on", followed by, "how could I ever make something like that?" The thing is, you can be the most talented, skilled, and experienced person when it comes to a subject, yet still have these same worries. Imposter syndrome doesn't magically go away with a college degree, a new job, or 10,000 subscribers. It's completely normal, but make sure to not let your doubts tempt you into doing something more boring and unfulfilling. This is the pile most likely to try a totally new hobby that is unrelated to your other skills, it doesn't have to be realistic.

But also understand that it can take time for something to get really good. Your first fiction draft is gonna turn out clunky, or your app could be filled with bugs, but it's part of the process. There's no perfect time; when you get the urge to try, just try it! Reach out to a local community or chat group so you can get a realistic sense of how long it takes for projects and skills develop. Slam poetry may be a great outlet, so if you'd like to do that, attend an open mic and see how others do it. You are allowed to be imperfect with your hobby--if you wish to evolve your craft, remember the passion and curiosity that brought you to it.

Pile 4 - Determination + Citrine 🧭

57 Spiritual Guide, What Goes Around Comes Around, The Astronomer, Taurus Rising - Enjoy; 9 of Pentacles, Cancer ♋, Queen of Swords, Knight of Wands, Knight of Swords

How's it going, pile 4? So this is the most active and possibly athletic pile we have here. Staying in the house is not gonna work because something is itching you to get out underneath the stars. Could some of you be majoring or planning in major in STEM? I'm getting a lot of natural science here. With the Astronomer card, you could want to use your telescope to go stargazing or visit planetariums. Are you still feeling the buzz from all the aurora storm and eclipse hype? It would not surprise me if these events awoke an interest for you and now you're looking up when the next meteor shower will show up or when Saturn will be most visible in the sky.

Your next hobby needs or is the outdoors on some level. But Cancer energy is that of a homebody. The most laidback people in this group may enjoy relaxing hobbies like birdwatching or gardening. These hobbies could be spiritually fulfilling for you. I'm seeing someone wearing an apron outside, so could some of you be interested in grilling or being the host to a fun party in the backyard. Do people even have book club meetings in gardens? A lot of enjoying nature is simply finding a good spot and soaking in the scenery with no other goal in mind. Just being near trees and beach sides might be enough.

But I see a lot of you mainly wish to have an adventure and go far out in nature when the weather's just right. You could be thinking about hiking or backpacking out on trails. It all depends on your comfort level as we all have different tolerance levels. I don't know if geocaching and pokemon go are still popular, but they can be unique ways to engage with the outdoors. You could try guided nature tours presented by nature conservationists like the National Audubon, where you can identify and take photos of animals as you wander through the woods and plains. You may like a hobby that is seasonally specific, like swimming in warm waters or skiing down a snowy mountain.

Your hobby may have you think deeply about how humans connect with nature, exploring the ecosystem and how our actions influence our environment. Climate change can be a very serious and, for some, directly impactful topic to mull over. Remind yourself that as long as you're respectful (leave no trace), mother nature enjoys your company as much as you do for her. A small few of you may have the urge to travel to weird locations. Two knights in your reading suggest boldness. If you decide to visit an abandoned or haunted place, Queen of Swords says to please be careful and follow rules if it says no trespassing, and remember that abandoned places can be dangerous from faulty wiring and unstable flooring. Overall, I feel this pile just can't do with an indoor hobby. You have the motivation and courage to explore the vast beautiful world out there. It awaits you.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[attapullman]

Morgan Le Fay my darling, I absolutely cannot get over roommate!Bob and the bungalow, it's so cute!!!!!

Oh my God can we talk about how the garden practically explodes overnight??

Bob has a serious green thumb and it shows. That man will raid the entire garden section of Home Depot with zero fucks given (lol).

I also feel like Bob would be a serious herb-crafter. That man is always in the garden or the greenhouse doing some kind of mad science experiment with the plants (I feel like he'd be really curious about using the essential oils and old school techniques for fertilizers, root stimulants and weed and pest control) and would keep all sorts of journals full of drawings and fancy calligraphy about each of the plants, their uses and how to use them.

Mary!! Are you in my brain? It's okay if you are, just tell me!

bungalow!Bob basically lives at Home Depot. The first week he moved in he spent a majority of the time staring into the backyard dismayed at the patchy grass and the handful of weeds you overlooked. Not that he blames you, you're very busy being a hard worker. But this yard? It won't do.

Once he had a firm idea of what he wanted to do - complete with rudimentary sketches on lined notebook paper he stole from your desk - it became the norm to see him out of the corner of your eye coming in from the garage with his arms full of stuff, muscles bulging. "Don't mind me, honey, we can talk about it after your 4 o'clock!"

Every night at dinner he's walking you through this new article he read on re-potting or starting the discussion on bermuda vs. bluegrass. A few times a day he's obsessively checking the basil plant to make sure it has enough water. While watching the next episode of the show you're watching together, you catch him with his phone out, Googling random house things that pop into his mind.

"Bob, babe, you're going to miss what's going on."

Kissing your temple, he rolls his eyes, "You're the one invested in the show, I'm only here to hang out with you."

You give him unamused eyes.

"I'm kidding," he teases. "If I don't look it up now I'm going to forget...and better now or you'll get mad again."

He's referring to calling time out during doggy last night when he just had to look up how quickly concrete cures for the patio stones he wants to install.

[vbecker10]

Hey first sorry if it written weirdly, english isn't ny first lenguage, I saw you had your requests open and wanted to ask of course loki x reader where reader is some broke artist painting/drawing people on the streets and meets loki while he passed by or something like that, thats all, pretty vague, I like your writting, and hope you enjoy your day/evening/night

I'm sorry this took so long, I've been really really behind in my asks but I'm trying to catch up so I can open them again soon. Please, never apologize for your English, I'm always impressed by people who know more than one language! 😊 I honestly love this request, hope you like it cause it sorta ran away from me lol! 💚

The Gift

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Warnings: none... literally not a single one lol, I'm in a fluffy mood so enjoy

Summary: You are an artist who paints portraits for tourists in the park near Stark Tower, the same park Loki has started to frequent during his free time. Loki and you begin talking one day after he catches you drawing him when you are between customers. A few days later, he surprises you with a gift and you decide to return the favor.

Dividers by: @harlequin-hangout

You sift through the colored pencils in your case for the right type of green before looking back at the open field in front of you. His coat is a deeper green than the grass he is resting on and the leaves above him have started to turn various shades of red and orange. You pause before putting the sharpened tip to the canvas, you had already sketched the God of Mischief into your drawing but you could easily color over him. You had never included a person in one of your private drawings before, even when the park was full of people you would leave them out of the final images.

Loki sits with his back against one of the trees lining the open field, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His thick coat is open, revealing a black dress shirt with the top two buttons left undone. He licks one of his fingers before flipping the page of his book, his eyes never looking away from the pages. Over the last month, you've seen Loki come to that spot every afternoon for an hour or two with a different book each time.

You shake your head lightly then decide to shade in Loki's dark green peacoat before adding more detail to his face, trying to capture his sharp features accurately. He came here so often he was practically a part of the park, you reasoned with yourself. Besides, he would never know, you think as you reach for another color.

You continue to work, looking up occasionally to check your reference. Loki sits almost perfectly still, as if he knows you are trying to capture his likeness but you hope your brief glances are not noticeable to the god. You put the black pencil down and gently blow any loose dust from the canvas before reviewing the finished piece with a self-satisfied grin. A breeze sweeps through the park and you lift your head from your work, looking across the field to see that Loki is suddenly gone. You lean back on your stool, turning your attention to cleaning your supplies when a deep voice behind you makes you jump.

"That's quite impressive," he says as he looks over your shoulder.

You turn quickly to face him, nearly knocking over your easel in the process. "Oh, I- I'm sorry. This is really weird right?" you ask but you continue, giving him no chance to answer. "I was just trying to keep myself occupied since there aren't many tourists around here today. I only meant to draw the field and trees but... I added you because you're always here. Not that I'm watching you, I just notice who is around cause I'm here all the time, too. I'm sorry, I know I should have asked you if it was ok before I started to draw you but you looked so lost in your book, I didn't want to bother you."

Loki chuckles at your rambling apology and says, "It's fine, no harm done."

You swallow nervously as he reaches into his coat pocket then you realize he is taking out his wallet. He gestures towards the sign in front of the easel and asks, "I only see prices for your portraits. How much for this one?"

"Uh..." you think for a moment, surprised by his offer. You typically charged $20 for a painting of one person and $10 for every additional person but you never sold your landscapes. They weren't for the tourists, they were for you.

"Your portraits are usually far smaller than this so I assume it might be a bit higher in price," he says. He wasn't wrong, the canvas you had been working on was roughly twice the size of what you typically sold. You felt a bit surprised that he knew so much about the paintings you created but you had been watching him so you assumed it was only fair he had kept an eye on you as well.

"I don't know, I never intended to sell this but..." you pause then smile at him. "You can have it," you tell him and he tilts his head slightly. "As a gift, I mean," you add quickly.

He shakes his head, "I appreciate the offer but I couldn't do that. It's clear you have a talent for landscapes and put a great deal of effort into this. The coloring and details are extremely well done for having been finished in such a short amount of time."

A wave of pride washes over you, no one has ever complimented your artwork to this extent before. You start to thank him but his phone begins to ring and you stifle a laugh when he groans in annoyance. He excuses himself, taking a few steps away from you to answer it privately. He runs his fingers through his long black hair and you can't help but wonder if he would be willing to sit for a portrait. It was easy to admit Loki was extraordinarily handsome and you wouldn't pass up the opportunity to observe him closely for an extended period of time.

He hangs up several minutes later, his smile gone but it quickly reappears when you ask if he is ok. He nods, "There is a meeting I need to attend shortly, apologies for not being able to stay for much longer. I would really love to have this for my study, though. Do you think $50 would be fair?" He takes the cash out of his leather wallet before waiting for an answer.

"I- that's too much, Loki," you tell him but he hands you the money.

"I insist," he says, not allowing you any space to argue. He then says, "Although I do seem to be at a slight disadvantage." You look at him curiously as you tuck the money into your small lock box. "You know my name, but I don't know yours," he says with a smirk.

"Oh, I'm Y/N," you answer, putting out your hand as if expecting a handshake, internally cringing.

He chuckles and takes your hand, instead of shaking it however, he brings the back of your hand to his lips and kisses it lightly. "It was a pleasure to finally speak with you Y/N. I will see you tomorrow," he says and you can't help but blush intensely as a giggle escapes you.

The next afternoon you look up from your easel as Loki walks down the path towards you, a book in his left hand. You wave a bit more enthusiastically then you meant to and he smiled broadly, waving in response before heading towards his usual spot. Your attention shifts back to the two children sitting across from you and the painting you had started. You find yourself having to resist the urge to glance over at Loki while you try to focus on the task at hand.

After finally completing the painting, the father of the two children pays you and the family walks off into the park. You begin to clean your brushes, lost in thought when a now familiar voice causes you to look up.

"Hello again," Loki says as he sets himself down on one of the unoccupied stools.

"Hi," you reply, putting your brushes back in the case until you need them again. "I'm glad you came over, I wanted to thank you again for yesterday. You really didn't have to buy it."

"Nonsense," he waves off your concern. "I told you, it was an exquisite piece and I honestly can not stand the blank walls in my study."

You can barely believe he called your work exquisite. Most people were happy enough with your portraits to give you a few dollars extra as a tip but you rarely received any real compliments.

"I have a question for you," he says and you look up from the supplies you are organizing. "I am curious, would I be able to see some of your work?"

You think for a moment, biting your lip before you answer. If it had been anyone else you would have instantly said no but Loki seemed to genuinely be interested in your work. "Sure if you want to but... most of the pieces I've painted are at my apartment. I only have my sketch pad with me," you tell him, hoping he won't be too disappointed.

Instead of answering, he simply picks up the stool he was sitting on and places it next to you with a smile. You swallow nervously and hand him your sketch book, not sure if you want to watch him look through your work or not. He opens it to the first page and you hold your breath as you watch his fingers run along the edge of the paper. Loki examines the first page for a few moments then turns the page wordlessly, you can barely read the expression on his face. You bite your lip again, crossing your arms in anticipation of him saying something, anything.

When Loki is halfway through the book, he comes to a sketch you made of Stark Tower looming over the trees of the park at dusk. "These are amazing, Y/N," he says, not taking his eyes off the page and you feel like bursting with delight. He turns to the next page and says, "This one-" but he is cut off by his phone ringing. "I'm so sorry, please excuse me," he hands you the sketch book and answers his phone.

You watch him pace back and forth along the path, his head down as he kicks a small rock lightly. A few minutes later he walks back to where you are sitting and you can tell he had bad news. "Do you have to leave already?" you ask, the disappointment more obvious in your voice than you expected.

He gives you a half smile, "I do unfortunately but thank you for sharing these with me. You truly are quite talented, Y/N."

"Thanks Loki," you look down, running your hand over the cover of your book.

"I will see you tomorrow," he says hopefully and you nod with a smile.

The next day Loki arrives at the park just as a large group of tourists make their way over to you. Normally you would be thrilled by the crowd since it means a large pay day but all you want to do is have them leave so you can talk to Loki. When you finish painting the first couple, you glance briefly towards Loki's spot and blush when you realize he is watching you. You look back to your canvas quickly and greet your next customers with a smile as they sit down.

After what feels like forever, you finally finish the last painting and the group leaves. You instantly look for Loki and see him getting up. You get to work cleaning your brushes and closing up your paints while he walks over to you. "Hello darling," Loki says.

"Hi," you reply, unable to contain a short giggle at the new pet name. Before you can overthink why he would call you that, he sits across from you just as he had yesterday but this time you notice he is holding two books.

"I have something for you," he says.

"Really?" you ask surprised. He chuckles and nods, holding out the larger of the two books for you to take. "Loki, what...?" you look down at the cover, unable to read the title.

He picks up the stool and sits next to you, much closer then the day before. "I'm sorry it's written in Asgardian but the drawings are what I wanted you to see," he tells you. He opens the book, holding it between the both of you. He flips past the first few pages of text and without looking at you says, "I was looking through this yesterday and it reminded me of you."

Your heart nearly stops when he tells you that and you quickly cover your face to hide the blush that is spreading across your cheeks. He turns one more page then stops and you can see why Loki wanted to show you this. "It's beautiful," you say quietly as you look at the colored drawing.

"This is a book about the palace gardens on Asgard," he explains without looking up. "This was one of my favorite places to read when I was younger." You can see why Loki chose this spot in the park, it looked similar to the small field lined with tall trees. Viney plants grew up the trucks of the trees and wildflowers were scattered through the grass.

He flips to the next page and shakes his head as he laughs, "This maze would rearrange itself. Thor and I spent quite a lot of time lost here."

He continues to show you page after page of the various sections of the gardens, pointing out things he missed or thought you would find interesting. You were in awe of the beauty and vastness of the gardens but you couldn't stop looking at Loki when he spoke. He never looked up from the pages, grinning and laughing at the numerous memories until he turned to the last image.

He looks away for a moment and you aren't sure what expression he is hiding. When he looks back at you, he smiles but you can see his eyes are slightly red. He clears his throat and touches the page lightly, bringing your attention back to the book. "This was my mother's favorite part of the gardens," he says just above a whisper.

You place your hand over his, squeezing it lightly and he continues to force a smile. "She's been gone for a few years now but..." he stops himself.

"You still miss her?" you ask him.

He nods, "Every day." You raise your hand to his cheek and wipe away a stray tear that falls. "I'm sorry, I- this was supposed to be a fun gift," he tries to joke.

"I love it, Loki," you tell him honestly. "Thank you so much."

He smiles a bit wider and just as he begins to say something his phone rings. "I should snap this ridiculous thing in half," he groans and you laugh.

"If you break it, I can't give you my number," you say without thinking and his face changes in an instant.

"You, my dear, make an excellent point," he smirks. "Excuse me a moment." He gets up and wanders a few steps away while you go back to the book. You flip slowly through it again but stop when you reach the last page. The garden was incredible, a rough stone path wound around multicolored rose bushes and a single stone bench sat across from a small pond in the center. You could see why Loki's mother would have loved it.

Loki walks back towards you and you close the book, holding it tightly. "Is something wrong?" you ask him.

His smile is gone and he looks at you with a serious expression. "I need to leave for a few days, four at the most I'm told," he tells you and you feel your stomach drop. You stand up, setting the book carefully on your stool.

"Promise me you'll be careful," you insist, suddenly filled with worry.

"I will, darling," he replies. He offers you his phone, "I most likely won't be able to text while I am on the mission but I can let you know when I'm back if... if you would like that?" He sounds hesitant but you quickly take his phone and add your information.

"I want to know the minute you're back safe," you say, handing him back his phone.

He smiles, "I promise."

"Good," you nod before you find yourself hugging him tightly. Your brain freezes for a moment in panic but then he wraps his arms around you and your body relaxes.

"I will be back as soon as I can," he promises you as he lets go slowly.

You take a seat at your easel and busy yourself with organizing your supplies as you force yourself to not watch him walk away.

You hang your keys on the hook and place your supplies on the small end table, closing the door as your phone beeps. You take it out of your pocket and answer it quickly.

"Hi Loki," you say excitedly, it had been four days since Loki left and you missed him more then you thought you would. You couldn't help but wonder if he missed you too.

"Hello, Y/N," he replies, you can hear other people taking loudly in the background. "I just wanted to let you know I'm on my way back. We should be landing in about half an hour."

"Oh good," you say in response, not quite ready to tell him you had been hoping every call and text you received over the last few days was him. "I imagine you must be ready to get home and rest."

He chuckles, "Honestly, I'm more hungry then anything else. The food SHIELD provides during missions is... describing it as miserable would be being kind."

You laugh then suggest, "You should come over, I'm just getting ready to cook dinner." Your heart jumps into your throat, did you really just invite him over, your brain yells.

"I would love to," he answers without any hesitation.

You laugh a bit nervously then give Loki your address. He tells you he can be there in an hour. "Great, I'm going to go so I can get everything ready. I'll see you soon," you tell him, hoping he can't hear how nervous you feel.

You run into the kitchen thankful you had bought groceries yesterday. You open the fridge and freezer then decide to cook something simple, now might not be the best time to take risks and get fancy you think to yourself. After settling on a meal that will only take half an hour, you quickly get to work tidying up your apartment. It was by no means messy but you want to make a good impression. Especially if this is a date, you think, but it's not a date.

You turn around in the middle of your small apartment and sigh, it's as good as it's going to get. Now time to make it look like you haven't been sitting in the park all day, which is the only way he had ever seen you. You toss your paint covered pants and shirt into the hamper and take the fastest shower of your life. After drying off you realize you need to start cooking.

You throw on your favorite jeans and put your hair up. Standing in front of your closest you slide the hangers back and forth, knowing you need to just pick a shirt. You reach in and grab one, pulling it on as you walk into the hallway. You finish prepping everything and place the food in the oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes. Opening the cabinet next to the fridge, you pull out the dishes and glasses so you can begin setting the table.

You should put out candles, you think, but you don't because that's for a date and this is not a date. The doorbell rings, interrupting your internal debate and your heart races. You take a quick glance at yourself in the mirror by the door and freeze when you see the shirt you picked out. No, you realize, without thinking you had put on literally the only green shirt you owned. And it wasn't just any green, it was the same deep emerald green that Loki wore all the time.

You cringe, knowing you don't have enough time to change so you take a deep breath and hope he doesn't think it's weird. You open the door and he smiles warmly at you. "Hello darling," he says as you take a step back to let him him.

"Hi Loki, I'm glad you could come over," you say as he takes off his coat. He was wearing a dark gray button up shirt with the first few buttons open.

"Thank you for inviting me," he says as he unbuttons his shirt cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. "I must say, that color looks lovely on you."

You blush at the compliment and before you can reply the timer goes off. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, I just need to finish up one more thing," you tell him as you head towards the kitchen.

"Do you need help?" he asks.

"No, I've got it, but if you want..." you walk back to him. "I um... most of my paintings are in there," you point down the hall towards your living area.

After you set the food on the table you go into the living area to tell Loki it was ready. He is standing in front of your favorite painting, it was the first piece you did when you moved to New York City. His arms are crossed but you see a slight smile on his lips, he looks as if he is studying a famous painting at a museum.

"Dinners ready," you tell him, interrupting his thoughts. The two of you talk and joke all throughout dinner. You still weren't sure if he would consider this a date but you didn't care anymore. You had never had this much fun just talking to someone.

After dinner Loki says, "Thank you Y/N, that was the best meal I've had in months." You smile as you get up to clear the plates. "Let me take care of this," he insists, taking your plate from you.

"Are you sure? You don't have to do that," you tell him.

"Don't worry," he smirks, "It'll only take a minute." You look at him curiously and then with a flick of his wrist a green glow surrounds all your dishes, pans and utensils. In an instant they are all clean and stacked neatly on the counter.

You look at him, blinking slowly then say, "You are invited for dinner all the time."

He laughs, "I hope that is because you find me charming and not because I can clean efficiently."

"Is it ok if it's because of both reasons?" you joke. "Oh... I have something for you. I was going to bring it by the Tower after you got back but you're here so..." you say as you walk quickly down the hall to your bedroom.

"Am I supposed to follow you?" he asks clearly confused.

"No, I'll be right back," you tell from your room. You wall excitedly back to the dining area with a large, flat box in your arms.

"What is this?" he asks when you set it on the table and take a step back.

"Open it," you respond nervously. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, hoping that he will like it.

He opens the side of the box and slides out the canvas slowly, you bite you lip as you watch his expression change. His smile vanishes and his eyes widen as you holds the painting out in front of him. You suddenly fear you've made a mistake but then he turns to face you.

"Y/N," he says quietly, "This is... this is my mother's garden."

You nod, "Is it ok?"

"Ok?" he repeats and you shrug. "Y/N, this is beautiful. I have never received a gift this thoughtful. I- I cannot thank you enough for this," he says.

You smile, thrilled by his reaction. "I'm glad you like it," you tell him as he sets it carefully on the table.

He walks over to you, "I love it Y/N."

He puts one arm around your waist, pulling you close to him and you look up, your eyes meeting his. He touches your cheek lightly with his other hand and you wrap your arms around him. You are sure he can feel your heart beating out of your chest as he smiles at you. He leans down slowly, closing the distance between your lips and his.

When he pulls back a few moments later he says, "I wasn't sure if you meant for tonight to be a date or not but, I would love to take you out Friday night."

You giggle, "I wasn't sure either but I think I'm going to count it now."

He laughs, "Very well, then I would like to take you out on our second date, maybe to one of my favorite museums."

"I would really like," you tell him and he leans down to kiss you again.

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[nerdysleepybunny]

Hii!! This is my first time kinda requesting/asking something of you and I wanted to know if you're comfortable with doing it 😋😋 Would you be able to do a TPN (possibly+separate) trio with a GN/Fem!reader with not severe but pretty bad attachment issues or separation anxiety? Like the reader has been in the orphanage for a while, but always chooses that one (Ray, Norman, Emma) to attach to as a safety person? It's been a struggle for me since I was young and you are such a good writer, so maaayybbeee you could write it? Feel free to add or change anything to it!!<33 P.S depending on whether or not you can write it, can I be 🌷or💗 anon?

Hey cloud puff, glad you could join the clouds! Thanks for your first request, and for the kind words! I have attachment issues as well, so this is yet another fic of me simply describing myself lol. And of course you can be 🌷anon! I’ll add you to the list darling. <3 I decided to turn this into angst so prepare for tears. 👹👹👹 Thank you so much for the request, hope you enjoy!!

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Fandom(s): The Promised Neverland

Character(s): Norman, Ray, Emma (ft. Mom)

Reader: Gender neutral (You/Your)

TW: Mentions of attachment issues

Style: Hcs

Summary: The trio with a reader who has attachment issues.

You were born in the orphanage, and grew up there along with all your siblings. But, whenever you made a close friend, they ended up getting adopted, leaving you all alone. What hurt even more was that you never heard of them again. So, when you ended up befriending the trio, you constantly feared that one day they would leave you too.

Norman was used to your clinginess, how you’d always follow him around like a lost pup, practically glued to his hip. Hell, sometimes you’d even have your arms wrapped around one of his as you two walked side by side. Almost 24 hours of your day is spent as close to him as possible, but sadly you simply couldn’t be by his side all day, yet you still tried. Not that he minded!

Emma enjoys having you around as a playmate! You two would run around and play games together, sometimes just laying in the grass and gazing at the sky above you. You were always apart of her little shenanigans, you being her go-to person when she has mischief in mind! The two of you tell each other everything, and definitely have secret handshakes/signals that only the two of you understand. :)

Ray wasn’t as fond of your closeness as the other two, enjoying his space and alone time, but he still appreciated your company. You’d often join him in reading sessions or long conversations in the library. Sometimes you two would sit under his usual tree and write/draw in the dirt with sticks. When his social battery was drained, he’d send you off to Emma or Norman whilst he recharged. Though, you being so clingy made it easier for him to tell you the secret. Short story you ended up having a breakdown in his arms, to which he comforted you through the entire thing, until your screams turned to sobs, your sobs turned to whimpers, and your whimpers turned to deep breaths as you slowly regained control of yourself.

So imagine how hurt you were when you figured out Norman was being “adopted”. And the fact that you now knew the secret made it even more heart breaking. You now know why you never heard from your other siblings, and now Norman was about to join them. You simply couldn’t take it. Not him, anyone but him.

You stopped caring that you were supposed to be hiding the fact that you knew the secret, and barged into Mom’s office. She looked up from her desk shocked, but smiled warmly at your rage filled, yet tearful expression. How could she smile at something like this?

You slammed your hands on her desk, demanding that you were shipped out in Norman’s place. You’d do anything, anything at all, as long as it meant keeping Norman alive for just a bit longer. Mom quickly hushed you, reminding you that the other children can’t hear you, but agreed she’d think about it.

So that’s how you ended up here, in the forest, past the fence, with the trio standing behind you and Mom directly in front. No other children in the way, no more pretending, just a conversation where everyone can finally be themselves.

“I’ve decided that Y/N will be shipped out in Norman’s place, and the three of you will be the first children to survive up to 13. I hope you’re happy with this arrangement, Y/N.” Norman was the first to run up to you, shaking your shoulders, asking you if you were out of your mind and what you were thinking. Ray was next, giving you a good slap, to which Norman scolded Ray for, but the raven haired boy simply brushed it off.

“Idiot! What do you think you’re doing?!” You rubbed your now red cheek, but looked the three children in the eye with a serious expression.

“It’ll be better this way. This gives you guys more time to enjoy life. Besides, your brains will be more developed, so you’ll taste better.” You acted like you simply wanted the three to live longer, even throwing out that last bit to make Mom consider keeping the children alive even longer to develop their brains more. But what Mom didn’t catch was your quick wink, signaling the children that there was more to the story. Emma stepped in first, forcing herself to cry (well let’s be fair, she felt like crying as soon as she heard you’d be getting shipped out, so it wasn’t that difficult to start spilling tears) and embraced you, the two boys joining, putting on quite the believable show that they’d given up. Mom simply smiled before walking off.

When you were sure she was gone and out of ear-shot, you stepped away from your friends.

“Guys please, I know this sucks but this is our only way for us to escape! Mom’s giving you guys more time to live, so it gives you more time to train. Somebody has to die to save the rest, and I’d rather that person be me.” Yet again, you were given a hard slap, almost knocking you to the ground this time.

“You think you’re doing us a favor?! We can all survive if we just-“

“No Ray, we can’t! We don’t know what’s really out there, we don’t know what we’re up against, so be realistic! Besides, I’m tired of losing people, so this sacrifice is just doing me a favor.” With that, you stormed out the forest, leaving the 3 other children in shock.

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

This is pretty different from what I think the anon originally wanted, so if you want an alternative feel free to send in another request! If not, you can also request a part 2! :)

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 38*

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: It’s Clobberin’ Time: The Sequel, kinda!

Author’s Note: The chapter ends pretty abruptly for word count purposes (it’s still pretty long though, lol). Couldn’t find a better spot to move onto the next one :')

Enjoy and take care! >:3 x

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

Magnus got Leah home without being thrown up on. 

He explained the endeavor — including details of their brief bonding session, which warmed my heart to listen to — all before subjecting me to a morning of meditation. 

I still can’t float like he does, so it feels kinda silly when I do it… almost fell asleep a few times. There’s an intense solitude that comes with sitting in the grass — soft breeze blowin’ and birds chirpin’ — that seems to lull me right to sleep. 

After a boring few hours of that, we finally broke off to take care of our own tasks. 

Magnus has some sort of summoning-related stuff to research, and I’m just going to do some reading. It’s been fun learning about elementals and magic-using mundane and all that, and has helped me become more in tune with my own abilities now that I understand their existence a bit better. So cool!!

Rather than staying downstairs like I typically do when I raid Magnus’ library, I opt to go back to the main floor after I have a text picked out. I’d rather co-work than isolate myself for a change.

As I reemerge from the basement, the wizard gives me a perplexed look. “Do you have an inquiry, (y/n)?”

“Nope!” 

Bypassing him, I hop up onto the empty countertop near the sink and sit down, shifting the book from my arms to my lap. 

I reposition so that I’m cross legged, rather than dangling these stubs off the edge of my makeshift seat. Then, I crack my neck and knuckles and open up the book to the first page. 

By a few sentences in, I’m unable to shake the feeling that I’m still being watched. My brows furrow. I try to let it be for a minute… the feeling doesn’t let up though. When I finish skimming the page fully, I look up to investigate.

Magnus is… checking me out? Or maybe he’s hinting for me to stop sitting here? I’ve never been an expert on nonverbal cues. Either way, I don’t know what this means but I feel so fucking flustered being stared at like this.

“What?” I ask without elaboration. My voice comes out quiet, and my cheeks are flaming hotter than the fire beneath the cauldron. 

He mirrors the question. “What?” 

I grin, feeling self-conscious, and hide the lower half of my face behind the collar of the shirt beneath my dress. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Ah. I’m not used to doing our independent research in close quarters, is all.” Despite the explanation seeming relatively passive, Magnus draws nearer to me. 

“Do you want me to go somewhere else? I can leave.” 

“While you are quite the distraction…” he mutters, eyes reddening. 

That sounded so natural that I wouldn’t’ve even realized he was flirting if I didn’t have a perfect view of those mood ring-ass eyeballs. A squeak comes out while I subconsciously lean back a little and bring the book to my face, practically burying it into the pages in front of me. 

“…I enjoy your company far too much to send you away.” 

Now close enough to touch the counter, Magnus leans a hand down next to my side — he’s not purposefully touching it, but the knuckle that rests against my outer thigh feels electric. He uses the other fist to put pressure on the text in front of me so that I’ll lower it. It’s only once my vision is less obstructed that I notice how closely Magnus is leaning over me.

After placing the book down, I simply bring my palms up to mask myself with instead. I feel like I’m being a little immature but I just feel… very vulnerable right now.

Typically when I’m flustered, Magnus lets me self-soothe, whether it’s by fidgeting or hiding myself.

This time, he takes my hands from my face and places them down against the counter beside me. Keeping my wrists very softly pinned, a devilish grin plasters itself onto his lips. 

Oh no, he’s so fucking hot dude.

My brain short circuits as I try to figure out where to plant my vision. I can’t look him in the face right now, so I keep my gaze on my lap. 

Magnus’ left hand releases from my right and engulfs my cheek and jawline, tilting my view further north, so that I have no choice but to look at his face. Like a moth drawn to light, I don’t even try to protest.

“You’re awfully flushed, my dear,” he teases. I could swear he leaned in towards me just the slightest bit. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I swear to god Magnus,” I exhale under my breath, feeling a bit giddy. “You have one joke for when I get flustered, and it’s something along the lines of,” I clear my throat and lower my voice to mimic his, “Oh moy! Yew are quite wahm my deahr—“

He cuts off my showstopping impression with a belly-laugh. “What in the heavens was that?”

“What?” I giggle, unabashedly admiring the way his maroon eyes crinkle so much at the corners when he smiles. “Did I not sound identical to you?”

“No,” he continues to chuckle, eyebrows upturned. “In fact, it was the most… cringe, was it?” — I nod enthusiastically, extremely tickled by his Modern Slang Practice — “thing to ever come from that mouth of yours.”

Magnus emphasizes his point by mirroring his actions from the day of our spell incident. His thumb lightly brushes against my lips. This time it’s a quick flick to both, rather than just the bottom one.

I gasp and shudder at the contact. My eyes shift downward immediately while my smile falls flat. God fucking damnit.

“…What was that?” His question comes out quietly, but with some husk to it. Yoba.

My brows furrow before I look back up at Magnus. Feeling a little bold today apparently. I’m too embarrassed to say anything, but my determination is building as he gazes into my eyes, his own a darkened pink.

Feeling daring himself, Magnus takes the opportunity to examine me. He shifts his weight a little – his head now much closer to mine, especially given the added height this counter gives me – as he toys with my face. His eyes lower to my lip as he traces the curve of my top one, his touch featherlight. 

“A-are you having fun?” I whisper, with playful scorn in my voice.

His own mouth curled up at the edges, he matches my hushed tone. “I merely hadn’t expected much of a reaction to this without you being under an arcane influence.”

Before I can retort back, the wizard trails his finger down the corner of my mouth to reach the bottom half. Just like the first time this happened, I part my lips as if it were instinctual. 

He stalls his movement, his irises becoming cherry-like. Slowly and faintly, Magnus drags his thumb to the center of my lips as I shut them.

He pushes my top one up with the tip of his nail.

He pulls the bottom one down with the pad. 

And he slides his thumb down just a few millimeters, placing it just barely between my lips.

I was already feeling a bit needy — I just do around Magnus, nowadays, because of fucking course I do god damn these spirits or my hormones or whatever. But something about the elemental’s current experiment in particular sends an ache straight to my core. 

Fuck it… it’s time.

Using the hand that isn’t docilly cemented by my side, I wrap my fingers around the wizard’s wrist closest to my face. He had near-immediately started to move his thumb away after his actions, but my hand and his curiosity gave him pause.

Next, I cast my gaze down to Magnus’ hand. My whole body feels like it’s blushing and tingling as I slacken my jaw and crane my neck forward just a tad. 

Finally, I close my teeth delicately around the tip of his digit, close to his nail bed.

As my teeth and the tip of my tongue graze Magnus’ fingertip, his chest heaves beneath the confines of his royal purple button-down in the same way mine does under my pink shirt and lighter purple dress. 

My eyes flutter up to his. His pupils are blown wide as I draw my head back to its original spot, being sure to let my lips relax a little further over Magnus’ thumb.

I nonverbally request for him to kiss me, feeling too shy to invade him, while hoping he’s been in my head this whole time.

The wizard’s head starts dipping lower, and lower – flickering his eyes between mine and my mouth, and adjusting his angle slightly, to account for our noses – until there’s barely an inch between us.

“…You’re sure about this?” he whispers, his lips now grazing mine. 

Mesmerized, thankful he heard me, and completely lost for words, I nod.

Magnus’ gaze is still glued to his target as he pulls his thumb downward. He presses a little harder against my chin, dragging my mouth wider with it. Letting the anticipation build. 

“Too slow…” I telepathically intrude him, before closing the gap myself. 

It’s a bit messy, as Magnus is laughing into my kiss. He grumbles into my mouth, “So impatient, dear.”

The audacity. I offer another swift kiss before I respond with a wide smile against his lips. “I wouldn’t need to be if you weren’t such a tease.”

Another kiss.

“I may as well admit, now—“

Another kiss. 

“I was aware of your agreement with Sebastian far before it was verbalized to myself.”

Another.

“And I didn’t want to push you too soon…”

Kiss.

“But god, (y/n)…”

Oh, that’s so cool.

Kiss.

I grin, at both his enthusiasm and at how kind it was of him to wait for me to bust the first move, despite my subconscious practically begging for him to do it so many times. Often enough that he likely heard most of it.

After that exchange, we seamlessly fall into a tidier, more passionate rhythm. Magnus’ hand is still against my face, and he occasionally uses his thumb to toy with the flesh of my upper chin. Taking advantage of the fact that I apparently fucking love when he plays with my mouth and the area around it. 

My hand is fidgeting with his; toying with his veins and knuckles, and focusing on the feeling of his supple lips against mine alongside being fascinated by how long his fingers are compared to my head.

He eventually releases his pin on my other wrist to cup my face with both his hands, and I rest my now-freed palm against his chest. After a short moment, I shift my arms so that they’re wrapped around Magnus’ neck, pulling him closer than he already was.

As things grow more heated, his hands leave my face and travel to my sides. I don’t miss the way he lets both his thumbs graze the outer edges of my breasts as his touch moves south. He smiles between us when I sharply inhale at the sensation.

The wizard’s left knuckles keeps moving downward once the right palm has halted on my hip, right at the divot where my thighs meet my torso. He firmly taps against my knee with the straying hand, before placing it up opposite his other fist. Obeying Magnus’ silent command without breaking our kiss, I uncross my legs, letting them hang down on either side of him. 

Once I’m cozy, Magnus’ large palms move backward on me. He cups the top of my ass and scoots me closer, situating our clothed nethers against one another. Surprised and ridiculously turned on, I wind up half-gasping/half-moaning at the new feeling. Magnus takes the opportune opening to slip some tongue into the mix. 

Prompts another moan. This one’s squeakier.

My cheeks tingle as Magnus smiles, twirls his tongue against mine, and then lightly grinds himself against me, his grip tightening against my butt just slightly. 

Good fucking lord Magnus might be bigger than Seb down there. 

Don’t know if I’m more terrified or excited about that. 

Maybe both?

He ruts against me again, and even through the fabric of my long dress and his pants, it feels so fucking good.

Definitely both.

“Wrap around me,” Magnus softly orders. 

I oblige, and my body is lifted up. My legs stay tightened around Magnus’ torso as he scoots the skirt of my outfit up until there’s a feasible way of getting underneath it. As soon as that’s taken care of, he places me back down on the counter. 

Diving right back into my lips, Magnus begins kneading my body like dough. He starts near my hips, which are still somewhat covered by my clothes; heat is sent straight between my legs as he moves his grip inward with one hand, squishing the soft fat of my upper thigh. A needy mewl seeps its way from my throat as he treads closer to my center.

Magnus pulls away and scans my face, as I lean back on my palms. He’s sporting a devilishly handsome smile below his reddened cheeks. 

“Look at you…” His coo is laced with pity, driving me mad as I quiver beneath his touch. His fingers trail further inward, until I feel his thumb teasing the hem of my panties, just beside where they cover my lips. 

Feeling warmth radiating from me, and maybe even some wetness, he tacks on, “I had no idea you were such a perverted little thing.”

“Whoa,” my eyes light up with wonder, briefly pausing our activities. “You said that in the dream!”

Magnus laughs, and if he didn’t look so happy I’d think it was at me, for the occasionally childish joy of being new to magic and shit. 

“I’m surprised you still remember it well enough to pinpoint my dialogue.” 

“Hard to forget something like that,” I breathe, feeling one of Magnus’ fingers dip below the fabric of my underwear. 

My gaze trails from his face down to where his hands are, and although I can’t see past my bunched-up dress, seeing his lower arm buried beneath my clothing is flustering the everliving shit out of me. 

“Is this what you meant,” Magnus all but growls, pressing his forehead to mine, “when you told me I appeased you during your first vision?” 

He punctuates his sentence by shifting my panties next to my lower lips and sliding a finger up my slit. 

“Mm!—“ I shyly cut off my own moan. “Yeah, this was some of it.”

“Only some?” 

He presses a little harder just above my clit. I nod against him, shutting my eyes.

Something about the way he’s using casual conversation to build the sexual tension that’s already very much between us is driving me insane. 

He totally realizes that he’s doing so good while barely even touching me. He has to. But he insists on ignoring it for the sake of science or whatever the fuck. 

“What else happened, my dear?”

Oh god damnit. Can’t he just rack my brain for that kind of intel?

I shift a hand to my hair and lift the strands to my face, fidgeting with them beneath my fingertips. I feel timid about going into deeper detail.

“Well, uh…” 

Magnus cuts off my train of thoughts by wringing out a whine that’s been threatening my cords. He’s tracing along my entrance now. As he swirls around the edge, carefully and precisely, he seems adamant on not dipping into my cunt just yet. 

I begin to writhe against the fingertip, trying to urge Magnus inside. Magnus, being a huge fucking tease, pulls away and moves back to touching my slit with no more weight than a speck of dust. 

Shit. This is worse.

“Please,” I whisper. 

“You’ve yet to answer my question, (y/n).”

“Thought you didn’t need specifics—“ I moan as he puts just barely more pressure into his touch. 

“That was under drastically different circumstances.” Magnus shifts his fingers so that his knuckle is gliding against me instead. The slight addition of width into the mix makes me shiver. “I hadn’t the faintest clue then that our relationship would bud into something of this nature.”

“Fine, whatever,” I mewl, then try to recount my dream. “You— ahh~” I swallow harshly as he keeps effortlessly toying with my pussy. “Stop cutting me off if you want to know so badly oh my fucking god.”

“Apologies,” he grins. It’s a really shitty, punchable little grin.

“Yeah, okay.” I try to glare up at him, but I doubt it’s working with how my face is contorted. “Well, I was, like, kneeling, because my legs felt too weak to stan— mmn” 

I have to talk faster, if Magnus is gonna keep getting more precise with his movements like this. 

“A-and you sat in front of me, and you pulled me on top of you, and because I was a fucking disaster I just sorta started getting myself off on your leg, and then you like moved me around on you, and—“ Magnus stops. “What?” I pout.

“My leg?”

“I mean, I was under a curse that I’m assuming was only going to strengthen until I, like… came, no?”

“Well, I would’ve needed to be the reason for that, but yes.”

“And y-you pulled me onto your thigh. Like, just one thigh.” With the fists still at my side, I hold up my pointer finger to emphasize that it was just one thigh. Not that it matters much. “So,” I sigh, looking everywhere but the wizard’s face. “Being, like, in heat or whatever, I just…” I trail off, shrugging. “A-and you helped me.” I look up at him, then down again, too embarrassed. “Like, you held my hips, and, uh… Yeah.” 

“…Is that something you want?” 

“Yoba no,” I laugh nervously, waving the hand that was twirling my hair a moment ago. “That would be too embarrassing to do now.”

“Hm. Very well.” Magnus sounds unconvinced. “Continue,” he prompts me as he also continues. 

“O-oh god~”

He’s working me faster now, are you fucking kidding? How am I supposed to tell him anything like this?

I take a deep breath, trying to keep going as he chuckles at how much I’m struggling. “Uh, you,” I pause to curse under my breath, “You fingered me after that.”

“Did I?” 

I finally look at his face — still avoiding eye contact, my pupils train on his mouth. Magnus is fucking smiling. A breathy laugh comes out of me, and I nod. 

“Like… inside.”

“Ah, so like this?” He slooowly slides a digit into me. 

Oh. 

Oh god. 

That was corny and dumb and I hated it but also—

“Oh fuck!” My eyes roll back and I nod, answering his inquiry. “Y-yep!”

“Then what, my dear?” he asks calmly, shifting his movements from in-and-out to curling his finger up into my sweet spot. His fingers look thin, but they sure don’t feel it.

“T-that, that was all of it, holy shit,” I breathe. 

“I see…” 

For the love of god stop studying me and just fuck me already– oh Yoba above. 

Magnus begins combining motions. Rapidly pumping in and out of me, probing upward with the tip of his finger with each deep insertion. He proceeds to add a second finger, and scissors it a little to make some more room for himself before continuing his previous actions.

“Fuck.” My teary eyes roll shut. “Are– are you done interviewing me?” I move a tightly closed fist from the countertop up to Magnus’ shoulder, opening it only to grip onto him for comfort. 

“I suppose I can be–”

I cut him off with a whimper of his name, finally looking into his rubied eyes. “You’re such a little shit.”

“God.” He releases a hearty chuckle. “If you weren’t so fucking alluring, I’d be insulted.” 

I lean into his chest, trying to think and speak through the pleasure Magnus is coursing through me.

“Sadist…” I mumble, muffled by the fabric. 

“Blasphemy,” he jokes.

“B-bullshit!!”

Huh, that felt like a familiar exchange.

The contemplation immediately leaves my brain as I feel myself nearing the brink.

“Fuck Magnus, I’m so close,” I moan, while my clutch on his the fabric covering his shoulder tightens.

My hand that isn’t on his shoulder squeezes his forearm as he works the poor muscles to death, his motions growing quicker just as they are harder. 

Magnus pulls my upper body away from him and uses his free hand to caress my face, holding it just in front of his own as he gruffly whispers his orders for me to cum around his fingers. 

His eyes are intense and fiery as I stare into them, my own watering, while I’m all but fucking hypnotized into finishing off. Even through ringing ears, I’m able to make out that he praises me. 

“Thaaat’s my sweet girl,” he lilts as it goes on, his eyes boring into mine with pure lust. Makes me smile.

My head falls back once I’m done, but I quickly recuperate, pulling Magnus’ face to mine; insatiable, and kissing him hard. 

He once again assumes a position where one of his hands is attached to my face, while the other grips the countertop I’m sitting on. His fingers thread into my hair, tugging lightly at the roots.

“Mm, let me touch you?” I murmur into his lips. 

“Not yet,” Magnus mutters back. He trails his lips away from mine, delving into my neck, and nipping it lightly. Making me all tingly. “I’ve waited centuries to feel you,” he mutters against my skin before lightly licking it.  

Holy shit, why is it so hot when he puts it that way?

Not missing the opportunity to be a little gremlin, I tease, “Do ya think all your soulmates have the same pussy too?”

He snorts, leaning his forehead onto my shoulder. 

“God damnit, (y/n), I was trying to be romantic.”

“Come on, Razzy, you know how I work by now.” Magnus tilts his head towards my neck, biting hard this time. “Ahh!~”

“Yet I’m learning plenty about you right now.” He harshly sucks my skin, making me squirm. “Although, I predicted your fondness for more savage sexual practices, given your previous conditions.”

It takes me a moment to piece together that he’s likely talking about when Seb bit the shit out my neck, and Magnus saw it the next morning. I laugh, albeit meekly, at the memory. “I suppose now’s as good of a time as ever to admit you’re the reason that happened.”

I feel Magnus’ lips stall, before he brings his face back to face mine. His eyes are a brighter, angrier red. “Certainly it was consensual?”

My own eyes widen, and I take Magnus’ face in my palms. I can’t help but smile a little at his concern. “It was very consensual,” I giggle. “I promise it wasn’t, like, malicious or anything.” 

He leans his forehead on mine and exhales. “Yoba, I felt my soul leave my body at the mere prospect.” 

I softly kiss his lips. “I appreciate the concern.” 

Magnus returns the kiss, deepening it, before pulling away to ask with furrowed brows, “J-just a moment – explain how I was the reason for that…?”

“Seb heard you call me your dear, got jealous, aaand we got kinda kinky about it.”

“Ah. Understood,” he mutters behind a wide grin. “He’d instantly scolded me for that, you know.” 

I was right, back then!

“I figured.” I kiss Magnus again, then mutter under my breath, in a sing-songy voice, “Anyway, I’m not-so-subtly hinting now that you can be super rough if you want toooo~”

A louder laugh rumbles from Magnus. “Goodness, you haven’t so much as seen my penis yet and you’re asking for that?” 

“Are you implying I wouldn’t be able to handle it?” 

“I’m implying your safety comes before all else.”

I came first, actually, I cheekily think to myself. Magnus doesn’t respond – thank fucking god he didn’t hear my terrible pun. Or ignored it. Either is fine…

“Whatever,” I mutter into another kiss. 

I lightly tug his bottom lip between my teeth. He groans at the sensation. God, that sound is so hot. Our mouths fumble together for a little longer before Magnus breaks away, fidgeting with my dress.

“May I…?” he breathes.

“Mhm.”

I boost myself up a little bit to help him get the skirt up from around my butt, before he promptly yanks the fabric over my head. He takes a moment to scan my body before stripping me of the knit tee that was beneath my dress as well. His eyes graze me again, lingering on my chest longer than the rest of me. 

Feeling shy, I try to hide in my hair again. He offers me a soothing smile when he sees my poor attempt to disguise myself.

“You’re absolutely stunning, my dear,” he mutters, his voice coarse. 

I tip my torso closer to him and crane my neck to meet his lips again, unsure of how else to respond. Magnus makes it a point to feel almost every inch of me that he can without removing my undergarments yet. Feeling him graze the underside of my boobs, I reach back to unhook my bra. He wastes no time engulfing the ladies with his hands.

I parrot his earlier question as I tug at his shirt, and he nods, the only hum of confirmation being a growl. I struggle at first to unbutton the fabric, feeling too excited to be precise while also not being used to unbuttoning shirts aside from my own. 

Magnus laughs quietly, and pokes fun against my lips, “A true prodigy, I see.” Prick.

“Fuck you,” I laugh, fully pulling away to focus on his buttons. 

This is the first time he’s had much of a chance to actually look at my bare chest, and he curses under his breath as he peers down at it. From below my eyelashes, I meet his gaze, catching as his irises move up to meet mine. They quickly shoot back down. 

I wonder if he’s a boobs guy, or if he just really likes mine.

Once I’ve finally finished undoing his top, but before I can tug it off, Magnus bends down to kiss his way from my shoulder to my breasts. 

Noticing the almost-squat he has to do even with the surface giving me height, I realize he’s probably uncomfy. 

My thought is cut off as he tugs my left nipple between his teeth, a sigh then leaving my mouth as he licks the sore surface better.

Once my head’s back in the right place, I bring up my concerns.

“Hey, wait,” I prompt, bringing his attention from my tit to my face. Magnus sits up a bit to level with me. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, perfect,” I nod. “It’s just— wouldn’t this be easier if we were, like, laying down or something?” I suggest, my voice a little shaky. Why do I feel nervous? “‘Cause, like… you’re super tall.” Obviously.

A short moment of contemplation passes before he shrugs and nods. “Probably, yes,” he agrees.

Without hesitation, Magnus scoops me up in his arms.

“Ack— jeez, at least warn me first!”

His laugh reverberates against my torso as he carries me across the room towards the stairs. 

“I apologize,” he offers. “I’m hesitant to admit this, but I’ve always yearned to carry you like so.”

“What?!” I cackle, despite the idea of that making me redder in the face. 

“You’re adorably petite.”

“Magnus, you can’t just carry people because they’re short.” 

“Clearly I can.”

Magnus easily transfers me to one arm as he opens the door to his bedroom.

Why is everyone in Pelican Town so much stronger than they look? 

“Additionally,” he continues, “I don’t have a wish to carry around everyone who’s small. Just yourself.”

I wonder if he has a bit of a size kink… fucking same, dude. 

I’d expected him to lay me down gently, given how meticulous most of his movements have been. Instead, Magnus practically tosses me onto the mattress. I squeak out in surprise, but am quickly shut up by his mouth pressing against my curling lips again as he hovers his body over mine. Shortly after, he removes my underwear from my lower half.

Finally having the opportunity to feel his bare skin, I graze my fingertips along his chest and tight stomach before stripping him of his shirt completely. Impatient, I move right to work his pants off of him next. 

“So eager…”

I double down on my thought from earlier on in our activities. “You’re just slow.”

My eyes scan down Magnus’ body now that I finally have a chance to look at his unclothed torso. I stop fiddling with his zipper.

“Whoa, what’re these?” 

He’s covered in long, jagged scars. Honestly, they look pretty fucking sick. I trace them beneath my fingertips, gazing at the sharp edges of each one. It’s as if someone painted a bunch of messy, lavender-ish lightning bolts onto his skin.

“A product of arcane warfare.”

“You say that like it’s such a casual occurrence…” I mumble, admiring his figure and resuming my work on his pants. 

“It is, in my line of work.” Magnus corrects himself, “Well, it used to be. There are plenty more rules these days, thankfully.”

“How long ago did that stuff happen?” I ask, now looking into his eyes. My own are wide with intrigue. 

“Let me see,” he mumbled to himself, gnawing his lip in thought. “‘Twas before electricity as we know it today, I remember that much.”

I wonder if there are spells to create light… like in Skyrim. 

Ooooh man, I wonder if the College of Winterhold exists in some form in real life. Like, a College of Ginger Island or some shit, hidden off the coast somewhere.

That’s a question for another time. 

To keep my reply simple and move along, I just nod, murmur “Jeez,” and continue to shimmy Magnus’ pants down his hips. “It’s weird to think of how much you’ve experienced compared to me.”

Magnus stands upright to properly free himself of his trousers. Beneath them are tight, black, silky boxer briefs. They do little-to-nothing to hide the outline of his erection. 

Mmm. Shit. Wanna taste him.

“Much of it I can teach you,” he suggests. “Some other time, of course,” he adds with a smile as he removes the fabric covering himself. 

As he brings his body back over mine, I laugh, “Oh, but of course.” 

Just as I’d expected, his cock is fucking huge. It takes every bone in my body not to reach out and touch it… but I want to respect his earlier decision. I have to.

But holy shit, that’s a nice cock.

I’d wondered how it would look considering his non-human skin tone. Just as most dicks are, the tip and his balls are differently colored than the rest; except rather than a darker gray, they more so match the shade his cheeks turn when he flushes. His veins, similarly to the ones in his hands and forearms, have a purple tone to them.

It’s kinda cute. Very pretty, too. 

My arms wrap around Magnus’ shoulders again as he plants his forearms beside my face, pressing a sweet kiss to my forehead, then my lips. 

One of his palms lowers to play with my boobs again, before he trails it by the fingertips down the middle of my torso. It tickles a little. Not enough to make me uncomfy or giddy; it’s just the right amount to make me squirm, eager for more of his touch. Absolutely coats my skin in goosebumps.

His fingers find their way to my clit again, and I groan into his lips before breaking off. “Hypocrite…”

“Whatever do you mean?” Even with the cocky look on his face, it feels like there’s a bunch of butterflies going apeshit in my stomach as he plays with my folds. 

“Y-you’re not dumb, c’mon,” I stutter, not having expected him to embed his digits inside of me once more as I’d opened my mouth to speak. 

I latch onto Magnus’ lips again. My hips gyrate slightly beneath us as he pumps within me. In retaliation, he lifts himself up and settles his hand against my lower tummy, right below my belly button. The slight pressure makes me stop moving, but also gives him more of a domineering aura. 

It’s driving me insane.

“Please Mag—fuck,” I whine, biting my left knuckles to ground myself. My right fist is clenched around his sheets, tugging north. “Need,” I halt my request to moan at a particularly nice curl, “Needa feel you.”

“You already are, aren’t you?”

“Magnus, you suck.”

“I can, you know…?” 

Smooth. The mischievous glimmer in his eyes says he really wants to.

“No,” oh goddamn am I gonna cum again already? “Fuck!” I laugh. “Nevermind, please do~”

Without pausing his fingers, Magnus tugs me by the waist to the edge of the mattress and kneels down. 

Diving right in, he starts with an open-mouthed kiss to my lower lips, before spreading me open. As he sucks on my clit, he lightly shuffles the flat of his tongue around the swollen area.

Magnus only pulls away for a short moment to note, “You’re just as sweet as I’d assumed you’d be.” 

That’s super embarrassing, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel turned on by the compliment.

More obsessed with his hungry red gaze than I am shy about being on full display, I prop myself onto my elbows to watch. I notice a slight wrinkle in the corners of Magnus’ lids as he works through a proud smile. 

One of my hands moves seemingly on its own volition to grasp his hair. As I tug it, Magnus groans against me.

Oh. Does he like his hair being pulled too? 

Whether he does or not, the vibration his noise sends through me begins to finish me off. 

“Oh god, yes,” I cry out. 

I throw my head back as my eyes flutter shut, pulling harder on his tresses. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he praises. His lips never leave my pussy while the words enter my head. 

My vision fades out for a moment while Magnus prods and licks the perfect amount to prolong my pleasure through to the end.

After I cum harder than I may have ever came before, like legitimately, oh my fucking god, I figure Magnus has gotta be using his telepathic shit to know exactly what to do. 

Because this bitch knows exaaactly what to do.

[sucktacular]

babies first weed delivery from OCS today!! showing up.... at whenever the fuck the decide!! they didnt have my darling favorite Forbidden Fruit from Back40 :((( so I'm trying the ever descriptive "Indica Cartridge" from Community.... this shit better knock me the fuck out!!

i've been sucking on my old "mostly empty" vape carts like a pathetic little goblin for the past week so I'm so ready to get a fresssshhhh concentrated hit right to my brain

baby needs his little treat!!! I was SO GOOD this week and did SO MANY IMPORTANT THINGS!!!! Including call hospital back (oh god the receptionist KNEW IT WAS ME LOL), contact legal aid, clean my room and KEEP IT CLEAN, do dish, DID ALL MY BEDDING AND LAUNDRY!!!!, been taking frankie out for his grass eating adventures, putting some art I've had for months up on my wall, nearly finish my sewing project, etc etc etc. I've been a good boy and I have NO FOREHEAD KISSES TO SHOW FOR IT!! (partner is coming up this monday tho aaaaa >:3c!!!! its been a few weeks since i saw them)

oh and I also dragged my sleep schedule back but the lack of weed has been HELL on my sleep. been too awake to sleep and too sleepy to wake up. u_u so I'm stuck at fall asleep around 4/5am and wake up at 3pm. but thats SO much better than 9/10am sleep and 7/8pm wake :3

anyway i wait for my weed and i ponder once more if I can make myself draw... i want to draw some B art and have been wanting to for months but ive been so stuck in a slump. between social stuff going to HELL, my mental health being in the shitter, my enegry being at absolute 0 if not in the negatives, having other TANGIBLE projects i'd rather do but am also fighting for motivation to do (i prefer tangible projects over digital art but they are both wonderful), etc etc u_u it has NOT been happening wogh

me: woe is me i wish i liked my art more but i always see mistakes and HATE them so much me @ me: you stupid BITCH you have to take that and LEARN THEN and PRACTICE, you CANNOT JUST SIMPLY DWELL me: oh woe is me what if i can never draw as good as i want awoowoowoo me @ me: i hate you. die die die. draw your shit you stupid fuck (soft with love)

anyway uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh end.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and/or reblog it.

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[drabsyo]

I was wondering...I was always confused about Narcissa’s hair. It’s been a while since I read the books. Did she color it blonde to show her now belonging to House Malfoys. Or was it naturally blonde? Movies confused me a bit I guess.

Yes, this had me confused too! I've agonized and toiled over it, more than I probably should, about how I should draw her hair because people have generally different views, which is totally understandable! 💕

And I've always wanted to discuss it, so now that I've been given a reason to... Well.

If you take a look at some of my Narcissa fanart, you'll notice the different ways I'd color her hair. I was so confused. Is she a light blonde? Dark blonde? A mix of raven hair and blonde hair? If she has blonde hair then why does her family have (mostly) dark hair? And WHY does she have blue eyes?! This woman is absolutely confusing! (Which is kind of, you know, fitting because Narcissa always loves to be a mystery to literally anyone lol)

So I did my homework, asked around, and scoured every bit of information, canon or otherwise, that I could find about her. It led me to this:

In canon, this is what the Black sisters look like. You can find the page here. Narcissa is a child here, and already has blonde hair. So we can go ahead and safely assume that she was born with natural blonde hair. But in the films, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. I don't actually know why they gave her that hair color, maybe so that the audiences wouldn't question her blood relations with the Blacks--I don't know. I really don't. But now we have a book version Narcissa, one who has full blonde hair. And a movie version Narcissa, one who has raven and blonde hair. At least, that's how the different hair colors started: a movie version, and a book version.

So... here's where it gets confusing.

To my knowledge, it isn't actually explained why her hair color is the way it is in both the movies and the books. Having blonde hair does raise many questions, how is she the "only" blonde in a family of dark hair and dark eyes? To top it all off, it gets even more confusing, because fanon writes and draws her either as a full blonde or a mix of raven and blonde hair. We just have this large pile to sift through of her having either hair color. No one actually explains anything. She's just... infuriatingly there. She's either blonde or raven haired and blonde. BUT fanfiction writers, as I've observed, give their own reasons why Narcissa's hair color is the way it is in their respective stories. And it's actually pretty creative and interesting! It adds even greater depth to her character, and it fits the narrative of the story even better. Remember, the character we're dealing with is Narcissa Black. One of her main traits is "she won't do anything unless there is a clear purpose behind it." This character is deliberate, meticulous, and she makes sure to plan ahead at all times. And so, some fanfiction writers decide to play on that.

You can skip this part if you want to avoid spoilers but I've compiled a small list of instances in (Cissamione) fanfiction where Narcissa's hair is mentioned.

🔹 In Extinction by rubikanon in Chapter 10: Build and Break, Hermione asks Narcissa about it. Here, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. She explains that she only decided to dye it blonde to "fit in with the Malfoys." We can gather two things from that alone, which resonates with her character perfectly: 1.) Narcissa is loyal and 2.) Narcissa purposefully wants to show the rest of the world how loyal she is by committing to having blonde hair. The woman has some serious commitment, and it shows. But now, the way that it's slowly growing back into her natural black hair color, hints that perhaps Narcissa no longer wishes to fit in with the Malfoys. However, if we take an even closer look, we can safely assume that Narcissa isn't the kind of person to just leave her hair color "unattended" like that. Remember, she's meticulous. And this is a big deal for her, the fact that she's just kind of letting it grow back instead of either fully dyeing it back to black, or dyeing it back to blonde. It suggests that perhaps she's a little unsure this time, perhaps it is her uncertainty that is the reason why it's now a mix of both. Another grey area? Or maybe it's actually something more deliberate? Maybe now, she likes that it's a mix of both. That other half now being solely for Draco, and not to fit in (completely) with the Malfoys any longer. Who knows why Narcissa does things the way she does? We can speculate to the ends of the earth, or be as smart as Hermione Granger (or with the case of Extinction, see Hermione's thoughts), but something tells me we'd still be a good step behind.

"Which one is your natural hair color?" I wondered aloud.

(Narcissa) She glanced up at the unexpected question. I was relieved she hadn't sensed my attention yet. It's not like I meant anything by it, I told myself. She was so beautiful, one couldn't help but notice. And feel physically drawn to her. And want to see her two-toned hair fanned across her back, slipping over the bare skin, silky beneath my fingers...

"Why do you ask?" Her query brought me back to reality, and I hurriedly corrected my imagination to include a pretty dress covering the rest of her.

"I don't know." I chewed the inside of my cheek, suppressing my other thoughts. "I'm just curious."

Her gaze returned to the fire. "You've seen enough of my relatives to guess which color is genetic. The blond is something I added to fit in with the Malfoys, after Draco was born." She was quiet for a moment. "He looks so much like his father. I suppose I wanted to share some resemblance."

🔹 In Killing Me Softly by Looktotheedges in Chapter 4: Nagging, Hermione suggests that perhaps Narcissa is part Veela because of her blonde hair and very attractive features, like Fleur. Which is this whole other theory/plot that's very interesting, but won't be discussed in this post. Narcissa tells Hermione that Sirius has always been blonde, and that it isn't out of the question for her to be blonde either. Sirius Black. A blonde. I know! Maybe it's there because it's funny that Sirius is actually blonde like Narcissa. Prissy, haughty, lady-like Narcissa. Arguably the 'girliest' cousin that he has. No, no, no. He doesn't want to be anything like Narcissa. Anyway, if that's the reason, I think that's hilarious and cute.

Narcissa turns away. 'I am aware my appearance is frightfully drab. Work has been…'

Hermione holds back a disbelieving scoff. 'Narcissa. You always look beautiful. And you’re talking to the witch with grass in her hair who practically lives in her office all week.'

Narcissa just leans further over the crib. 'A blonde little boy. It has been so long since… I can almost imagine…'

Hermione stands next to her. Looks down at the peacefully sleeping Louis. He does look remarkably like Draco. 'Are you sure there’s no Veela blood in you? You weren’t secretly switched at birth?'

'Like a changeling?'

'It would explain your blonde hair.'

'Sirius was also blonde, it is not completely out of the question for us Blacks.'

What?!

(...) 'I know. But it is the truth. He was blond until he was about seven… then it began to darken. Mousy. Dull. He wanted to look cool and brooding instead, so he got his hands on some kind of charm right before he set off for Hogwarts. A new, edgy Sirius. It was around then he forbade us from calling him Siri. Said it sounded too girly.'

🔹 In Fixed in Time by TheWorldsaBeastofBurden in Chapter 9: Sisters and Saviors, it's also tackled a little humorously. Andromeda let's a little comment slip while they're in the middle of trying to heal Hermione. Something funny, something that suggests Andromeda and Bella, when they were children, have always wondered why Narcissa is blonde unlike them.

The first words spoken occurred after they’d risen and attempted their casting. Andromeda’s preparedness to take on their task had been clear in her mind so Narcissa rose with her sister, wrapped an arm around her waist and held her near as the woman raised her wand to draw up the rest of the injury she’d dropped, half a slash across Hermione’s hip bone…

That remained half, as Andromeda growled out, “...it isn’t working.” she looked to Narcissa, “Why aren’t you powering me?”

What nonsense? “I am!” she insisted. She was! Or “I- I am trying to!” Her magic was active and alive, pulsing to rise from her skin and transfer into Andromeda’s but it- it wasn’t working! “Could...could it be that you were disowned?”

“Disowning doesn’t take away the fact that we share blood, our magic is directly related. Ugh, Bella always said you were adopted!”

“Oh ha- oh.”

“...oh?” Andromeda returned.

“...it’s not an issue of power. It is what I intend to aid in casting,” Narcissa slowly worked out. Oh, it was most blessed Mister Goyle could be brought to assist the present Hermione. If her present self had been brought to aid Andromeda? “...I cannot harm Hermione.”

Andromeda sighed with some frustration. “I understand you are so tenderly in love-”

“It isn’t- I’m avowed! I- when we arrived from the future we had to escape Malfoy Manor, I couldn’t bring Hermione through the wards without...I couldn’t add her directly, that would be visible. I had to...attach her permission to mine.”

🔹 In Glass Silence by Zarrene Moss (Menzosarres), which probably gives one of the most interesting backstories for Narcissa's hair, for why it's blonde. I can't put a clip of the scene here without hogging up a huge chunk of space on your dash, so I'll try to explain it as best I can instead.

Understand that these come with serious 🛑spoilers🛑 so please do read it at your own risk.

In Glass Silence, Narcissa's hair and eye color was black at birth. But after an accident with raw magic, something Bellatrix wasn't able to control when they were children, Narcissa almost dies. Bellatrix, using even more raw magic, tries desperately to pull Narcissa's "life force" back, but at the cost of losing the eumelanin that made Narcissa's eyes and hair black. Narcissa survived, but now has very little eumelanin left, which is why she's so pale, blonde, and has blue eyes. Every time Narcissa looks at a mirror, her reflection is a reminder of the day she almost died. Bella, on the other hand, is reminded of that day every single time she looks at Narcissa.

So! These are only a few fanfictions I could think of at the top of my head that tackles the issue of Narcissa's hair. In the books, to my knowledge, she is described as having blonde hair and very pale skin.

But let's take another deep dive, if you're up for it.

These are mostly theories, which are largely unconfirmed, but I think they're interesting to think about.

There's this description in the wiki:

"Narcissa Malfoy is described as tall, slim, "nice looking", and very pale, with blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a clear, cold voice. Her hair colouring thus differs from most of the House of Black, who generally have dark hair, though Narcissa does possess the arrogant good looks characteristic of her family."

There's also this pinterest photo of the Black sisters being compared to each other side by side, descriptively and physically. I'm so sorry, I don't know who drew it, but here's a link to the post on pinterest.

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

Which is interesting because this hints that she's... different. It's a bit literal in this sense--she comes from a pureblood family, arguably the most influential and notorious one, the Blacks, who mostly have dark hair and eyes, and yet her physical appearance directly contrast that. There's also the matter of her namesake. She's the only Black to be named after a flower instead of a galaxy or a star. We aren't really given any explanation why she's the only one who's different. Even Sirius, who fought and died for the side of the Light, is named after the brightest star in the sky. Even Andromeda. It's been said that this is actually meant to be a parallel of some sort to Lily Evans. Narcissa and Lily are both named after flowers, even Petunia (Lily's sister). And I know there's this thing where it's a tie up to how Harry was ultimately saved by a mother's love: Harry lived at the beginning because of his mother's love, and Harry lives once again at the end of the books because Narcissa, a mother who wanted to save her own son, saved him.

If you read that scene in the books where Harry is saved by Narcissa, the whole scene is actually... pretty soft? There's that sort of disarming softness about Narcissa in that moment, where Harry expected to be callously dragged and prodded for a heartbeat. Instead, he gets a surprisingly gentle touch, a curtain of long blonde hair shielding him from the darkness, and the kind of tenderness he wouldn't expect from his enemies, "Is Draco alive?"

It's almost like Narcissa's appearance is something of a "tell". With Andromeda, she's described to have kind eyes, open, unguarded. She inherited her family's dark eyes and dark hair, and she even looks like Bellatrix's twin. I suppose we could say, Andromeda wants to fight that in any way she can by being openly kind. Narcissa is quite literally the opposite--guarded eyes, stoic expressions, cool and calculated emotions. We're veering into this fine line between fanon and canon in terms of their characterization (but only due to lack of canon materials) but personally, I think Narcissa having blonde hair and blue eyes is somewhat more fitting for her character. Again, this line:

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

It's like that one glaringly obvious hint that everyone overlooks simply because... because it's the most obvious one. "Me! I'm different! I'm the last person you'd expect, but it really is me!"

Anyway. I've rambled on long enough. Hope this clears up some of that confusion, anon. Hoping it didn't ADD even more confusion... 😂 At the end of the day, this is just me speculating, gushing, and being One Big Fool™. So.

But either way, blonde hair, dark hair, mix of both, I adore her. Pretty much.

[meruz]

once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous) 

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury​ Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL. 

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool​ UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close. 

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually  that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

[pars-ley]

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex 

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?" 

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab." 

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics. 

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is. 

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?” 

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm. 

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands. 

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented." 

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this? 

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there. 

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds. 

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave. 

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking. 

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside. 

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze. 

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?" 

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?" 

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building. 

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No." 

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

 "Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline. 

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before. 

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is. 

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie." 

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?" 

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after. 

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks. 

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade. 

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice. 

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

[hrina]

The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon. 

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger���s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.  

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

[dumbass-mha-simp]

Elliott x GN!Reader

Your New Playlist

Kinda sad? Ig angst but not actually like, bad angst yk.

1k words

Stardew Valley

Warnings: crying, mentally beating yourself over a crush, self-sacrificing but not in a death kinda way, cussing (I think like one f word), Elliott is a theater kid you can't convince me otherwise,

I wanna do a part two, would anyone be interested? I know how much us Elliott simps want fanfiction. I'm probably gonna start on it anyway lol.

Yes I actually made this playlist smh ikik, you don't have to listen to it ofc but his aesthetic really fits my music taste, at least I feel so. I write my fanfiction as gender neutral as I can but if you ever spot any mistakes I'd love to fix it!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elliott's POV

My feet took me across the path leading to Leah's house. The gentle cotton clouds stretching their wisps across the blue sky, bright enough to blind me as though it were the sun that it surrounds. The gentle new Spring breeze froze my cheeks lightly as my eyes closed to avoid the same chill from the past winter.

Fresh Spring flowers and hidden vegetables encircled her yard as I made my way to knock against the dark wood door that always seemed thunderingly loud.

Leah peaked through the window by her door before I can see her face light up and reach for the door.

"Hey, c'mon in!" She opens the door wider to let me pass through. "How are you doing?"

"If I'm honest, a little troubled." I sigh looking forlornly to the floor.

"Come sit." Leah pulls me to her table and sits in the accompanying seat. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Leah, what does it feel like to you before you admit you fancy someone?" I look up into her listening eyes before her face changes into slight shock.

"Hmmm." She brings her hand up to her chin as she ponders. "Well, you miss being around them when they're gone. You constantly find ways to connect anything back to them, like `oh they'd love this`, or `I should check up on them.` You care about their opinion more than others and you want to learn about them, even if it's the uninteresting things."

I slide my arms down onto the table, placing my head on top of them. That sounded exactly like what's happening. I had read about it a million times, falling gently in love with a close friend. Perhaps that interest to become friends was always attraction.

"I can't get enough of Y/N." I muffled through my folded arms sighing once again as I turned my head to finally look back up at Leah, the light stinging my eyes.

"Well maybe I could help you with getting more of them?" Leah smirked as she grabbed her phone from her pocket.

I lifted my head slightly panicked. "What are you doing?" I rushed out.

"Relax, I'm not telling Y/N. But they shared something with me. They have a wide music taste yes?"

I had heard some of their music. While they made us lunch, while they partake in their hobbies, when they hum near silently late at night on the beach. I nodded back thinking of how they never seemed to be signing along to a song similar to the others. Unpredictable, and absolutely captivating.

"Well one of their tastes in music is very folk-y and they mentioned how those songs reminded them of you. So they made a playlist of songs that remind themselves of you." Leah said looking down and scrolling through her phone.

They made a playlist about me. They actively want to remember and listen to things that remind themselves of me. I feel I might faint. Was this something that was common among friends? Was this nothing more than an act of kindness? Or something they decided to do on a whim?

"Here give me your phone I'll send it to you." She holds her hand out expectantly.

I quickly go to pull out the hardly used device. I had never had much use for it but if it could bring me any step closer to Y/N I wouldn't hesitate to learn.

Leah downloaded a music app, laughing at how I had no applications. Before leaving it opened on the playlist. "The Lonely, Ocean-Accompanied, Writer." It read. I reread it a couple times to convince myself it was real. A lovely name, but is that how they see me?

"Chill out, Romeo." Leah giggled. "I can practically see you overthinking everything. Just relax and listen to the songs, maybe they'll tell you something."

I wrapped my arms around her neck, hugging her closely before leaving to listen to the playlist.

~~~

As I shut the door behind me I pressed my back against it. I've never felt so scattered before. I looked for the volume button, turning it up before hitting play.

The songs, quiet but emotional. As though you had just lie down on the grass to cry or relieve tension or reminisce. They felt like a memory I had trouble recalling.

The songs seemed to renew me, before I heard one I distinctly remembered hearing before. From high-school theater club, a time in my life that was fond to me. I do remember Y/N telling me they loved musicals, hearing them hum along to Heathers while I wrote.

A song unlike most others on this list.

"When He Sees Me" from Waitress.

~~~

Y/N's POV

"Oh, Yoba. What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door, And I can't close it?" I belted out the lyrics as loud as I wanted, the tears streaming down my face unwavering.

The good side to owning your own farm is you could scream along to your songs without people to complain. You had been replaying this part of the song for awhile now. He was all you could seem to think about.

Your head was swarmed with thoughts of Elliott. Some where he reciprocated your feelings and others where he shut you out. Every time you built a daydream where he loved you unconditionally you trampled it with the thoughts of his rejection.

You brought your knees up to your chest, resting your head between them as you cried.

~~~

Elliott's POV

We had had conversations about musicals, perhaps that's why they chose this song? Maybe they thought since my school had a play of Waitress that it'd fit. But I know they liked other Waitress songs, why weren't those added? Only this one.

After that song came another, "I Hear A Symphony" one I've never heard. As the song started all I could see was Y/N. I could hear them singing along, their smile, their eyes averting to mine for the thousandth time.

Y/N was my symphony.

The powerful, breathtaking ocean couldn't compare to the awkward farmer that ran across town just to give me their best sweet pea flowers and be the first thing I saw as I left my quaint cabin.

They brought the motivation and inspiration for 8 hour writing sessions, they brought me food when they knew I'd forgotten to eat between writing the book and planning on what to write next.

They were something I could never dream of losing. I wished to live the rest of my life with their support.

If telling them my feelings means I'd lose them, then I couldn't dream of making such a selfish decision.

~~~

Y/N's POV

I trudged my way into town. After last night's crying session my eyes still felt a bit dry, if I'm honest I cried when I woke up as well. The loneliness felt suffocating in such a lonely little house. But I needed some new seeds. The stone path drawing all my attention as I walked.

As I walked into Pierre's it wasn't hard to tell that people could see something was off. After buying my seeds I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning around to find Elliott.

"Y/N are you feeling alright? You look as though you've been distressed lately." You motion to him to follow you and walks out of the store behind you.

You take a deep breath as you start to tear up a bit more. He reaches for your face as he lifts it up, looking at the pooling tears.

So many things, the things you could have said. But they didn't come up. Instead a vision of his face of discomfort at your confession. You couldn't bear it. You couldn't tell him.

"I've just been stressed. I'm sorry for worrying you, Elliott." You sigh, attempting to put up a fake smile as you wipe your eyes. He retracts his hand as he looks guilty. Fuck does he feel like it's his fault?

"Well I'm willing to listen to your troubles if you ever need." He also puts on a strained smile as you both part ways.

"This is for the best." They both whisper as they leave.

[saltpepperbeard]

Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?” 

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I. 

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.” 

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer - EMBRACE

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow’s Spiritual Shrios Summer!

Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: EMBRACE - | - WORDS: ~6100

Rated: “E” for “Awkward but Spicy” [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Too Much and Not Enough” Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

A/N: This fic is a god damn hot mess, and yet I have literally *never* revised anything so heavily in my entire life. Was supposed to be part of a slow burn but I'm impatient. I literally can't tell if this fic is worth reading. You decide lol

Thank you @quietonewisp for your feedback on my first draft! It's unbelievable to be in the same fandom with such talented writers after all these years. Thank you also to everyone who shared encouraging words while I was pulling my hair out over this fic :) this is my first attempt at writing Shepard as a thought out character of my own creation. As a result it's pretty awkward.

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

"I don't know how you do this," Shepard grunts through clenched teeth.

Every third day is yoga. And today, she thought it would be a good idea to try a headstand.

Thane guides her feet into the air, resting her knees against her elbows. Her hands are planted on either side of her head, elbows bent at a right angle to form three points of support against the floor. Truthfully, he hadn't thought she would struggle so much with this pose, given her strength.

"Push with your hands. Distribute your weight."

Slowly, he releases her calves and repositions himself behind her as she pulls in a sharp inhale, holding her balance.

"You better not be staring at my ass, Krios."

He raises a brow ridge. It's hard not to stare at her ass, thrust in the air as it is.

"You forget that I have perfect recall," he says dismissively. "I can reflect on the image of your backside at any moment of my choosing."

"So you admit you've been looking?"

"Shepard," he admonishes, "Just because I've seen your ass does not mean I consciously seek to see it." It's a stone cold lie, but an easy one to sell, especially when she makes a point of training her glutes every day during their morning PT.

Slowly, she lifts her knees into the air, shaking with the effort to retain her balance. "I bet you're an ass man," she grits out, one leg finally pointed straight into the air.

Thane sets his hands on her calves to steady her as she wills through the pose.

"I'm unfamiliar with the term."

She huffs, swallowing down a breath before speaking. "A man who prefers ass over breasts."

Only humans would have a word for something like this, he thinks. "As you know, women of my species do not have breasts."

"Yup," she hisses, slowly and carefully straightening her other leg. "That's why you've gotta be-" another shaky breath, "-an ass man."

Well… she's not wrong.

In truth, he finds breasts no more desirable than any other mundane part of the human body. The appeal, he suspects, comes from actually touching them - something he hadn't considered at all until she'd launched herself at him in the airlock weeks ago. He's replayed the experience in his mind hundreds of times by now. The insistent press of her mouth on his, her smooth human hands clutching at his shoulders... and the soft crush of her body against him. He hadn't pulled away, but he hadn't kissed her back either. Right now, he wishes he had.

There's a curious connecting thread between his return to the Normandy and her sudden urgency to speak to him - frequently. Even more curious - neither one of them has broached the subject of her impulsive kiss before his procedure.

With a relieved sigh, Shepard finally manages to straighten both legs and complete the pose. Toes pointed toward the ceiling of the shuttle bay, she trembles. It's all he can do to not close his hands around her thighs to feel every rippling muscle under her skin.

"Excellent work," he says, voice perhaps lower than he intended.

"My head hurts."

Thane shakes his head. "You're not distributing your weight through your hands. Push down, and lower your knees slowly."

She makes a strained sound, tenses her legs, and the motion is just enough to pitch her center of gravity backwards.

He catches her, but not before the rounded curve of her ass is pressed with distracting persistence against his hips. If he could have blushed, he very well might have. Looking remarkably contorted beneath her splayed hands, she grins at him.

"How's your perfect recall going to handle this one?"

He should say something, but he doesn't. With steady arms, he lowers her to the mat and she flops against it, sighing heavily. There's a familiar quiet about her, something he's come to recognize as the silence before a storm.

"...can we talk about this?"

His deflection comes instinctively. "Your mastery of the headstand will take some practice, but-"

"No," she says firmly. "This." She waves a hand between both of them. "I kissed you goodbye and we're both acting like it never happened. It was inappropriate of me. Did I upset you?"

This time he needs a minute to think.

"Shepard, I… no, you did not upset me."

"But...?" She sits up, knees drawn in a loose spread against her chest, arms looped around them. The same focus he'd seen in her face on Tuchanka is there now. But this time her expression is uncharacteristically open, visibly hanging on his next words.

She's not even trying to hide that she wants him.

So why does he resist?

Ten years ago he swore he would never love another, and he meant it. The compulsion to remain ascetic is by now second nature in him. But although the years have not dulled the memory of his beloved Irikah, they have brought a new perspective: the fires of one love are not dulled simply because the fires of another are kindled.

"I've recalled that moment more times than I can count," he says, finally.

"So... does that mean you liked it?"

"I enjoyed your kiss enough to admit that should the opportunity arise... I may not let go."

She leans closer, fingers lacing together with visible anticipation. "And what if I didn't want you to let go?"

The look in her upturned face is what does him in. In a rare display of impulse, he drops to the mat and kisses her. And this time he intends to savor it.

Somehow, the same humility that drove him to his knees before Irikah now folds him again as he gazes into the unknown with Shepard. A purpose, a reason to fight. And now perhaps... a reason to love. He's not sure if he would call it love just yet, but kissing her awakens his body like hot tea on a bitter cold morning. She draws him between her knees, lips parting eagerly beneath his seeking tongue. She tastes like coffee with an undertone of alien unfamiliarity, and his pulse quickens. He's already eager for more.

Shepard mumbles something against his mouth and he pulls away.

"You taste tingly. That's normal right?"

He smiles gently back at her. "Normal for humans, as I understand."

They lean together for another kiss before she releases him. "We still haven't done cardio."

He slips his arms around her waist and tugs her tighter against him, using his strength to pull her up with him as he stands.

"A quick jog around the hold, then?"

"...or," she says coyly, all suggestive eyes with a cautious smirk blooming across her face. "A quick jog upstairs?"

He shouldn't. At least - old habits tell him he shouldn't. But his heart says it doesn't much matter.

"Promise me one thing," he says with caution, taking her hands in his. This is not how he’d imagined his morning. After all the time they’ve spent seeking each other’s company, he hadn’t dared to think...

Shepard tips her head, listening, fingertips idly exploring the subtle texture of his scales. His throat feels dry and the words are stampeding through his mind so fast he can barely catch them.

"Embrace her memory as I have. Smile upon her with favor." The memories mingle together, threatening to overwhelm him. Shepard has already given him so much, and he still asks more of her.

"Your wife?" She leans into his neck, kissing his shoulder softly.

"Yes." He squeezes his eyes shut. His breath threatens to choke him. "I cannot and will not stop loving her. She is with me always."

Shepard smiles at him, as though he's asked the easiest thing in the world. Her next words are an intimate whisper against his lips.

"What kind of Commander would I be if I told you to stop loving your wife?"

Her breath fills his chest with warmth and wanting. Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her glistening lips as though they were crafted specifically for him. They inhale each other, her tongue sliding against his as he breathes in her kiss. The word murmurs through his mouth and mind as a soft wind sighing through trees and grasses. "Siha."

This could be his second chance. An opportunity to fight side by side with a warrior angel, as he should have done years ago. Irikah was not a trained soldier, but she damn well could have been. She would have given everything to defend the innocent, and by all accounts, she had. Their son, alive because of her and her alone. He can taste her in the kiss, a familiar and soothing encouragement that makes his heart soar. Perhaps if he survives the mission, he will have learned something of her bravery.

There's a gentle tug on his shirt. Shepard leads him toward the elevator.

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

When they stumble into her cabin, her eyes are already bleary with his venom. Thane presses her into the bed, one hand cradling her neck while the other winds into her hair. His lips are slow but strong, kissing her like he knows nothing else. She's never felt so wanted before.

"How far do you want to take this?" she gasps when he trails her mouth down her jaw.

"This was your idea," his mouth is scorching on the column of her neck. She leans back to give him better access. "How far do you want to take this?"

Her insides are on fire at the feel of his mouth alone, and logic says she's crazy to jump into bed with another fucking species so suddenly. But she doesn't care - she's spent enough sleepless nights imagining this very moment. She wants his hands on her bare skin, she wants the forbidden unknowns of his alien body. With every fiber of her being, she wants. But it's easier to think about it than to say it.

"More," she says finally - breathlessly. Words are fleeting. Her hands fist the edges of his shirt and he obliges, pulling away so she can lift it off before she begins pulling off her own.

And then he surprises her by playfully rolling her on to her belly, kissing the back of her neck, her spine, palms trailing an electric line down her sides.

"I confess," he murmurs between kisses, "You were right to accuse me of being, as you say, an 'ass man.'" She moans as those strong hands settle on her backside, fingers kneading her flesh with delicious strength. Good god.

Words are difficult, but she manages. "Don't get any ideas, I'm not letting you fuck my ass."

"It wasn't my intention. Is that something humans do?"

Shepard snorts. "Don't act like you didn't know that."

He laughs like she's never heard before, a rich and jubilant peal in that dark voice she's come to savor. She can nearly feel the soft vibrations of that laugh through his hands as he presses his fingertips between her legs. “I’d rather know where you burn hottest,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he strokes her just hard enough to make his intentions understood.

"Oh fuck yes."

His palms return to her backside, sliding up to hook his fingers into her waistband. "May I?"

She nods furiously, her own hands closing over his to push her clothes off.

When she's firmly on her back again he drags down the zipper on the front of her bra. It's flung on the floor with the rest of her things and then she's bare before him, biting her lip under the heat of his hungry gaze. She wonders if he can see her body vibrating in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, settling his knees between her thighs. He crawls up to kiss her. "For weeks, I've thought about touching you."

She hums as he strokes the rounded edges of her breasts.

"Your body is so wonderfully soft, will you tell me if there's something you don't like?"

"Yeah," is all she can manage before his mouth returns to her neck, his hands wandering like a dying man searching for water. She's certain to have hickeys by the time they're done.

Curious, she brings a hand up to stroke the delicate flesh of his throat. His answering groan confirms her suspicions, and suddenly his questing hands are not so chaste, closing with suffocating warmth around her breasts.

Shepard bites her lip. "Please don't tell me you think breasts are gross."

He shakes his head. "I'll admit I find it strange that human breasts are erogenous, given their purpose. But they aren’t ‘gross,’ as you say. Just... new." She pushes her chest into his palms and that gets a rise out of him - a lovely trembling purr in his throat. "And so soft, Siha."

"Feels good," she murmurs. With parted lips, she breathes her pleasure as he kneads her breasts in slow, sensuous circles, dipping his head to kiss along her sternum and at the tender underside of her flesh.

"I think I might like them,” he says, lips twinged upwards.

Her need flares with that simple statement and she pulls in a breath, straining against him.

"I hadn't imagined how... tempting they could be. Soft curves... ripe like fruit at peak season." A strained moan falls from her mouth when he punctuates his statement with a more appreciative squeeze and draws a thumb over one sensitive peak, his mouth close enough to make her whimper in frustration.

“You’re teasing me.”

"I’m exploring you, Siha. There’s so much to learn." He circles his fingertips around her nipples and they tighten in response. The visual alone has her reeling, electric sparks of need slipping down her spine and straight into her core. "Your body shows me what it wants," he murmurs. "My mouth begs to taste you."

He flicks his tongue out, sampling her in light, infuriating strokes, teasing until she's keening beneath his hands, eyes shut tight and panting over clenched teeth. It's hard to think about anything at all except his hands and lips and that rumbling voice shimmering across her sensitized skin.

She strangles out a moan when his lips close around her nipple and he hollows his cheeks, drawing it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. Her arms clamp reflexively around his neck in an unspoken order to keep still.

"Do that again," she gasps.

He complies without question, textured fingers on one breast and wet tongue on the other, toying with her. Her back arches, hands holding herself like an offering to his mouth, every touch like a phantom crack of lust between her legs. There's a low rumble in his throat, he's practically purring into her skin and she can feel it, thighs clenching together in desperation.

She whines when he finally pulls away.

"I'll be back for those," he promises. "I hadn't expected such enthusiasm."

Fingertips brush her inner thigh and she leans into the touch, wanting more - for fuck's sakes - more - gasping out a shuddering breath she didn't even know she was holding when he flattens his fused fingers into her seam. Face buried in her neck doing god knows what with his lips and tongue, he's exploring her by touch alone. Each press of his hand is excruciatingly gentle, pushing slowly into her slick channel, gliding upwards to her clit. She's so sensitive that she flinches when he brushes over it, clutching at his shoulders.

"Too much?" He asks.

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed. Her throat is dry, but she rasps, "Not enough."

His full lips curve into a smile before he strokes her again and this time she moans, pushing back on his hand as much as she can manage. Her mind is chanting "please, please," but she won't beg. Not yet, at least.

His voice rouses her from her desperate thoughts.

”Your species makes great effort to avoid using definitive terms for this part of your body."

"Do we?” She asks, willing her thoughts to clear enough for her to speak. “I mean, there's pussy, snatch... cunt, if you're feeling profane."

His voice drops a register lower, and he leans close enough for her to feel his hot breath when he speaks. "Shepard, I believe the technical term is vulva."

She groans. Loudly. "Fuck off."

He huffs out a stiff laugh. "Perhaps you'd prefer something new. Ara'te. Chalice of Arashu."

She tries - and fails - to hide her impatience. "Really?"

"Do you find it repulsive?"

"No, I just... mixing religion and sex is kind of..." She fumbles with her answer, not wanting to offend, but the words are gone from her when he leans in and draws the flat of his tongue in a wide sweep between her legs. "-Jesus, Thane."

His voice is thick with amusement. "How interesting that you invoke the name of a god you don't believe in, if I touch you just so."

Shepard's mouth snaps shut and she looks pointedly away from him with a huff.

"But I digress," he says, fingers rippling along her seam. Scaled hands smooth over her slickness, spreading her with gentle consideration. His mouth is dangerously close, gaze fixed on her with eyes like gleaming onyx. Something in the way his voice drops sets her heart racing.

“You feel like the softest silk,” he whispers, each word rolling off his tongue in a veil of hot breath that cools over the heat of her wet center. Her eyes flutter closed as he presses his exploration, teasing her entrance with his joined fingers.

"Your body is a wellspring," he murmurs, slowly penetrating her with his hand. "Drenched with arousal… begging me into your depths."

She gasps when he takes the opportunity to flick at her with his tongue. Hips grind against his hand, desperately seeking more.

"What the fuck," she moans. "Don't stop."

He withdraws only to enter her again, this time sheathing an extra finger in her heat. Those fingers crook inside her and she damn near twitches off the bed, drawing a sound from him somewhere between amusement and arousal.

"So sensitive, Siha."

It feels like she's melting under the intensity of his touch, a thumb moving in teasing circles around her clit. She hisses, thighs clenching.

"Holy shit just touch me."

"Like this?" he asks in a tone that's infuriatingly playful, barely skimming his tongue across her clit.

"God damn it, Thane, you know what I want-"

He interrupts her, his voice suddenly more serious.

"Show me."

There's silence, and then Shepard blinks at him. "What?"

"Show me how you like to be touched."

"You want to watch me?" her mouth goes dry and her answering tone is more accusatory than she intends. "Because you're a freak, or because you don't know how to touch a woman?"

"Yes." He says simply, dodging both of her questions with irritating smugness.

Her knees twitch inward, uncertain, and with a deep inhale, he withdraws.

"Siha," he murmurs apologetically, taking her hand. "You've left all your confidence on the battlefield.”

The words slip straight through the cracks in her armor. It's painful, but he's right. Cerberus didn't bring her back because they wanted her, they brought back Commander Shepard. The woman she used to be is an afterthought. There's only the mission. The Hero of the Citadel. The Commander.

But here they are, Thane's enormous black eyes boring holes into her defenses in a silent plea for… something. His hand finds hers and their fingers intertwine, resting together on her hip. His expression is more unguarded than she's ever seen, eyes asking a silent question: Do you trust me? Do you want me?

"All my victories have been on the battlefield," she says, looking away.

His thumb soothes back and forth over her hand.

"Intimacy is not a war. What do you hope to triumph over?"

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, her face twists with discomfort.

"I haven't had a lot of partners. I'm laying here naked and you're playing games. I can't tell if you're just teasing or looking for an excuse to drive me off."

His expression softens. "Our differences are not merely physical, then."

She isn’t certain what he means, but Thane shifts to lay next to her, kissing her temple. His fingers tighten around hers in a gentle grip that doesn't let up, finally summoning her eyes back to his.

"On my heart, Siha, there is no place I would rather be than right here with you." There's a genuine apology in his tone, prying her heart open one painstaking centimeter at a time. "Do you want this?"

Her voice is small, but she doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Show me what you like," Thane's lips brush against her ear. "Remember that I won't forget." The way his voice rumbles makes her shiver.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm before setting it atop her thigh. It’s a relaxing gesture, indirect enough that he's not backing down while also letting her choose the next move. His lips are unhurried, traveling up her neck, against her ear, along her hairline.

Years of lackluster partners have tempered her expectations - she’s never shared herself with anyone as intense as Thane; and although she'd never admit it, his sexual confidence is damn near intimidating. But his hot breath against her ear and his endless, patient kisses are an irresistible pull of wanting.

This man is far from bored, she realizes. He's only awaiting her permission to give her something she's never experienced.

Her chest rises and falls in deep, shaky breaths. "No games," she whispers.

"No games," he agrees.

Biting her lip, she guides his hand back to the apex of her thighs. He offers no resistance, humming his approval when she slicks his fingertips through her heat and sets them carefully against her clit.

They move together then, her hand on his, teasing herself while he kisses her neck and shoulder, slowly making his way across her chest. How long has it been since she found release beneath the hands of another? The quiet intimacy of their joined hands, the subtle texture of his scales leaves her breathless, delirious with pleasure, his fingertips sliding effortlessly against her slick center. His mouth wanders over her skin, her breasts, every touch so electric she’s almost not ready for how fast her release sneaks up on her.

"I'm close," she whimpers with eyes squeezed shut, "Oh fuck, Thane, I'm so close."

"Yes, Siha,” he whispers. “Come for me."

She breaks. Every cell in her body clenches in a singularity of pressure before she's launched out in a million pieces, shimmering in the dim light. For once, it doesn't feel cold in her cabin. Waves of heat ripple under her skin, pulsing with every second she spends teasing the tail end of her climax.

She doesn't realize she has a death grip on his hand until she's gone completely still. If it hurts him, he says nothing, only wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. When she looks back at him, he's watching her with a knowing, lustful smile. She reaches for him, stroking his delicate neck and earning an appreciative hum that makes her heart beat just a little faster.

"Not that I didn't like you before, but..." she brushes her fingertips along his jaw, tilting his head toward her, "God damn."

Maybe human biology actually is as interesting as he proclaims, if one good orgasm can flood her with this much oxytocin. Like crossing a proverbial threshold, she feels her confidence returning, if only just to tell him we are definitely doing this again. As soon as possible.

"The privilege is mine." His voice is flecked with desire, words she believes so wholeheartedly she can almost see them in the air.

"How are you still wearing pants?"

He growls approvingly as she climbs over him and her fingertips slip beneath his waistband.

"Let's see what I'm about to get myself into," she says with a sly upturn of her lips.

"Or, if you wish - what you're about to get into yourself, " he retorts with no small amount of innuendo.

Immediately she wishes they'd done this sooner. He's... gorgeous. It isn't so much that she thought he wouldn't be, but his anatomy is every bit as colorful as the rest of him and that is a surprise. His length blooms from its internal sheath, a strong and gently ridged gradient of red and purple, nearly glowing in contrast against his green scales.

"Nice," she breathes, reaching for him. "Sorry if I don't have any pretty words to explain how much I want to put this beautiful thing in my mouth." Then she has a thought. "Do you have any fancy words for 'dick?'"

He puffs out an amused laugh and cracks a smile. "I seem to recall you saying something about religion and sex..."

"Humor me," she says, leaning in close enough to make his breath catch from the proximity of her mouth alone.

"Amo'ti," he says. "In your language-"

"Spear of Amonkira?"

He raises a brow ridge at her. "I'm impressed."

She gives his length an appreciative squeeze, testing the give of his ridges, humming at the surprising velvet texture of his skin.

"Maybe," she says slowly, matching the intensity of his gaze, "You can tell me how impressed you are after this." And without any further pretense, she engulfs him with her mouth.

In an instant, his head tips back, and she feels a familiar confidence returning. Men, she thinks, are hopelessly predictable in their pursuit of a hot mouth to fuck. And exactly as expected, Thane's hips are rolling gently forward. She slips her tongue around his length, watching the dancing iridescent scales along the shifting planes of his thighs and stomach.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if drell even do this as much as humans do. But it doesn't seem to matter when he sets his jaw in rapt concentration, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open and fixed on her. She doubles down, flattening her tongue against the underside of his shaft and hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke. His hands thread into her hair, sweeping it from where it falls in front of her eyes and gathering it around his fingers.

Tempted to tease him, she pulls back until the very tip of his length rests against her lips and sweeps her tongue across the head with a seductive smile. Their eyes lock and the sound he makes causes her core to fucking throb with wanting. One hand working him with each teasing swipe of her tongue, she slips lower, plants her lips on the base of his shaft to kiss him with an open mouth. He's shaking now, he's got to be close-

With a strangled gasp, his hips twitch away from her and she stills herself.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," is his breathless response. "Quite the opposite. Come here."

She climbs astride him, pressing the length of their bodies together as his arms enfold her. "That good?"

"Join with me, Siha," he murmurs, his voice low and laced with need. "Find your release in mine."

An unexpected chill slips through her, tingling every nerve with an onset of understanding. She can hear it in the undertones of his voice: I want you. This was never a game. We will be whole, together.

He rocks against her just enough to grab her attention. The brush of his length between her legs is electrifying - his eyes searching, his body asking.

"I'm… uh…" Shepard bites her lip, processing the words slowly. "I haven't been with anyone since I... came back."

His fingers intertwine with hers for the umpteenth time that morning. It's a gesture she's rapidly coming to adore for all its patience and admiration. He kisses the back of her hand, voice low and steady. "You're in control, Commander."

There's something in his well-placed acknowledgement of her authority that placates her. Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

Eyes never leaving his, she steadies herself and sinks down on him.

They join together with delicious slowness, his hips willfully unmoving beneath her as she takes him in. The pressure is exquisite, edging somewhere between too much and not enough, each ridge of his florid length finding its place within the scorching depths of her body. She's nearly sweating as their hips go flush, eyes tipping closed with the sweet pulse of their joining.

One painstaking second at a time, she adjusts. It doesn't hurt, but she's afraid it damn well might if she starts riding him like her lust-fueled mind is screaming to. She stifles her own desire, wills her body for control as she twists and flexes herself to banish the lingering anxiety about her reconstruction. It might even be embarrassing - wriggling against him like a damn virgin - but there's no judgement in his eyes. If anything, he's holding back his own pleasure, unmoving while he waits for her. Hands braced against his shoulders, she pushes up, finally bottoming out with a low, wanting moan. His length lodges against her deepest reaches. It feels fucking perfect.

"Fuck," she breathes with a cursory flick of her hips. "Holy shit, Thane."

Features painted with pleasured focus, he's stone still beneath her, hands patiently cradling her waist. Thane, her unlikely but disciplined lover, waiting for her next order.

Her voice is a whisper against his lips.

"Let's fucking do this."

And with that, he begins to move with her.

The groan in his throat vibrates through her entire body as she begins to ride him. Her fingers clasp around his shoulders, afraid to put too much pressure on his transplant scars. He grasps her hands in his own, holding her firm and letting her weight fall against him, hips rolling with her as she finds her rhythm.

His voice is a breathy sound somewhere beneath her. "Siha… don't hold back."

She gasps when the next thrust hits home.

"Shut up," she huffs, slanting her lips over his.

Despite their hours spent together on the battlefield, his strength is shocking. It's near impossible to tell who's riding who, his hands firmly on her hips, his body moving beneath her like the rolling ocean, all muscle and sinuous control. Either sex is way better than she remembers, or he's just that good. He ripples in and out of her depths, each of his gentle ridges strumming her like a harp, sweat rolling down the back of her neck.

His venom is already refreshing its hold on her mind when she breaks their kiss for breath. There's a kind of weightlessness to the high - she floats up, baring herself to his wandering hands. They slide against the plane of her stomach, cupping her breasts, plucking teasingly at her nipples. It's enough to make her cry out, heedless to the rest of the world, grinding on him for all she's worth. She feels the hot coil of release building within her, sensations concentrated in every point of contact. The texture of his scales against her inner thighs, his teasing fingertips on her breasts… his burning length buried within her, filling her to completion like no other.

In the throes of his venom, her cabin disintegrates, and there beneath an endless veil of stars, they are one - chasing release in the arms of the other. Words can't describe this perfect headspace. Later, all she'll be able to say is how he feels so good, wishing she could borrow his eidetic memory if only for these few perfect, fleeting moments, to revisit at her behest.

She slips one hand down to massage her clit and pitches her head back in a gasp, walls clenching involuntarily around his length, drawing a low rasp of pleasure from his beautiful, perfect mouth. Their voices are a litany of breathless sounds, a chorus of shared ecstasy - the desperate succession of skin meeting scales, the trilling of his ruby throat and the expletives that fall from her parted lips. She's close - unbelievably close - and damn near unwilling to finish if it means this moment will end, a rare second climax bearing down on her as she folds against him. Even with her hand trapped between their bodies, the sweet pebbled friction of his scales threatens to push her over the edge whether she's ready or not.

She releases with a scream, his name barely intelligible in a strangled half-sobbed cry of bliss that can't be silenced even as she buries her face in his shoulder. Thane's strong arms wind around her waist, holding her as he drives into the silken, pulsing clench of her heat with abandon. The sound of him illuminates the darkness behind her closed eyes as he spends himself within her and she can feel it - a glittering tingle of sensation radiating between her legs, up her spine and blooming into a full scale high.

And then she sags against his chest, heaving breaths in tandem with him, unable to give two tenths of a shit about her hand going numb between them.

"Thane..." She whispers. "Thane, holy shit."

"Are you hurt?"

"...No. I feel... tingly. It's good. It's so… just, good. Holy shit." Her head lolls against his shoulder. She won't open her eyes - not yet. Whatever's going on out there beyond his embrace - for once, it's not her problem. She feels over-relaxed, tinged with unreality. Like a dream. When had she gotten so damn high? If they'd barely -

...Oh, she realizes.

Drell toxin. Inside her.

Thane hums in contentment, his familiar alien hands soothing through her hair. She wonders if he feels just as sated as she does.

"Tell me it was good for you too," she whispers softly against his aural ridge.

"Siha," his voice is quiet, as if murmuring a secret, "It feels unfair to tell you how many times I will revisit this memory."

"I'll allow it, if you tell me we can do this again."

"As if you even need to ask," he chuckles breathlessly. "Yes, I’d like that."

"I don't think I've ever been fucked like that. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.”

“Not the word I would use, but I’m glad to hear I’ve pleased you.”

She feels his mouth move in a smile and takes a strong inward breath, raising her head to look at him. She can see her own silhouette in his fathomless dark eyes.

"Say it," she demands.

His brows - those gorgeous, expressive, glittering emerald brows - raise in curiosity. It must be the venom making him so vibrant.

"Pardon?"

Shepard extends one finger to gently prod his chest. "Say 'fuck.'"

He laughs beneath her and it feels like her whole body is bouncing, joining him in his mirth.

That laughter reaches his eyes and his expression softens. "I think perhaps we've overindulged. I didn't expect you'd be so heavily affected."

Her eyes widen in mock incredulity. "Overindulged? Don't you dare tell me that was too much for you."

A viridian palm settles against her cheek, his lips curled in a soft smile so rare it seems like a gift. "What I mean to say is it may have been too much for you, Siha."

She pauses, pushes herself up on shaky arms and sits back on his thighs. He's softening within her, and the retreat of him leaves a trail inside her that feels... not exactly, but... Sort of like someone stuck a breath mint where it doesn't belong. Shepard smiles inwardly. It feels kind of great.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she intones, setting her hands on her hips in a dramatic display of confidence. "I can handle getting dicked down by the most deadly lizard in the galaxy."

Thane is damn near grinning now. “My apologies, Commander. I will think twice before underestimating your abilities in the future.”

"I'm not moving until I hear you say 'fuck.'" She retorts, arms crossed.

"You're wrong, if you assume I want you anywhere but right here."

He reaches for her arms, trailing down her to her wrists to clasp her hands. Above him, she watches as though entranced, the dim light of her cabin blurring the edges of her vision and bringing the slow intertwining of their fingers into crisp focus. For all their differences, they fit together so beautifully. Her heart feels full.

"Thane..."

Their eyes meet as he kisses her fingertips.

"Fuck you, Siha."